Found Money - James Grippando [7]
“Help me,” said Ryan. “Sit him up straight so he doesn’t choke.”
She did as instructed. Ryan wheeled the oxygen tank alongside the bed. He opened the valve and placed the respirator in his father’s mouth. Home oxygen supply was a drill the whole family knew well, as he’d suffered from emphysema long before the terminal cancer developed. After a few deep breaths, the wheezing subsided. Breathing slowly returned to normal.
“Dr. Duffy, I don’t mean to question your professional judgment, but I think your father should rest now. He’s had way too much activity for one night.”
He knew she was right, but his father’s eyes gave him pause. Ryan had expected the glazed, delirious look of a sedated man who was making up crazy stories about blackmail. But the dark old eyes were sharp and expressive. They not only spoke without words, they spoke intelligently. They had Ryan thinking, Could he be serious?
“I’ll be back in the morning, Dad. We can talk then.”
His father seemed to appreciate the reprieve, as if he had said enough for one night. Ryan pulled away, forcing a meager smile. He started to say “I love you,” like he always did, fearful as he was that each conversation might be their last. This time he just turned and left the room, his mind racing. It was inconceivable, really—his father a blackmailer to the tune of two million dollars. Never, however, had Ryan seen his father more serious.
If this was a joke, it was frightfully convincing. And not the least bit funny.
Damn it, Dad, he thought as he left the house. Please don’t make me hate you.
3
It was still dark when Amy woke. The drapes were drawn, but lights from the parking lot made them glow around the edges, the room’s only illumination. Her eyes adjusted slowly. The twin bed beside hers was empty, already made. The usual morning noises emerged from the kitchen. Gram was always the first to rise, earlier and earlier with each passing year. Amy checked her alarm clock on the nightstand. Five-sixteen A.M.
She’s probably fixing lunch by now.
Amy lay still, staring at the ceiling. She had done the right thing, she knew, by telling her. Gram would have wormed it out of her eventually. Amy had an incredibly expressive face, one that Gram had learned to read with ease. Truthfully, Amy wanted to tell her. She needed help with this one. Gram was old-fashioned, but few things were more reliable than old-fashioned common sense.
Amy slipped on her flannel robe and shuffled toward the kitchen, following the aroma of fresh strong coffee.
“Morning, dear,” said Gram. She was already dressed. Overdressed, by her own historical standards. For almost half a century, Gram had lived in blue jeans in the winter, Bermuda shorts in the summer. Lately, she’d taken to pressed slacks and silk blouses, even for routine trips to the grocery store. Amy suspected a man was in the picture, though Gram vehemently denied it.
“Morning,” said Amy. She pulled up a chair at the dining room table. Gram brought her a cup, no cream and two sugars, the way she liked it.
“I’ve made a decision,” she said, taking the seat across from Amy. “We’ll keep the money, right here.”
“I thought you said you wanted to sleep on it, and that we’d discuss it in the morning.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, this is hardly a discussion. You just announced a decision.”
“Trust me, darling. Your grandmother knows best on these things.”
The coffee was suddenly bitter. Amy measured her words, but there was resentment in her tone. “That’s exactly what you said when you talked me into quitting astronomy for this computer job.”
“And that has worked out beautifully. The law firm loves you so much they’re willing to help send you to law school.”
“It’s not the law firm that loves me. It’s Marilyn Gaslow. And the only reason she got the firm to cough up this partial scholarship is because she and Mom were old friends.”
“Don’t be cynical, Amy. Be realistic. With a degree in astronomy you would have been lucky to get a job teaching high school. You’ll earn ten times more as a lawyer.”
“Sure. And with spiked heels and a