A Man of Honor by Loree Lough

Author:Loree Lough
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abingdon Fiction
Published: 2012-08-23T04:00:00+00:00

17

In the waiting room adjacent to the OR suites, Dusty’s cousins paced.

“They’re gonna wear out that rug,” Jack whispered behind a cupped hand.

“You’d be right with them,” Cody said, nodding toward the double doors, “if that was your mom in there.”

Cody followed his line of vision and nodded. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Then he shrugged. “Guess when Dusty gets back with the coffee, they’re really gonna give that rug a workout.”

The middle-aged man flopped onto the nubby seat of the chair between them, and, leaning forward, grabbed a dog-eared magazine.

Tony put the rest of the periodicals back into a fan shape. “Who you waiting for, mister?”

He peered over gold-rimmed half glasses. “My wife.” He ran a trembling hand through gray curls. “You?”

“Long story,” Guillermo told him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He closed his magazine and propped an ankle on a knee.

“Well, the guy who takes care of us—”

“Our guardian,” Trevor put in. “He’s in the cafeteria. His turn to make the coffee run.”

“—his aunt is in there.”

“She raised him,” Nick said. “Those are his cousins over there.”

The man nodded. “What sort of operation is she having?”

“Not sure, to be honest. She had a heart attack, see, so—”

“Her doctor said a triple bypass,” Jack said. “Maybe quadruple.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “No way to know until he gets in there.”

“That’s pretty much what my wife’s surgeon said. Except in her case, it’s defective valves.” He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. “She’s been in there four hours.”

“Where you been all this time?” Billy asked.

“Got a call from her surgeon’s secretary,” he said, “in the middle of a meeting with the Japanese. Took a while to get hold of my pilot.”

Billy’s eyebrows disappeared behind shaggy brown bangs. “Japan?”

The man was nodding when the boy added, “Wait. Did you just say your pilot? Are you famous or something?”

“Only among computer geeks,” he said, chuckling.

Montel picked up the magazine he’d just dropped. “Hey,” he said, pointing at its cover, “is this you?”

“ ’Fraid so.”

“So if you ain’t famous,” Montel said, “why’s your pi’ture on the cover of Time?”

Jack peeked over Montel’s shoulder and read the bold white sidebar. “Which name is yours, mister,” he asked, “John Peterson or Pete Leonard?”

Dusty walked in just then, balancing a cardboard cup holder on each hand. It wasn’t a good sign that the three of them were still walking circles outside the OR. “Give me a hand with this, Flynn.”

His cousin stopped pacing long enough to take one of the cartons. “Which one’s double cream, double sugar?” he asked, placing it on the table.

“It’s all right there on the lids,” Dusty said, grabbing the one with the big black B on top. “So, what’s the word on—”

“Dusty?” The man from Time got to his feet. “Not Dusty Parker. . . .”

The boys looked from his face to Dusty’s and back again.

“Well, if it isn’t John Peterson,” Dusty said, slapping the man’s back. “Long time no see, you old codger.” He could say things like that, now that John wasn’t his boss.

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