50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [108]
“You have a future. We all do.” Her fingers tightened around his. “We each make our own.”
His eyes met hers as he digested her words. “I just don’t have the options you do.”
“Do you know who did it—stole the money, I mean?”
He hesitated. “No, but I have my suspicions.”
“Who? Tony?”
“Tony said I made everyone look bad because I worked hard and put in extra time. He was hired before me and then Mr. Gunderson talked to the chef about training me to be a prep cook. Tony didn’t think that was fair.”
She’d report this to her father and have him talk to Mr. Gunderson. “My dad and Mr. Gunderson are friends.”
Anson shook his head. “No. I’ll take care of this in my own way.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked, afraid of what he might do in this state of mind.
“I don’t know yet.”
He had a wild, disheveled look and she suspected he hadn’t slept in a long time. “Have you been home?”
He shook his head. “Mom’s brought home a new friend.” His lips curled in a half snarl. “We don’t get along. To put it mildly.”
Anson didn’t need to spell it out for her; his home life was dreadful. Allison frowned. His problems seemed huge, overwhelming. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Yeah, right. Like I said, some of us were dealt a lousy hand.”
She wanted to take away his burdens. She knew that was impossible, and the ache in her heart increased.
Allison glanced at her watch. Kaci had to be to work by four and Allison didn’t want to make her late.
Anson stood abruptly and checked his watch, too. “I gotta go.”
“Where?”
He shrugged, his gaze focused elsewhere.
“When will I see you again?”
That, too, was answered with a shrug, as if he didn’t know. As if it didn’t matter.
Allison tried to brush aside her disappointment. “I need to know,” she insisted.
“Why do you care?”
“I care,” she whispered. “I care more than you’ll ever know.”
“Don’t,” he said starkly. “You’re wasting your time.”
“I’m not,” she told him. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything. Please, Anson, this is too important. Everything will work out in the end. I’m sure of it.”
He snickered as though he found her attitude amusing. “Things like this don’t work out for people like me. It’s time you learned that.”
He walked away without looking at her again.
She had a sick feeling in her stomach. But as much as she wanted to run after Anson, she couldn’t.
That evening, Allison could barely eat dinner. As soon as the meal was over, she escaped inside her room. Twice now, Anson had come to her bedroom window and she hoped he would again. They needed to talk.
Sitting on her bed, writing in her journal, Allison poured out everything that was in her heart. She was terrified for Anson and angry about what had happened. She wanted to help him. If she spoke to her father, he might be angry that they’d broken their word. And Anson didn’t want him to find out he’d been fired….
At nine her mother tapped on her door.
“Come in,” Allison said. She thrust her journal under a pillow and sat cross-legged.
Rosie Cox walked into the room and sat on the end of the bed. She touched Allison’s shoulder. “You’ve been very quiet this evening. Is something bothering you?”
Allison nodded and stared down at her pale-pink comforter. “It’s Anson,” she whispered.
“Are you sad because you two can’t see each other yet?”
She nodded rather than confess that she’d seen him and, more than that, spoken to him. All at once Anson’s burden became too much for her and silent tears began to course down her face.
Her mother held her close, murmuring soothing words, and Allison remembered that Anson had said some kids were dealt a better hand in life than others. He was right; she had been. Until she’d gotten to know Anson, she hadn’t realized how lucky she was to have two parents who loved her.
Her mother gently stroked her hair. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“You’ll be upset with me.”
“I’ll risk that,” her mother whispered softly.
“Anson and I talked.