Keeping Safe the Stars (9781101591215) by O'Connor Sheila

Author:O'Connor, Sheila
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA
Published: 2012-09-27T04:00:00+00:00

31

NOT ANY NUMBER HERE

I told Nash Old Finn was in Duluth. I didn’t say that he got sent there sick; I said he’d gone to sell his carvings to a store. It was a story Nash seemed to take as truth.

“Ah, right,” Nash said. “He carves. I saw his work in Goodwell. Found it at the Northwood Nook, exactly like you said.”

“You did?” I couldn’t believe he looked for Old Finn’s work.

“I’d have liked one of his loons, but I didn’t have the cash. Got to watch my money on the road. They don’t exactly pay you millions to do a freelance gig, especially this travel magazine.” I felt bad for taking Nash’s money; he didn’t seem to have much more than us. “But at least the owner of the Junk and Stuff let us crash out at his place, park the van out in his yard so we could sleep.”

“Thor?” I said. Nash and Sage met Thor?

“Yep,” he said. “Thor Jensen, that’s the guy. Super-kind. But I didn’t want to waste the welcome. I figured we’d get on our way before he felt obliged to offer breakfast.”

“He lets us leave our horses at his place. It’s the closest we can ride them into town.”

“That’s what he said.” Nash looked out at our fields. “Said he’d seen you earlier that day. He seemed surprised about your business. Said your grandpa wasn’t one to take to tourists.”

A lump rose in my throat. Did Nash tell Thor about the charity? Did Thor tell Nash our parents were both dead? I didn’t know how much Thor knew about our family, but I was sure he knew that we were orphans, why else would we be living with Old Finn. Same with Nosy Nellie at the Northwood Nook in town. If Nash asked her, she’d have said the same.

“Did you tell Thor about the travel magazine? The story you might write?” I tried to keep the tremble from my voice. I didn’t want either of them to see me as a liar, but once they started talking they could figure that part out.

“No,” he said. “No one trusts a journalist. Especially these days. Half the country blames us for destroying Richard Nixon. The other half adores us. I never know which half I’ve wandered into. I just said I’d brought Sage out here for a ride.” He pulled his little notebook from his pocket, flipped it open to a page. “But that phone number you gave me? That’s not any number here.”

“It’s not?” I said. “I guess I was confused. We haven’t lived here all that long.”

“No?” Nash squinted.

“And I guess I don’t call home.”

Nash rubbed his hand along his whiskered chin like he was thinking. “You know,” he said. “I’m just writing freelance for a travel magazine. It’s not like I’m cracking Watergate.” I rearranged the items on the shelf. I wished something huge would happen, something big that would stop the conversation. Baby dropping from the swing. Another set of stitches. “And still .

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