"Hell—heck." He corrected himself quickly. "Bullies are just wimps underneath, right?"
"Right. Con's not the only one's who's smart." She let out a sigh. "Bryan, I need to talk to you. Do you remember the other day, when you came home and Mr. MacKade was here?"
"Sure."
"He's a lawyer, and he came here on business."
"Are we in trouble?"
"No." She turned him so that they were face-to-face. "We're not in trouble. We're fine. He came about... My father died, Bryan."
"Oh." He felt nothing but mild surprise himself. He'd never met his grandfather, knew of him only because his mother had explained that Jim Morningstar was a rodeo rider who moved around a lot. "I guess he was pretty old."
"Yeah." Fifty? she wondered. Sixty? She didn't have a clue. "I never really explained things to you, exactly. Your grandfather and I had a fight a long time ago, and I left home."
How could she tell this child, her beautiful child, that he'd been the cause of it? No, that she wouldn't do. That she would never do.
"Anyway, I left, and we sort of lost touch."
"How did Mr. MacKade know he was dead? Did he know him?"
"No, it's a lawyer thing. Your grandfather got hurt, and it started him thinking, I guess. He hired this lawyer out in Oklahoma to find us, and the lawyer called Mr. MacKade. It all took awhile, then Mr. MacKade came out to tell me. And to let me know that your grandfather left some money."
"Wow, really?"
"It's about seven thousand—"
"Dollars?" Bryan finished for her, eyes popping. It was all the money in the world. Enough for a new bike, a new mitt, the Cal Ripkin rookie baseball card he lusted for. "We get to keep it? Just like that?"
"I have to sign some papers."
The dollar signs faded from his eyes long enough for Bryan to read his mother's face. "How come you don't want it?"
"I... Oh, Bryan." Defeated, she curled up her legs and rested her brow on them. "I don't know how to explain it to you. I've been so mad at him all these years. Now I'm mad at him for waiting until he was dead."
Bryan patted her head and thought it over. "Is it like him saying he's sorry? And if you take it you'd be saying you were sorry, too?"
She let out a half laugh at the simplicity of it. "Why couldn't I have thought of that?" Wearily she lifted her head, studied his face. "You think we should take it."
"I guess we don't need to." He watched Cal Ripkin fly gracefully away. "I mean, you've got your job, and we've got a house now."
"No," she murmured. "We don't need to." She felt the weight slip from her shoulders. They didn't need to, and that was exactly why they could. "I'll go see Mr. MacKade on Monday and tell him to put the money through."
"Cool." Bryan leaped to his feet. "I'm going to call Con and tell him we're rich."
"No."
He skidded to a halt. "But, Mom..."
"No. Bragging about money is very uncool. And I might as well break it to you now, Ace. It doesn't make us rich, and I'm dumping it into a college fund."
His mouth dropped open, nearly scraping his shoes. "College? That's a hundred years away. Maybe I won't even go."
"That'll be up to you, but the money'll be there."
"Oh, man." At nine, Bryan was experiencing the pain of a fortune won and lost. "All of it?"
"All—" his shattered face changed her mind in midstep "— except some." You can have one thing. It'll be like a present from your grandfather."