Page 4 of Heart of the Sun

I moved behind a row of hedges closer to where they stood.

“Dad… I have something to tell you,” I heard her say.

“What is it, honey?”

“Your Thunderbird…”

“My Thunderbird?” His eyes widened and his head swiveled toward the old barn as though he might be able to see it from where he was standing. “What about it?”

“The…the windshield is broken. Shattered.” I heard the tears in her voice even though I was standing twenty-five feet away. I ducked slightly, moving behind a flowering bush.

“What?” He pulled her to the side of the patio, nearer to where I was listening in, and through the foliage, I saw the people who had been standing nearby turn back to their own conversations to give them some privacy. I gently moved the brush aside, watching as Mr. Swanson gripped the front of his hair in his hands, shaking his head. “How in the hell did that happen?” he yelled. Emily’s shoulders curled forward, and she hung her head.I could see most of her father’s face, and his expression went through several stages of anger.

“I was in the old stable,” she said. “I just wanted to see your car decorated. Sorry, Dad.”

His jaw clenched and he spoke through barely moving lips when he said, “Sorry?Sorry?You asked if you could walk out to the Mattices’ old stable, didn’t you?”

Her head hung lower. “Yes, Dad.”

“And what did I tell you?”

“You said no.”

“That’s right. I told you explicitly that you weren’t allowed in there. Sorry isn’t good enough, Emily Nicole. In fact, this is the final straw in a string of poor choices and unacceptable grades. You will stay home this weekend and you will—”

“I broke your windshield, sir,” I said, stepping out of the brush and coming to stand next to Emily, who pulled in a surprised breath as she lifted her head and turned toward me. “It was an accident, but…it was me who did it.”

From my peripheral vision I saw Emily’s mouth fall open.

“Tuck? You broke my windshield?” Mr. Swanson asked. “How? How in the hell did that happen?”

I stuck my hands in my pockets. “I hang out in there sometimes. In the old barn. I dropped a hand weight from the loft. It landed on your windshield. I’m sorry. Emily was only there because I asked her to come see it. She thought you’d take it better if she broke the news to you. But it was me who did it.”

“What’s this?” my father asked, coming up next to me.

“I broke Mr. Swanson’s Thunderbird windshield,” I muttered. “It was just an accident.”

“An accident?” my father exclaimed. “How does an accident like that happen? What were you doing in the old stable anyway? Jesus H. Christ, Tuck—”

“Rand,” my mother said, approaching my father and putting a hand on his arm,obviously having heard what was going on. “Let’s all calm down. We can figure this out.”

He shook her hand off. “This is unacceptable. What’s wrong with you, Tuck?”

My face burned, and for a moment I almost took back my false confession, the one I hadn’t really planned on or thought through, the one that had seemed to break from my lips of its own accord. “I’ll pay for it,” I murmured, daring a glance at Mr. Swanson, who was massaging his temples.

“You damn sure will,” my father gritted. “But that windshield will need to be fixed in the next few days if Phil is going to drive it in the parade.” He looked at Mr. Swanson. “Arnold at the repair shop will fit you in,” he told Mr. Swanson. “I’ll pay for it, and Tuck here will pay me back. I’m sorry about my foolhardy son, Phil. This never should have happened.”

I’m sorry about my foolhardy son.My dad’s temper could flare at a moment’s notice, and he’d said hurtful things to me before, but that one really hurt. Even if it was based on a lie I’d told about myself. My mother put her hand on my father’s arm again, and this time he didn’t shrug her off. In fact, he put his hand over hers, giving her a small nod. My mother had a special knack for calming my father down when his anger began ramping up. She knew how to do it with a look, or a touch, or a word or two. “There we go, then. A perfect solution,” she said. “Tuck, please apologize to Mr. Swanson for the carelessness that resulted in damage to his car.”

I put my hands in my pockets but met Mr. Swanson’s eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He gave me a nod, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I accept your apology.”

My father looked at me, jerking his head to the left. “You can get started paying me back tonight, mucking out the horse stalls. And don’t let me catch you near the old stables again.There are sharp, rusted tools in there. It’s dangerous and I don’t want you fooling around.”

“It sounds like it was just an accident, Rand—”

“Even so,” my father said to Mr. Swanson. “Tuck needs to take responsibility for his actions. I’d offer to take the Thunderbird to Arnold myself tomorrow, but it sounds like it might be safest to have it towed.”

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