Page 32 of Wishes on Wildflowers
Jason glanced over at their father, a sneer on his lips. “I won’t end up like him.”
“The only way to be sure is to make different lifestyle choices. Drinking at your age isn’t the way to start if you’re looking for a different path.” He should know.
The boy shrugged and turned back to his phone just as Makenna entered the room with two cups of coffee. She passed one to Nathan without asking how he’d like it. Goodthing he took it black. But as he raised it to his lips, he wondered if he’d ever drank it quite this black before. The tar nearly gagged him.
Jason skewered his step-mother with a look. “Said I wanted a beer.”
Makenna glanced at Nathan then at the teen. “You know you shouldn’t drink the stuff.”
Well, things were looking up just a little. Not that she seemed to be nourishing Jason as her own child, but at least she wasn’t bringing him booze. What made this woman tick, anyway? Why would she stick with Pops when Nathan doubted the old man looked this bad when they first met? None of his business. He managed a few sips of the coffee. “How long has he been like this?”
Makenna sucked in her lower lip. “He’s been getting steadily worse for a while now. Cirrhosis, they say. Not much they can do about it short of a liver transplant.”
That stank big time. “Jason?” Nathan leaned close enough to get in his brother’s face. “Why don’t you look that up on the internet? Find out all about the causes and cures.” He knew the causes all right, and his gut sank as he realized no doctor would recommend a transplant to someone who kept on drinking. Pops was going to die, probably well before Jason turned eighteen.
Nathan’s heart went out to the kid. His own mother, of all the wives, had left her son behind with Maurice when she left over twenty years ago. Nathan had gone back and forth between them for a while then stuck to living with his father. By then he had two little brothers, but that hadn’t lasted long before Rhonda had taken the boys and moved out. Then Marsha, Jason’s mother. She’d taken her son with her as well, but then she’d up and died and he’d been sent back to livewith Pops. Poor kid. No wonder he was so mixed up.
“Hey, bud. What kind of sports do you like? Do you play any three-on-three? A bunch of us guys have been getting together at the basketball courts under the bridge a few evenings a week. Want me to pick you up next time we’re playing?”
Jason looked up and studied Nathan. “Why do you care? I’m nothing to you.”
Nathan’s heart squeezed. If only there’d been someone giving him a helping hand when he was a troubled fourteen-year-old. He shrugged. “I’m your brother. And I’d like to get to know you.”
“What doyou think you’re doing?” Nonna stood on the back patio of her villa-style house.
Jasmine looked up from where she’d been digging in a garden bed. She splayed her hands. “Isn’t it obvious? Working in your garden.”
Nonna frowned as her hands waved. “Why didn’t you call and tell me? Also, why did you bring Pietro and Basil? I told you they may not have my yard.”
Peter glanced over with a grin. “That hurts, Nonna. We need Jasmine to help at the Essery house later, and the only way that could happen was if we all helped her here first.” Peter waggled his eyebrows. “And here I was hoping you’d bake us some cookies or something. Thought you’d be glad to have us help.”
Jasmine held her breath. Peter was stretching it a bit, but taking the initiative always seemed best with Nonna.
She shook her finger at them. “You don’t even know what I want planted where.”
“You rotate the crops every year, Nonna.” Jasmine laughed. “I remember, and I found your seeds in the garden shed. Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”
Nonna scowled. “Remember this is for the Santoro family, and not for selling across the city.”
Jasmine kept from glancing at Basil or Peter.
“You’ve made your opinion quite clear, Nonna.” Not that that would necessarily stop her and the guys from making a few adjustments if circumstances warranted them.
Nonna glared at each of them in turn with her hands on her hips. “Very well. You want cookies?”
Peter rubbed his belly. “Always, Nonna. Yours are the best.”
“Then why do I often see you coming out of Bridgeview Bakery and Bistro carrying a box?” Nonna thumbed down the hill.
Right. Her grandmother’s living room window had a decent view of the street running alongside the bakery.
Peter chuckled. “Because you never told me I could come twice a week for a dozen cookies and pay you for them. Yours are better than Hailey’s, don’t worry. But hers do fill in the holes when a guy is hungry.”
From behind her, Jasmine heard Basil mutter. “Hailey’s good at everything.”
Jasmine froze, not turning around. What did her brother mean by that? Probably nothing. Hailey had her fingers into everything in Bridgeview, and that would surely drive Basil crazy. Not that it took very much. His tolerance was amazingly low.
“Very well, then.” Nonna turned and stomped into herkitchen, closing the door firmly behind her.
