Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1) by Babette Jongh (inspiring books for teens txt) 📗

their job will have to interview for it, just like everybody else.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say. I felt somehow responsible. Ridiculous, but feeling responsible for the entire universe is something good southern belles, even modern ones, are raised to do. “I’ll talk to Ian about it.”

“Uncle Wilson already tried to call Mr. Ian. He hasn’t called back.”

I knotted the ribbon on my pointe shoe and tucked it in. “I’ll call Ian. We’ll see what this is all about.”

As soon as I got home, I called Ian’s cell. When he answered, I jumped in with both feet. “What on earth is your lady-friend up to?”

“Lady-friend?”

If he really didn’t know who I was talking about, I was going to inform him before he got any older. “Your colleague.” I made it sound like a dirty word. “The woman you sold the newspaper to.”

Silence.

“Ian?”

“I’m here.”

“Did you know you were selling out all the people who worked for the newspaper? Did you even care? Where is Grace Lambert going to get another job, as old as she is? She needs that job. And what about Wilson? Have you returned his calls yet?”

“Whoa, lass. Wait a minute. What calls?”

“Claire said Wilson tried to call you, several times.”

“As far as I know, Wilson hasn’t called me, unless he called the house in Angel Falls. I haven’t checked those messages in a while.”

“Well, you need to get in touch with him, because all hell is breaking loose here since you sold the newspaper to that bitch from hell. I thought you said you knew her. Is this what your friends are like?”

Ian sighed, a sound of frustration. “Sweetheart, I never said Bianca was a friend. She and her husband are colleagues, nothing more. We used to work for the same newspaper a hundred years ago.”

I snorted at that one.

“They were willing to pay my asking price for the Informer. That’s all I know.”

“Did you know their modus operandi was to send goons down to fire everybody and then make them interview for their own jobs?”

“No, I didn’t.” Ian sighed. “All I knew was that they were willing to pay the price I set.”

“I can’t believe you would be so cold.” My own voice was dripping icicles.

“Casey, I will look into this and see what I can do. I really don’t have any power to change things, but I’ll talk to Bianca, I promise.”

“Okay. And call Wilson.”

“I will.”

For a heartbeat neither of us said anything. “I’m sorry I jumped on you,” I said.

“I’m sorry about the newspaper. I didn’t know they would fire anyone.”

“Thanks for checking into it. You will do that tomorrow, right?”

“I said I would, and I will. First thing.”

“I miss you,” I whined. “Everything seems to take forever when you’re not here. I used to think there weren’t enough hours in each day, and now they drag on forever.”

Ian sighed. “I know exactly what you mean. I miss you, too.”

“When are you coming back home?” I realized my wording was a little off—this wasn’t his home—but I didn’t correct myself and he let it slide.

“Not for another week, sorry. It’s no wonder this paper was going under—they kept horrible records, if they kept them at all. I’d invite you to come here, but I have to go through boxes and stacks and plastic grocery bags, God-help-me, before I can even meet with the bookkeeper. You’d be bored to tears. I’ll be back weekend after next, for sure.”

Already we were skipping two weekends at a time. “I guess I’ll take what I can get.” This relationship would be breathing its last before Christmas, and there was nothing I could do to revive it. “I’d better let you go. I’m tired.”

“I promise my work load will ease up in a few weeks.”

Just a minute ago, it was a couple of weeks. “Yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t be upset. I’ll be standing on your porch before you know it. Christmas holiday, for sure, if not before.”

“Okay, fine.” No way was I going to get drawn into a big phone conversation about this. I wanted to be face-to-face when we decided this wouldn’t work out. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Defeated, I hung up.

*

The weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas vacation limped along. The last day of the semester, Ben asked me to pick the kids up after school and take them to my house. He needed all his concentration to direct the movers in packing up the old house and moving to the new one.

Ray and Jake were good buddies now, so we’d hardly seen them since everybody piled out of my car at three-fifteen. Maryann had been more of a challenge, but I convinced her to take Lizzie for a walk. Amy curled up on the couch in Angela’s living room, watching a Rugrats marathon on television. Angela and I felt there was hope for a quiet cup of tea, so she put a kettle on.

“Mom,” Ray yelled, banging through Angela’s back door. “Me and Jake are going down to the canal.”

“You mean, Jake and I,” Angela yelled back. “Come in here when you’re talking to me. You know I hate it when you yell to me from another room.”

Ray stomped into the kitchen, trailing mud and dragging a youth-sized rifle behind him.

“Don’t you bring that thing in my kitchen,” Angela screeched. “You take it straight back to your daddy’s gun cabinet. You are not to use that rifle unless your daddy is with you. You hear? And carry it carefully.” Angela looked at the rifle as if it could rear up and bite one of us. “It isn’t loaded, is it?”

“No’m.” Ray dragged the rifle into the living room where Carl’s gun cabinet stood next to the TV. Jake slumped past, sending me a quiet teenage-boy grin.

“Hey, boy.” I snagged Jake by his jacket sleeve. “Come over here. I don’t care how old you get, you don’t walk past your Aunt Casey without getting a hug.”

Jake obliged, leaning over to hug me from behind. “What’s up?”

“You and Ray better leave