Soaring (Magdalene #2)(110)

I just had to trust she’d find the right way.

We came back, had a family dinner and I let them go out with their friends last night.

I got a knock on the door when Pippa got home, through which she’d called, “Mom! I’m back!” and I’d replied, “Good. Hope you had fun!” to which she said, “I did! Goodnight.”

Auden didn’t knock on my door but I stayed up until he got home.

Now, it was morning and, except for Polly, the weekend had been a smashing success and I was still flying.

“What’s this?” Auden asked.

I turned from getting the pancake batter mix down and saw him looking at my laptop.

“Just some research I’m doing on a possible fundraiser I’m thinking about,” I told him.

That was the truth.

However, the specifics included me attempting to find what I thought should be easy to find, though I’d never looked for such things. They were still public records. These being the town of Magdalene’s financial accounts.

I didn’t know what was driving me or if I’d make any sense of what I found when I found it.

I still wanted to know what they allocated to the fire department.

The town was clean. There were flowers decorating Cross Street and the boardwalk. The 4th of July decorations had been effusive but attractive. The roads were nice. There was a small police station that resembled the fire station in its age, size and quaintness. They had an extensive recycling program.

But there was also money in that town. Coastal properties that I knew from experience cost a good deal. Shops that were not inexpensive in the slightest that stayed in business because someone was patronizing them regularly. Very nice restaurants.

Everyone paid taxes and with property tax alone, there had to be money in the coffers for more than flowers, holiday decorations, decent roads (which might not be the town’s responsibility at all but the county’s or the even the state’s), recycling and street sweeping.

“It was cool what you did for those kid boxers.”

My thoughts about the town’s finances flew out the window as my eyes shot to my son.

His voice was strange.

Not sleepy.

Regretful.

When I caught his eyes, I saw that tone reflected in them and felt my heart squeeze.

Auden went on, “My friend Joe and his little brother are both in that league, though Joe’s in the young adult portion. But Joe’s family isn’t rolling in it. They can’t afford gloves and shorts and all the other stuff they need. Same as wrestling, I guess, it not being fun to put on sweaty headgear a hundred other guys have used before you, even if it is cleaned.”

I looked to my son feeling a great deal but saying nothing.

“Joe was freaking ecstatic you raised all that money. He’s into that. Boxing. Been in that league for five years. Says this year, because of that money, it’ll be the best one yet.”

“Well, now I’m happier I did it than I was before,” I replied.

“It was cool,” he repeated softly.

Instead of weeping, I gave him a gentle smile.

“Been a dick,” he whispered.

Our conversation had turned to a place I did not want my son to go.

My nose started stinging and I whispered back, “Auden. Don’t.”

“Thinking on it, you had your reasons,” he said.

“I did,” I agreed. “But I should have shielded you from it.”

“I guess,” he muttered unconvincingly.

I slid closer to him and stated, “We’re all moving on. That’s done. Behind us. Now is now. And now is good. So let’s stick in the now, honey.”

His head tipped to the side, his gaze evading mine, and it looked like he wanted to say something but he didn’t say it.

He said, “I can stick in the now.”

“Good,” I replied.

He caught my eyes. “Are you happy?”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m doing great, kiddo. Really, really good. And yes, happy.” I gave him that. It was no lie. But I had to get him out of the place he was in. “Now do you want waffles, or what?”

His lips quirked and he asked, “Where’s the iron?”

“Cupboard to the side of the sink,” I answered.

I got to work. My son got the waffle iron out for me. Then he grabbed some juice and sat on a stool.

“Be cool I come over and hang, watch some of my programs?” he asked and my heart leaped as he went on, “Martine’s got a bunch of crap taping, so Pip and I miss a lot of things.”

Selfish, DVR-hogging Martine.

But he’d just mentioned her without being tense about it so that was indication he trusted I was over it so he could.

Which meant everything.

“Sure,” I told him casually. “Just give me a heads up you’re coming over.”

“Cool,” he muttered.

I was pouring the first waffle on the iron when Pippa wandered out of her room in much the same outfit as my son’s except the top was a pale yellow camisole and the bottoms were a yellow, green and peach plaid.

“Morning, honey,” I called. “Want waffles?”

She stared dazedly at the iron as she made her way to the kitchen and hiked her behind on a stool.

Only then did she say, “Yeah.”