Fireside by Susan Wiggs (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

and after pictures of conjoined twins. The family came from a remote atoll in the Pacific, and a famous surgeon at Vanderbilt had separated the babies.

“Doesn’t look like anything that could help my mom,” AJ said, feeling relieved when Chelsea closed that particular Web site. Although the story had a happy ending, he was weirded out by the photos.

“Can she prove she’s in danger in her country?” Chelsea asked. “What about seeking temporary asylum?”

Asylum. It had been on last week’s vocabulary list. A place where crazy people are kept. The lunatics are in charge of the asylum.

“That won’t work,” he said.

“Then how about this? Bingo.” She printed out a page and handed it over. “Give that to Bo.”

AJ scanned the page. “Oh, sure. So he’s going to marry her just so she can be in the U.S.”

“It could work.”

“Or not.”

“Have you talked about it with Bo?”

AJ had a hard time talking to Bo about anything. Every once in a while, they connected. Like when they built the snowman together. And then there was that moment, when Bo had come to the city to get him, when AJ had felt a deep connection, safe in his arms. It had felt so good and so safe, that long hug. During moments like that, AJ could feel himself starting to like Bo. Really like him. But enough to talk about stuff like this?

He forced himself to step back, and to remember that he didn’t want to get attached to Bo. It was crazy to get attached to somebody you were trying to get away from, someone you never planned on seeing again.

On the other hand, what if crazy Chelsea was right? What if this could actually happen? AJ would have a real, actual family. Two parents and him. The thought made his stomach hurt, he wanted it so bad.

“He’d think I lost my marbles.”

“Why?” Chelsea demanded. “You said your mom’s single, right? Bo is single. They could—”

“That’s dumb. Just because they’re single doesn’t mean they should be together. They haven’t seen each other in thirteen years.” He ducked his head so she wouldn’t see his face, because without even trying, she had found AJ’s most secret dream—having a mom and dad.

“Well, I bet they were totally in love when they um, you know,” Chelsea said. “Maybe they’ll fall in love again.”

“You’re completely nuts.”

“Have you figured out a better idea? Has your lawyer?”

She was nuts, but she had a point.

“I bet it’s more complicated than that,” he said. “They don’t just let people get married so one of them can stay in this country.”

“I’ve heard of worse reasons for getting married,” she said.

Twenty-Five

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Bo said, looking around the suite at the Pierre Hotel. He and AJ were on the 34th floor, with a view of Central Park. They had ridden up on an elevator operated by an actual elevator man. The old-fashioned rooms overflowed with luxury—fancy furniture, amenities they didn’t know they needed, like little linen mats beside the beds, so their bare feet didn’t have to touch the carpet. There was a room service menu filled with stuff he couldn’t pronounce, but no minibar, because this hotel was too classy for a minibar. The bellman who had delivered the bags said if they wanted ice or a little jar of peanuts, they just had to pick up the phone and someone would bring whatever they wanted.

This was all Kim’s doing. The reception at the hotel tonight, staged for media and sponsors, was going to be key to moving up the career ladder. Amid the hot, young rookies and early-round draft picks, Bo was an unlikely candidate, but Kim had made sure he was front and center. You become a star by acting like a star, she’d said.

She had also said she loved him. She loved him. He’d never realized how bad he wanted to hear that phrase until it came from Kimberly van Dorn’s mouth. The moment she said the words, he felt as though he could suddenly fly.

Yet AJ kept him grounded. Bo had insisted on bringing him along, hoping it might distract the boy from worrying about his mother. But it hadn’t, really. Bo could see it in his face—the tension and despair, even though Bo had vowed he wouldn’t rest until he brought her back.

“Get it?” he said. “Not in Kansas anymore—that’s from The Wizard of Oz.”

“Ha-ha.” AJ stood at the tall, heavily draped window, gazing down at the stark, bare trees of Central Park. “I’ve seen it.”

There was a knock at the door. A housekeeper came to deliver extra towels. “Here you are, sir,” she murmured, a Spanish accent thick in her voice.

Just for a moment, AJ locked eyes with the woman. She was small, and wore her hair pulled back. Her uniform was embroidered with the name Juanita. In that brief instant of connection, Bo could sense a recognition between them, two strangers bound by the deep ties of language. The woman offered a quick smile but ducked her head in deference. As she left the room, Bo gave her a twenty-dollar bill.

“Thank you, sir,” she murmured, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Bo could see everything in AJ’s face—yearning, frustration, fury. The housekeeper was simply a reminder. It must be hard for AJ to see Bo getting everything he wanted while Yolanda was suffering in some detention center across the border.

“I know you’re worried about your mom, but she’s going to be all right,” Bo said. “Mexico’s a free country.”

“She’s not free to come and see her own son.”

“We’re working on that, AJ. Your mother’s changed status is a setback. You’ve got to believe it’s one we can deal with.”

AJ swung around to face him. His eyes were puffy from tears he refused to shed. His small frame was backlit by the pale light through the window. The kid hadn’t been eating well, and now Bo saw his thinness starkly outlined. For the first time,