The Nesting Dolls Read Online Free Page B

towards me. “This is my wife, Joanne. Jo, this is Declan Hunter.”
    The boy extended his hand. “I recognized you from the picture in Zack’s office. Nice to meet you, Ms. Shreve.” His eyes darted past us towards the door. “You didn’t happen to see my mother in the parking lot, did you? She might need some help getting in.”
    Zack’s voice was gentle. “She decided to come tomorrow, Declan. I guess she didn’t have a chance to let you know.”
    Declan’s face tightened. “The big news would have been if she showed up.”
    Zack wheeled his chair closer. “Your mother really did want to come today.”
    “Right.” Declan gave us a small wave and turned away. “See you,” he said and started towards the crowd.
    “Wait.” Zack didn’t have to raise his voice to get a response. Declan pivoted and took a step towards my husband. “If you’ve got some free time during the holidays, how about an evening at the Broken Rack,” Zack said. “When we went there on your birthday, I thought you showed definite promise.”
    This time, Declan’s smile was open. “I beat you,” he said.
    “I had an off night,” Zack said. “So are you in?”
    “I’m in,” Declan said.
    “Good, I’ll call you and we’ll set up a time.”
    “Cool.”
    I watched Declan sprint down the hall towards the gym. “You will call him, won’t you?” I said.
    “You know me – can’t stand to lose, and this time the evening will be on our dime.”
    “The last time wasn’t?”
    “Nope. The last time was strictly business. It was Declan’s sixteenth birthday and his father, whom you haveno doubt deduced is Leland Hunter, decided his son needed a man-to-man talk.”
    “Doesn’t a father usually do that himself?”
    “It wasn’t that kind of talk. Leland thought Declan needed a clearer understanding of the Youth Criminal Justice Act. So we shot some pool. I told Declan that while Section 3 says the Act is to be liberally construed, it doesn’t mean sixteen-year-olds get a free pass, and I sent his father the bill. Hell of a note for a kid’s birthday, eh?”
    “It is a hell of a note,” I agreed. “So did Declan need reminding?”
    “He did,” Zack said. “Jo, you know the drill about confidentiality. That’s all I can say about that.”
    Every effort had been made to transform the gym for the carol service. The shining wooden floor on which so many heart-stopping basketball championships had been played was safe under protective floor covers; giant sparkly snow-flakes were suspended from the rafters by lengths of fishing line that would, in theory, cease to be discernible when the lights were extinguished; artificial trees twinkled in every available space, and silvery garlands were looped and duct-taped along the sides of the bleachers.
    My husband took in the decor. “You can’t say they didn’t try,” he said, and began wheeling towards what quickly became the last spot in the room to be occupied.
    “Shit,” he said.
    The expletive conjured up a student usher. “We have special seating at the front,” he said. “Just follow me.”
    As he always did when he was singled out because of his paraplegia, Zack bristled. I touched his shoulder. “This place is already packed. We can stay here and stare at the back of people’s heads, and I can stand for the whole concert, or you can swallow your pride and we’ll have the best seatsin the house.” Zack gave me a sharp look but he wheeled off after the young man.
    We had just reached our places when the lights dimmed and the processional began. As the student orchestra played the familiar opening of “Adeste Fideles,” the audience rose and the choirs entered, wearing academic gowns with satin yokes in the school colours, black and gold. The choirs sang in Latin, and their young voices stirred memories of my own school days. The service of lessons and carols was a familiar one to me, but Luther College had a large number of international students and so the