Anonymous Encounters(39)

"What did they say?" I asked anxiously. "Did they tell you what the  hours are like, whether you'll have a gun, all that kind of stuff?"

That'd made Bryan laugh.

"Of course we'd have guns, honey. Even SFPD doesn't expect you to go out  there unarmed, like a volunteer neighborhood watch or something. In  fact," he said, leaning forward, "Small arms weapons combat is probably  going to be my favorite module."

And I smiled tremulously. Again, I was happy for the boys because they  were going to make an honest living doing something they clearly had the  aptitude for. I just didn't want them getting hurt.

"Okay," I said softly. "Just so long as you're sure."

"Honey, we're more than sure about entering the Academy," said Blake confidently. "We're perfect fits, in fact."

"Oh, have the test results come back already?" I asked curiously. I knew  the twins had sat for psychological assessments recently but hadn't  expected the results to come back so fast. Typically government  bureaucracy took months, if not years.

But it seemed that last week's results were already available.

"Yep, scored 95 and 99 percent," said Blake, nodding at his brother with  a grin. "Like I said, we're perfect fits for our dream job."

And my heart dropped a little. I knew they were good, I didn't know they were great. But Blake changed the subject abruptly.

"Honey, about that Adams boy, did you know him well? I think you'd  mentioned that his parents sponsored your seat right?" He was referring  to the fact that I was a charity student at Canterdale, my tuition  subsidized by a generous donation from an anonymous donor.

"Well, I'm not totally sure the Adams endowed my scholarship," I said  slowly. "The district never says for sure, but I thought they did  because Mr. and Mrs. Adams have always made an effort to be nice to me  throughout the years," I said. "Ever since third grade, when I started  in this zone," I clarified.

"Did you pay them a visit after their son died?" Blake asked.

I hung my head with shame. After Brian passed unexpectedly from a  seizure during football practice, his parents had secluded themselves  and I hadn't made an effort to reach out, to see if there was anything I  could do. I felt guilty. The Adams had always been nice to me in the  past, a kindly older couple who'd made sure to ask about my schoolwork,  my grades, how I was doing in general. One year, I remember it was  especially cold and they'd presented me with a winter jacket for  Christmas.

"But it's not even December yet!" I'd gasped when I'd opened the gift.  I'd never had something so nice, the downy purple material soft and  warm.

"Oh honey," said Jane Adams gently, "we thought you looked a little cold  when we bumped into you on campus last week, you didn't have a jacket  on, not even a sweater," she reprimanded gently.

I remembered that day. I'd been coming out of science class and  unexpectedly run into John and Jane Adams, shivering a bit as I made  conversation outside the classroom. But I hadn't expected something as  generous as a puffy winter jacket, new and unused. Their thoughtfulness  was overwhelming and really touched me.

"Thank you," I'd murmured, gratefully slipping into the coat. My family  wasn't poor, but Mom had been distracted with Jenna's issues and hadn't  had time to go shopping with me, much less buy groceries or cook. So I'd  been getting by on my own, wearing threadbare clothes from last year.         

     



 

Jane Adams just chuckled in reply. "You let us know if you need  anything, okay?" she asked gently. "We're always here, and I know you're  good friends with Brian."

I was friends with their son. Friends since third grade, in fact, but we  weren't close anymore. It was just a part of growing up. Brian was into  football, sports, hanging out with the cool kids, while I wasn't  exactly cool  …  more of a wallflower, unnoticed, the shy girl.

But Brian was still nice to me, acknowledging me in the hallways,  occasionally carrying my bag if it was really heavy. We just hadn't had  any meaningful conversation in years now, our separate interests leading  us down different paths.

So I was ashamed. Brian had died about two months ago under horrific  circumstances and I hadn't had the basic decency to pay my respects to  his parents.

"Um, no," I said shamefacedly, not looking up at Blake and Bryan. "I  should have, I know. I should have at least sent the Adams a card or  something at least," I mumbled, still not looking up.

I felt a big hand stroke my shoulder.

"Baby, don't worry about it," growled Bryan. "Grief does strange things  to people and it takes time to get your bearings. Maybe the Adams didn't  even want you to come around, they weren't taking visitors."

That made me feel marginally better, but only marginally.

"No, I think I should visit them," I said, straightening on the couch.  "It's time. I shouldn't wait anymore, and if they're not ready, it's  okay, I can come back some other time," I said resolutely. I'd get them  some flowers maybe, and a card, to express my condolences. I could  always leave those on the doorstep if they didn't answer the bell.

"Good idea, honey," said Blake. "We'll go with you for the visit. It  won't be easy," he said softly, rubbing my thigh reassuringly, "but  we've got your back."

And I was grateful. Grateful that I had these men, that they were my  everything now. Because even for the most difficult of tasks, they were  my back-ups  …  just like true family.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


Bryan




Callie looked around nervously as we stood on the doorstep. She was  dwarfed by a huge bouquet in her arms, the long fronds and lavish  flowers protruding this way and that, causing her to bend awkwardly as  she rang the bell.

Out pealed a melodious chime and the three of us were silent, seeing if  we could hear any movement inside, our ears alert and aware. The Adams  had just lost their only son, and it was totally possible that they  wouldn't be answering their door, instead letting visitors come and go  without acknowledgment.

So we stood in silence, waiting quietly but also in awe of the gorgeous  surroundings. The white colonial was a mansion, the gleaming clapboard  surrounded by a manicured garden. And there had to be someone inside  because the Jag in the driveway had just been driven, judging from the  slight drip of motor oil staining the drive way.

But it's okay. Sometimes people don't want visitors and we'd give the  Adams a pass given the tragedy they'd experienced. The three of us were  turning to go when suddenly the door cracked open slightly, a pair of  faded blue eyes peering out at us.

"Oh Callie," said an old lady. "It's you. Thank you for coming," she  said as she opened the door wider. And I could see this was a woman in  the throes of grief. Her clothes were rumpled and stained, her grey hair  matted, looking like it hadn't been combed in months.

"Mrs. Adams," said Callie sorrowfully. "I'm so sorry about Brian. Here,  I- I- wanted to bring you these," she said awkwardly, thrusting the  bouquet towards the older woman. "We don't have to come in or anything, I  just wanted you to know that we're thinking of you. Me and Bryan and  Blake," she clarified, gesturing to my brother and I. "Bryan and Blake  are new students at Canterdale."

Mrs. Adams' eyes filled up with tears again.

"Canterdale High," she said faintly. "I can barely even think about  Canterdale now that my poor Brian's gone. You know how much he loved  that school, he was so into school spirit and the sports teams," she  said softly.         

     



 

"Of course I remember," said Callie. "Brian was the star of the football team."

Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. From our investigation, we knew  that the Adams kid had been a decent second-string player, not a  stand-out. But why shame the dead? Only speak good of those who can no  longer speak for themselves.

Callie continued. "Is there anything we can help with? You and Mr. Adams  have always done so much for me, it's the least I can do."

Mrs. Adams breathed in deeply and closed her eyes for a moment.

"We've always had a commitment to the school and that's not going to end  because of our son's death," she said, resolutely lifting her chin.  "Come in Callie, please sit and have some tea."

Our girl's cheeks flushed. "Thank you Mrs. Adams, I'd love to," she  said, and we stepped over the threshold into the imposing mansion.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Blake




Callie doesn't know it, but my brother and I have our suspicions about  Jane and John Adams. On the surface, they're a perfect family. Generous  donors to Canterdale, even sponsoring a scholarship for needy students,  with a perfect, athletic son who was Harvard-bound.

But often it's those who appear immaculate on the outside who have  secrets to hide. And we'd been tipped off by an unexpected source  …   Valerie, Chrissy's sister.