You're Always in the Last Place You Look Read Free Page B

cleaned houses, did laundry, painted, and even mended fences when someone would hire her. Unfortunately that wasn’t often enough. Most people didn’t appreciate her four-year-old twin boys having to accompany her everywhere. They were boys, and they were four, and saying they were mischievous was putting it nicely.
    Dad kept sending questing looks to Mom all through dinner. She knew he was doing it, and let out a little “ mmm ” now and then, accompanied by a lip smack for good measure. My father rarely questioned anything in life, figuring it was God’s will — and my mother knew this. Yet, she adored playing on his silent curiosity. I would have asked the question hanging over the dinner table if Mom wasn’t having such a good time teasing him.
    Dad sighed, slightly annoyed with her lack of explanation, and turned to me. “You haven’t mentioned if the Cormley’s nephew survived his ordeal.”
    I raised my eyebrows. Ordeal ? Zane almost died, and he was calling it an ordeal as if he had been caught shoplifting, or taunting Mr. Garrison’s bulls.
    “He survived, although for a few minutes I was worried he wouldn’t. It was kinda scary—”
    “Good. The Cormley’s have been through enough of late. That boy has just added to their grief.” My father got up from the table, and headed to the sink while I stared at his back, stunned by his callousness.
    It wasn’t like my father to be uncaring, however that was exactly the tone he was emanating. I watched him, expecting him to smile and say something like; I’m glad he’s okay, or, I’ll add him to my prayers. But he didn’t. Instead he gave me the oddest sidelong glance before turning towards his office. The room he claimed as his office had actually been the cold storage back in the day. Constructed of thick slabs of concrete, it resembled a bunker more than an office.
    “I’m going to work on my sermon. I won’t be too long.”
    “All right, dear.” Mom took my plate, and stacked it with hers, adjusting the silverware into a row on the top plate. “So, you had some excitement with the Cormley’s nephew tod—”
    “He has a name,” I cut in. For some reason it irked me that neither of them bothered to recall his name.
    “Of course he does...Zane right?”
    I nodded. “It wasn’t all that exciting. He was stung. I helped him home, gave him a shot. No biggy.”
    She gave me a small smile. “Well, God must have been watching out for him, for you to have been there.” She rose, taking the plates to the sink.
    I was about to tell her if God had truly been watching out he never would have been stung when the phone rang. I went to answer it, but Dad got to it first, and called from his office. “Gabe, its Lily.”

 
    Chapter Three
     
    I scrambled to the family room, and grabbed the cordless. “Got it,” I yelled. “Hey, how was Seattle?”
    “You know most people start with hello . It rained the whole time we were there. Rather fitting for a funeral I guess. God am I glad to be home. Mom barely even knew her cousin, but she cried almost the whole trip.” Lily groaned loudly, making me smile. Her mom was a bit of a drama queen, crying at bible study, through every movie, over commercials—especially the ASPCA ones—and God forbid anyone die—whether she knew them or not.
    “Hello, I’m fine, thanks for asking. I saved the new kid’s life today.”
    “You’re such a dork. You mean the kid from Chicago? I heard he’s really wicked looking, and all sullen, and shit. Marcy has this major crush on him already.”
    “You called Marcy before calling me?” I hated to admit it, but that hurt. Lily and I had been friends years longer than she and Marcy; ever since I took her out during dodge-ball in the fifth grade, and she marched over and bitch-slapped me. Marcy didn’t come around until the summer after eighth grade, and she only tolerated me because she knew Lily would choose me over her if push came to shove. We kinda hated each