Page 62 of Releasing 10
“Agreed,” she croaked out, hooking her pinky finger around his. “Let’s just have cat babies instead.”
“What’s this about bull guns, young man?” a familiar voice asked, causing Gibsie to leap out of his chair.
“Dad!” Bolting across the kitchen, he threw himself at his father. “You’re here!”
“Yeah, well, Pete mentioned something about taking his gang swimming,” Joe replied, wrapping Gibsie up in his arms.
Gibsie may have had the same blond hair as his mam, but that’s where the resemblance stopped. He was every inch Joe Gibson’s son in both looks and personality.
“I figured we could tag along with them.” Joe kissed Gibsie’s head and set him back down on his feet. “What do you say, son?” He ruffled his son’s curls. “How do you fancy getting up-to-speed on that doggy paddle of yours?”
“What about the bakery?”
“Closing shop for one day won’t hurt,” his father replied with a smile. “Besides, I’d rather hang out with my main man.”
Nodding his head, Gibsie beamed for a solid ten seconds before bursting into tears. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” he tried to tell his father, through floods of tears. “I’m happy, Dad, I promise.”
“It’s okay, buddy,” Joe soothed, tucking Gibsie’s face into his chest. “You’re allowed to cry. You’ve had a hard year.”
“Yeah.” Sniffling, Gibs wrapped his arms around his father’s waist and clung to him. “Thanks, Dad.”
“That’s Gibsie’s dad,” I whispered in Lizzie’s ear. “His mam kicked him out a while back.”
“Oh.” She looked at me with lonesome blue eyes. “That’s so sad.”
“I know,” I whispered back. “Gibs misses him a lot.”
Dad strolled into the kitchen then, phone in hand. “Patrick, son, your sister is outside in the car waiting for you,” he told my friend before turning to look at me. “I’ve just had an interesting conversation with Donal Murphy down the street.”
Aw, crap.
Feely, who was halfway out of his chair, froze on the spot before slowly sitting back down.
“Oh, really?” I replied, not daring to look at any of the others. If I did, Dad would know. “What did he want?”
“He’s been ringing around all the neighbors,” Dad explained, scratching his chin. “Apparently, some kids egged his house last night, and some wild, young one even took a chunk out of his arm.”
Lizzie’s breath hitched and I quickly snatched her hand up under the table. I couldn’t look at her, because I would be busted if I did, so I just smoothed my thumb over the back of her hand reassuringly.
“No way,” Gibsie thankfully chimed in, feigning surprise. He was a far better liar than I was. “Where did it happen?” he asked, rejoining us at the kitchen table.
“His front porch,” Dad told us. “There were others with her, but they all wore masks, so he can’t be sure who the culprits are.”
I mentally sagged in relief.
“Is that Old Murphy?” Joe asked then, looking at Dad. “The cranky, old bastard down the street, with a penchant for terrorizing the neighborhood?”
“That’s the one,” Dad replied, trying not to smile. “I assured him that it couldn’t have been any of our gang because they were all tucked up in bed.” He looked to us. “Isn’t that right,gang?”
We all nodded eagerly. “That’s right.”
“Well, I hope that ‘wild, young one’ took a fine big chunk out of him,” Joe drawled, winking at us. “Might lighten the old crank up a bit.”
BACK TO ROBIN HILL ROAD
Lizzie
NOVEMBER 1, 1994
