Breath of Scandal(133)

For several days following his illness, his mother had curtailed any vigorous activity. "If that was the summer flu, you could have a relapse."

"But, Mom, I feel great now."

There'd been no swaying her. So, this was the first day in almost two weeks that he'd been granted permission to visit the construction site, and now his tire had gone flat.

Graham looked down at it balefully - If he rode on it, he'd ruin it. He should roll his bike back home, but that would nix getting to visit the site today. If he rolled it to the site, he wouldn't make it by the expected time, and his mother would have a cow.

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Any way he looked at it, he was screwed.

A car sped past him, sending up a cloud of dust. Despite the recent rains, the following days had been so hot that the ground was dry again. Graham waved the dust out of his face, then shot the driver the finger.

Immediately, the brake lights of the car flashed on. "Oh, hell," Graham whispered fearfully. To his further mortification, the car began backing up. "Oh, shit." He licked the dust off his dry lips and wiped his perspiring palms on the seat of his shorts.

The candy-apple-red El Dorado rolled to a stop beside him. The tinted passenger window was lowered electronically. "Hey, boy."

Graham gulped down a wad of nervous spit. "Hi.- "Unless I'm mistaken, you shot me the bird." Graham's knees turned to jelly. He had to pee real bad. "Yes, sir."

"How come?"

-I, uh, I nearly choked on the dust you raised." Then, not wanting to be a total wimp, he added, "I think you were speeding."

The driver laughed. "Hell, boy, I'm always speeding. I've got places to go and people to see. " He nodded toward the bike. " Looks to me like you're in trouble."

"My tire went flat." "Where were you headed?"

"Out where they're building the TexTile plant." "Hmm." The driver tipped down his sunglasses and peered at Graham over the frames. "That's in the opposite direction from where I'm going, but I reckon I could give you a lift out there."

"Oh, no thanks. I'll-" "Your bike'll fit in the trunk."

"Thanks anyway, sir, but I don't think I'd better." "You're Jade's boy, aren't you?"

Graham was momentarily taken aback. "Yes, sir. How'd you know?"

"What's your name again?" "Graharn.-



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Sandra Brown

"That's right, Graham. Well, Graham, me and your mama have known each other since grade school. Maybe she's mentioned me-Neal Patchett?"

The name was vaguely familiar. Graham was sure his mother had talked about some people named Patchett. "Does she know your father, too?"

"That's right," Neal replied with a wide grin. "His name's Ivan. Did you know that a freight train chopped off his legs clean as a whistle?"

As with most boys his age, Graham was fascinated by gore. "Jeez. No kiddin'T'

"That's a fact. Right here above his knees. It was a real mess. " He depressed a button in the glove compartment and the lid of the trunk popped open. "Put your bike in there and climb in. I'll be more'n pleased to give you a lift.-

Graham had been forbidden to accept rides from strangers, but he knew who this man was, and his mother knew him, too. If he didn't ride with him, he'd be stuck out on the road and still uncertain about what he should do. All things considered, it was his best option.

He rolled his bicycle to the rear of the car and lifted it into the trunk. He had to rearrange the fishing gear and two shotguns stowed there, but was finally able to fit his bike inside and close the lid.

The luxurious leather interior of the car made him selfconscious of his dusty sneakers. His sweaty, bare legs stuck to the seat. But after being out in the hot sun, it felt good. "All set?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Cut out that 'sir' shit, okay? Just call me Neal." "Thanks. "

Neal asked him how he was liking Palmetto. Graham answered all his questions politely. They had gone almost a mile before he said uneasily, "Mr. Patchett, we need to turn around. The site's the other way. "

"Hell, I know that. But I thought we'd get your flat fixed while we're at it. I know this mechanic who'll do it for fi-ee.

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While we're waiting, we'll have a cold drink. Doesn't that sound good?"

"I guess so."

A drink did sound good. He was parched. He might be a few minutes late getting to his mother's office, but consoled himself with the thought that it couldn't take much longer to have the flat fixed than it would have taken him to ride the rest of the way on his bike. As soon as they left the garage, he'd tell Mr. Patchett to step on it. The slick Cadillac would get them to the site in no time, a hell of a lot faster than he could pedal it.

"I'll call my mom from the garage and tell her I'm running late," he said with a sudden burst of inspiration. "Sure, if you think it's necessary." Neal glanced across



at him. "Does she still go out to the Parker place every now and then?"