“Did Anson take your father’s advice and go to the police?”

Allison raised her chin slightly, as though proud of her juvenile delinquent boyfriend. “It was really hard, but he was willing to own up to what he’d done. Dad called his attorney friend and then he drove Anson to the sheriff’s department.”

“Barry Creech?” Cecilia asked. She knew the attorney was a client of Mr. Cox’s and that seemed a logical guess.

“Yes.” Allison twisted the tissue in her fingers. “Dad said Mr. Creech specializes in juvenile offenses and he’d know how to handle this.”

Cecilia had assumed Anson was already eighteen, but when she mentioned that, Allison shook her head. “Anson turns eighteen next month, and we were afraid the court would want to try him as an adult because he’s close to legal age.” Sighing heavily, she gave Cecilia a weak smile. “I know you don’t like Anson.”

“It isn’t that I don’t like him…”

“My mom doesn’t, either—but Cecilia, you’re both wrong about him! Anson is a good person. He hasn’t had an easy life, you know. His mother’s awful…I don’t even want to get into it about his mother. She’s evil.”

Cecilia didn’t want to get into it, either. Abe Lincoln had a hard life, too, but he didn’t go around committing crimes. “Does Anson have a police record?”

“No,” Allison said irritably, which suggested this was a question she’d answered more than once. “He’s never done anything like this before.”

In other words, he’d never gotten caught. “What did Mr. Creech advise him to do?”

“He said the same thing Dad did, that Anson should turn himself in to the authorities. He met Anson and talked to his mother, and she said he’s on his own.” Allison’s pretty face tightened in a scowl. “Dad met Anson’s mom, too, and after that he said he’d go to court with Anson. The judge has to accept the plea agreement Mr. Creech worked out with the prosecutor. He has to.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “His own mother won’t even be in court with him.”

“Okay,” Cecilia said in a soothing voice, “so Mr. Creech was able to get a plea agreement with the prosecutor.”

Allison dabbed at her eyes with the shredded tissue. “Yes, and Dad says it’s a good one. Mr. Creech got the prosecutor to try Anson as a juvenile. That means this won’t be on his permanent record, as long as he maintains all the terms of the plea bargain.”

Cecilia wasn’t convinced that keeping his record clean was necessarily a good thing. She just hoped Anson appreciated everything Mr. Cox and Allison were doing for him. Somehow she doubted it.

“The prosecutor agreed to let Anson do community service hours, plus he has to pay restitution, stay in school and graduate on time.”

“He’ll need a job if he’s going to pay restitution.” She tried to figure out exactly what kind of mischief Anson had gotten into.

“Dad helped him there, too,” Allison said with such pride her eyes shone. “The Gundersons own The Lighthouse restaurant, and Dad knows Mrs. Gunderson from when she worked at the bank. He called her, and she said they needed a dishwasher and they’d be willing to hire Anson. It’s only minimum wage, but Mr. Gunderson said if Anson worked hard and proved himself, he’d consider training him for other positions when they become available.”

“Great.”

“Anson’s really excited. He doesn’t have a car or anything, but he’s willing to take the bus.”

That sounded like a big concession on Anson’s part, Cecilia thought cynically. Still this was a light sentence; having to get a job and do a few community service hours didn’t seem all that harsh. “Does he have to do anything else?”

Allison put the sodden tissue in her pocket. “He has to stay out of trouble for a year, comply with everything the court ordered and the fire won’t appear on his record.”

Fire. The word didn’t escape Cecilia’s notice. So Anson had started a fire. There’d been a piece in The Chronicle recently about the tool shed at the community park burning down. According to the article, it had been the act of an arsonist. Cecilia wondered if that was Anson’s handiwork, and guessed it was.

“Why are you so worried now?” Cecilia asked. As far as she could see, Mr. Cox had practically held the boy’s hand through this entire process.

“The judge has to agree to everything the prosecution suggests and…” Allison looked up, and moist streaks glistened on her cheeks, again. “If the judge doesn’t, then Anson will go to jail. And…and—” she began to sob “—Dad said, after today, I can’t see him anymore.”

That was the wisest thing Mr. Cox had done. None of this was any of Cecilia’s business, but she didn’t want Allison getting mixed up with a boy so obviously bent on self-destruction. She’d met a dozen kids just like him while growing up and, thanks to her own instinct for self-preservation, had steered clear of them.

“Dad said Anson could stop by and talk to me for a few minutes after court this afternoon, and then that’s it. We can’t see each other again until Anson’s fulfilled his obligations.”

“Did he agree to that?”

Allison swallowed hard. “No.”

“No!” Cecilia was outraged.

“He couldn’t.” How quick she was to defend him. “He can’t agree to that. We go to the same school and we’re in the same classes every day. It would be impossible not to see each other.”

“I don’t think that’s what your father meant.”

“No, but Anson’s going to do everything by the book. He said not spending time with me will be the hardest thing of all. It’s true, Cecilia. Anson loves me and I love him. He said he wants to prove to my parents that he’s worthy of their faith in him. After the way my dad helped him, I think Anson would’ve done anything he asked.”

Cecilia couldn’t comment. Easy enough for Anson to pay lip service now. The proof would come later, and they’d see if he was capable of keeping his word. She didn’t mean to sound heartless, but Cecilia doubted it.

Peering through the office window behind her, Allison sprang from her chair. “They’re back!” Without another word, she hurried out of her father’s office.

Cecilia sat down at her own desk and waited. Mr. Cox greeted her absently as he walked past. He didn’t say where he’d been and when he entered his office, he closed the door.

Several minutes passed before Allison returned, her eyes swollen and red.

“Is everything all right?” Cecilia asked, worried by the girl’s continuing distress.

Allison sniffled and attempted a smile. “The judge went along with the plea agreement. Anson starts work this afternoon, so we didn’t have any time to talk. Next spring, he has to help clean the park for his community service hours. He said he’ll put almost all the money from his job toward restitution, and as soon as it’s paid off we can see each other again. Oh, Cecilia, I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Do what?”

“Not be with Anson,” she said impatiently. “I love him so much. Mom and Dad keep saying I’m too young to know about love, but I know what I feel. It’s…it’s like my heart’s being ripped out.” She shook her head angrily and declared, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Really?” Cecilia challenged. “Don’t you think it’s difficult for me when my husband’s out at sea for six months?”

Allison’s gaze shot up. “Oh, Cecilia, I’m sorry, of course it is. And you’re pregnant, too. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

Cecilia hugged the girl, just so Allison would realize there were no hard feelings. She remembered the intensity of her own emotions the first time she fell in love. That relationship had ended badly in her senior year of high school. She hoped Allison’s experience wouldn’t be nearly as traumatic as hers had been.

Nineteen

Linnette had accepted a second date with Cal Washburn, and she regretted it. In fact, she’d regretted it from the moment she’d said yes. He’d phoned shortly after Thanksgiving and before she could think better of it, Linnette had agreed to see him again. Cal was nice enough. His only shortcoming was that he wasn’t Chad Timmons. Besides, she felt guilty; she’d been willing to see him a second time for just one reason—to make Chad jealous. Not that she’d seen any evidence her ploy had worked.

“I should call and cancel this date right now,” Linnette muttered to Gloria, who sat on the end of her bed. “I feel awful.”

Gloria was on her way home from work and had stopped by to invite Linnette out for dinner. Any other night Linnette would’ve leapt at the offer. Being new in town, she was grateful to have a friend.

“Bet the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach has nothing to do with the flu.”

“You’re right,” Linnette said. She slipped on her black boots and decided to add a black knitted vest over her red blouse. The vest, one of her favorites, was decorated with sequined Christmas trees. She’d hoped to wear it when Chad asked her out, but so far that hadn’t happened. If he didn’t show any interest soon, the holidays would be over and it’d be too late to wear the vest for another eleven months.

Linnette eyed her neighbor skeptically and wondered if Chad had called her. He’d expressed an interest in Gloria, but judging by the little she’d managed to pick up in conversation—she didn’t want to be too obvious—Gloria hadn’t heard from him. Well, maybe she had, but if so, she hadn’t mentioned it.

“So you’re going out to dinner alone? Does that happen often?” she asked, hoping for more information about Gloria’s social life.

Gloria shrugged. “Since you’re busy, I’ll probably just order in. Maybe from Wok and Roll. I’m in the mood for something hot and spicy.”

Linnette sighed. “Oh,” she murmured, genuinely disappointed. “I love their food. I wish I could join you.”

“Another time,” Gloria said. Straightening, she glanced at her watch. “I better get out of here before your date shows up.”

Just then the doorbell chimed.

“Too late,” Linnette whispered, dreading the evening more with every minute.

“Just remember what you said earlier,” Gloria reminded her. “You want to let him down gently.”

“You’re right, I do. He’s a really nice person. Actually, I’m glad you’re here so you can meet him. Then you’ll understand my dilemma. He’s charming and witty, but it can be hard to hold a conversation and—”

“Don’t you think you should answer the door?”

“Oh, right.” Linnette hurried into the other room and opened her door.

Cal stood there holding a small potted poinsettia. “Merry Christmas,” he said without a hint of a stutter.