Promises to Keep Nan Rossiter (books for 7th graders .txt) đ
- Author: Nan Rossiter
Book online «Promises to Keep Nan Rossiter (books for 7th graders .txt) đ». Author Nan Rossiter
He brushed the perspiration from his cheek and wished it was over. If it wasnât for his momâs tenacious determination to see him walk across the stage, he wouldâve happily spent the day working; even spreading mulch would be better than watching her struggle. Heâd tried to tell her it wasnât a big dealâhe could arrange to have his diploma mailed or presented to him in her hospital room, and heâd even wear his cap and gownâbut she wouldnât hear of it. My son is class salutatorian, sheâd said, and although he knew how much she wanted to be there . . . and be a normal, happy, proud, cheering mom, he also knew how much watching her expend every ounce of energy she had to be there was going to shatter him.
âHey, Mase,â a voice called.
He turned and saw Ali walking toward him. âHey,â he replied, mustering a half smile.
âWhereâs your yearbook?â she asked, eyeing his empty hands.
âIn my locker.â
âHow are people going to sign it there?â
âThey donât need to sign it.â
âUmm, yes, they do . . . I do.â
âYou can sign it anytime. It doesnât have to be here.â
She sighed and looked around the gym. âWhen are they gonna get this show on the road?â
âI donât know, but if it isnât soon, Iâm leaving.â
âYou canât walk if you miss rehearsal.â
âFine with me,â he said, knowing the rules for walking across stage included attending rehearsal. âIâd rather be working.â
âAre you goinâ to the party at the lake after graduation?â
âI guess so,â he said. âI was gonna skip it, but I made the mistake of telling my mom about it.â
Ali grinned. âI love the way your mom is still in charge.â
Mason smiled. âShe will always be in charge.â
Just then the high school band began to play the traditional entrance music and Ali raised her eyebrows. âI guess I better get back to my spot. Meet me after?â
He nodded and watched her go, and as he did, he thought about her comment. Being in charge was definitely in his momâs DNA, and it paired well with her indomitable can-do spirit. Laurie Callahan had grown up in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Slender and petite and every bit a tomboy with short brown hair and kind hazel eyes, Laurie was the only child of Winton, an air force pilot, and Lena, a schoolteacher who filled their home with books. When Laurie hadnât been readingâone of the much-loved pastimes sheâd passed on to her sonâshe and her mom had baked piesâhalf of which they gave away. Sheâd also spent most Sunday afternoons hiking with her dad in the sun-dappled Chattahoochee Forest or fishing in the crystal-clear Ellijay or Coosawattee Rivers. She was a nature lover and a book lover and, living in the âApple Capital of Georgia,â she could also bake a mean apple pie. When it came time for college, Laurie had applied to one schoolânearby Chattahoochee Technical Collegeâto which she could commute from home, and from where she earned her degree in nursing. She had been a devoted daughter who put her life on hold when her parents could no longer care for themselves, and she was by their sides when, in their nineties, they passed away within days of each other. Soon after, however, sheâd been back working in the maternity ward at the hospitalâa job she loved so much sheâd often gone in on her day off to âcuddleâ the preemies in the NICU.
Mason closed his eyes, remembering her enthusiasm for the program. She would pick him up at school after volunteeringâsomething she did in addition to working at the hospitalâand tell him all about it. âThe baby was so little, Mase, you wouldnât believe it, but he was perfect in every wayâjust like you. His whole little hand barely wrapped around the tip of my finger.â
Six years old at the time, Mason had listened in wonder, trying to imagine a babyâs ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. âDid you sing that song to him that you always sing to me?â
ââSomeone to Watch over Meâ?â sheâd asked, and heâd nodded.
âI did,â sheâd said, laughing and tousling his hair.
âIâm going to be a cuddler someday,â heâd announced proudly, looking out the window. Then heâd looked back at her. âHow old do I have to be?â
âYou have to be eighteen, and you should definitely do it because itâs so amazing. You would make a wonderful cuddler!â
âOkay,â heâd said, beaming. âIâm gonna do it, Mom . . . just like you!â
Suddenly, Mason felt a nudge. âMase, you going?â Joe Cameron asked, and Mason opened his eyes and realized his line had begun moving. He nodded and took a step forward, still lost in the memory of the conversation heâd had with his mom when he was little, amazed that heâd forgotten it, but even more amazed that heâd remembered it today, the day before he turned eighteen.
13
MAEVE SWEPT UP THE DIRT THAT HAD SPILLED WHEN SHE WAS PUTTING her plants into the last box. Sheâd already cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, and Gage had just left with the last load in his pickup. She couldnât believe how much stuff she had accumulated while living in the apartment! So much, in fact, theyâd had to rent a storage unit. It seemed like they had two of everythingâtwo beds, two couches, two kitchen tables, and twoâor three!âof everything else. From TVs and toasters to pots and pans and coffee makers, they took the best of each and put the secondâor thirdâitem in storage.
Now the apartment sheâd lived inâand loved living inâfor the last ten years was empty. She looked around at the bare walls and hardwood floors and remembered how excited sheâd been when she first moved in. Finding such a lovely apartment in the
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