Leaving Home by Chase, A. (life books to read .txt) 📗

“Uncle Roscoe? Why are you calling me?”

So many questions he wanted to ask, but he bit his lip to keep them from spilling out of

his mouth.

“I wanted to talk to you about your mother. She is the only one who cared what

happened to me.”

Christ! Tears welled in Peter’s eyes. Even after not having talked to his mother in five years, it still hurt to remember the day she’d turned her back on him and forced him to break with his family.

“I’m kind of busy right now, and not in the mood to discuss my mother or anyone else

in my family.” Peter tensed. God, he truly didn’t want to talk to the man right now, answers be damned.

Uncle Roscoe sighed. “I know, son, and I can’t blame you, but we need to talk soon. I

understand they turned you out as well. Definitely not for the same reason as they kicked my ass to the kerb, yet we can relate on certain levels.”

He wasn’t sure about that, yet maybe Roscoe was right, and they should talk. Peter took

a deep breath.

“Fine. Give me a number I can get a hold of you at, and when I get a moment, I’ll call

you. We can set up a time to meet.” He paused for a second, then continued, “That’s the best I can do right now, Uncle Roscoe.”

“I’ll take it, Peter. I realise you don’t know me, and I appreciate you giving me this

chance.”

Peter shook his head, but said, “You’re welcome, I guess. I have to go.”

Roscoe gave him his phone number. “Please call me. I really do need to talk to you.”

“I will. I promise.”

They said their goodbyes, then Peter hung up. He left the office to wander down the

hallway towards the kitchen. He was pretty sure Margie would be there, working on bread,

or something for lunch or dinner.

She was humming softly when he walked into the room. Looking up, Margie smiled at

him as he approached her.

“Are you taking Chaz to Cheyenne?”

He nodded, sitting at the table. She studied him, her gaze seeming to dig beneath the

surface.

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“What’s wrong, honey? Does it have to do with that last phone call?” she asked,

moving to the refrigerator. She pulled a pitcher of lemonade out, then poured some of it into a glass she’d taken from the cupboard.

“Yes. Apparently, my disgraced Uncle Roscoe has come back from wherever he was

sent to. He wants to meet with me, so we can talk about my mother.”

Margie set it on the table in front of him. He watched as she sat before crossing her

arms. “I’ve heard some talk in town about your mother. Is what I’m hearing true?”

Peter shrugged. “I guess it could be, if the gossip is about her being sick. I don’t know much more about it because they wouldn’t let me see her at the hospital. That was where I went yesterday.”

“I’m so sorry.” She reached over to pat his hand. “It’s terrible that they wouldn’t let you see her.”

“Well, she didn’t say anything to them about me being her son either,” he pointed out.

She nodded, but stayed quiet. He frowned at the lemonade, trying to work out his

emotions. Getting upset wouldn’t help him, or anyone else. He needed to keep control over his feelings.

“Anyway, Uncle Roscoe just called. He wants to meet to talk about my mom since she’s

the only person who ever cared about him, or so he says.” Peter took a sip, wetting his dry mouth, then continuing, “I told him I’d call him to set up a meeting, but I’m reluctant to talk to him. What if he did something really bad to warrant getting shunned by the family? He’s not gay, and I have no idea why my grandfather kicked him out.”

“All I can suggest is not to worry about it until you talk to him. Roscoe might be able to help you, or he won’t. Either way, at least you’ll have a little closure about that, and maybe he can shine some light onto why your family is the way it is.”

“My grandfather is a bastard. That’s why we’re the way we are,” Peter informed her.

“I can’t argue with you on that.”

Of course she wouldn’t. Margie had had the unfortunate opportunity of meeting Peter’s

grandfather more than a few times in town. She understood exactly what Peter was talking

about.

“Hey, I’ve been waiting for you at the truck. Are we going?” Chaz stalked in,

annoyance in every line of his body.

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“Sorry. A phone call caught me, then I needed to talk to Margie. You don’t need me to

get anything for you in Cheyenne?”

“No, Peter. I’m fine. Take Chaz to his vehicle.” Margie stood and smiled at Chaz. “It

was nice to meet you. I hope to see you again soon.”

“I’m taking Peter’s offer under consideration.” Chaz shook Margie’s hand.

Peter hustled them out of there. Returning to the hospital was going to be difficult, but he needed to try one more time. Saying goodbye to Chaz might be harder than he thought,

yet he wasn’t going to beg the man to stay. He might as well get them both over quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

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Chapter Four

Chaz glanced around his hotel room. It looked like someone had broken in and trashed

the place, but he knew he’d done the damage. Apparently he’d lost something and had been

trying to find it. More than likely, it’d been his mind he’d lost, and he didn’t know if he was ever going to find that again.

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the TV across from it. Should he take Peter

up on his offer to stay at the ranch with him? It would make it easier to hide away from any rodeo people who might in town for Frontier Days. He could stay there and wean himself off the painkillers before Tulsa.

His cell rang before he could make a decision. Chaz