“Your mom was telling me that Branna O’Donnell was in the clinic. Sounds like a nasty knock to the head.”
“Yeah, stubborn woman. I had to force her to see Mom after I’d checked her over. It was pretty obvious she was concussed.”
“You remember her dad, son?”
Jake thought about that as he put a clamp on the fuel line. He could picture a man with Branna’s hair and pale skin, but not much else.
“He never taught me at school, but Buster had him, and said he was a hardass who didn’t put up with any crap,” Jake said. “I remember him telling Simon Duffell off for knocking Lilly Belcher off her feet and not stopping to help her back up. He had me shaking, and he didn’t even raise his voice.”
“He writes those crime novels under the name of D.J. O’Donnell.”
“Really? I love those books,” Jake said.
“Me too, have every one.”
“Hand me that screwdriver, Dad.”
“Your mother and I always believed there was something off with those two,” Patrick said, handing over the tool.
“Off how?” Jake stood to look at his father. He didn’t gossip or involve himself too much in the community of Howling, but people still talked to him and tried to draw him back in. But he was genuinely interested in hearing about Branna. She’d intrigued him in school, and after what they’d been through together yesterday, he had to say he was still intrigued.
“They weren’t close with each other, Jake, no hugging or kisses on the head,” Patrick said. “They were about as comfortable as strangers. I always felt sorry for that little girl. She looked lonely the few times I saw her.”
Jake thought back to when and if he’d seen Branna with her dad, but his memory couldn’t pick up anything, which was probably because, at the time, he was interested in Macy Reynolds’ breasts.
“She wasn’t one of the easiest classmates I ever had,” Jake said, getting under the hood again.
“Remember you moaning about her a time or two.”
“She didn’t smile much and was usually frowning or looking pissed off. She had a wardrobe filled with clothes that were from the seventies, and was about as approachable as a mountain lion,” Jake said.
“Did you ever wonder why, son?”
“I was sixteen, my main motivator was getting Macy to bend over so I could see down her blouse. Shallow as it makes me sound, Dad, I have to say that Branna O’Donnell’s moods didn’t worry me too much.”
“At least she had Georgie.”
“Yup, that woman was pretty much mom to every child who needed one in Howling,” Jake added.
His father agreed as Jake’s phone rang. Wiping the hands—which his mother said were his most precious gift to the world and why the hell wasn’t he using them for the greater good—on a rag, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his coveralls.
“Morning, Buster, you thought any more about my proposal?” A string of abuse followed his words, and then the smile fell from Jake’s lips as Buster came round to the reason for his call.
“What!” Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You told her how stupid she is, right?” he added. “Thanks, I’ll catch you later, Buster.”
“Problems?” Patrick McBride said.
“Buster found Branna O’Donnell walking down the main street as he was heading to work this morning, which I’d guess was close to 5:00 a.m.”
“Your mother is going to be furious.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t endear her to me none either, but she’s all grown up now. She can go to hell her own way. I’m not lifting a finger to help her again.”
“I’m sure she had her reasons, son. Your mother said she was terrified just being in the clinic.”
Jake had seen the fear in those green eyes as she’d clung to him. She’d been terrified, but that wasn’t his problem either; he had enough of his own. Looking at the screen as his phone rang again, he didn’t want to answer it, but knew he had to or she’d just keep calling.
“Morning, Mother.”
