Rebel Glory by Sigmund Brouwer

Author:Sigmund Brouwer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: JUV000000
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2006-09-01T10:00:00+00:00

chapter thirteen

A little over an hour later, I was halfway back to Red Deer. I passed a service station just as dark and lonely as the highway. The only light shone in the parking lot over a telephone booth.

Just down the highway from the service station, an idea hit me. I told myself it was a dumb idea. But I couldn’t get it out of my head. And I kept thinking about the telephone booth in the parking lot.

I turned the truck around and spent a few minutes driving back to the closed service station.

I parked my truck beside the telephone booth. Again I tried to tell myself how stupid my idea was. Except I couldn’t think of another way. If I could figure out what questions to ask, who else in Red Deer might help me?

I got out of the truck, still telling myself it was a stupid idea.

I also half hoped the telephone book would be missing. But there it was, dangling from a steel cable.

I sighed.

I half hoped there would be a whole bunch of Holbrooks in the book, because that would give me the perfect excuse to quit even before I started. Unfortunately, there was only one Holbrook listed in the Red Deer section of the telephone directory. A Frederick Holbrook. On 53rd Street.

I sighed again. I dialed the number before I could change my mind.

A voice came on the line and told me to deposit seventy-five cents. I thanked the voice before I realized it was a recording. I wasn’t sure if this was a good start to making a phone call at ten at night to a girl I had hardly ever spoken to.

I pushed three quarters into the coin slot and listened to the phone ring.

I half hoped no one would answer. Unfortunately, it only rang twice before a quiet voice said hello.

“Hello,” I said back, trying to sound mature. “May I speak with Cheryl Holbrook.”

“This is Cheryl.”

Great. What do I say next?

I must have waited too long.

“This is Cheryl,” she said again.

I couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I must have dialed the wrong number. Good-bye.”

“Wait!” She laughed. “How could you have dialed the wrong number if you asked for me?”

I wanted to hit my head against the wall of the phone booth. So much for being a guy who always used logic. All it took was a girl’s soft voice and my mind turned to mush. I tried to think of something fast.

“I got the wrong Cheryl Holbrook,” I finally said. “So sorry. Good-bye.”

“Wait!” She laughed again. “How do you know it’s the wrong Cheryl Holbrook?”

This was much harder than facing 200-pound forwards who wanted to smear me into the boards. I again did my best to find an excuse.

“Are you old and fat and wrinkled?” I asked.

“Um, no,” she said.

“That’s it then. Wrong Cheryl Holbrook,” I told her. “The one I’m looking for is old and fat and wrinkled. I guess I should be going now.”

“Is this Craig McElhaney?” she asked.

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