A Case for Forgiveness. Carol Ross

know, disliking something doesn’t mean you think you’re superior to it—it means you don’t like it. I don’t like Japanese food either, but I don’t think I’m superior to the country of Japan.”

      Okay, he had a point there—sort of, but that was irrelevant. She needed to change her tune if she was going to get the rest of the night off and, more to the point, take the big-city attorney down a peg or two.

      “Yeah, Jonah, you’re probably right. I’m just stressed, I think. Worried about your gramps, worried about Hannah, I’ve got staffing issues at the inn, and I’m...tired.”

      She saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes at her attitude change. Then his shoulders sunk slightly, his face softened as his hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans. She knew sympathy when she saw it.

      Reel him in, she told herself—nice and easy.

      She reached over and slowly started spinning the basket that contained the little colored balls. They began tumbling over one another. There had been a call a few years ago for an electronic bingo machine, but Shay was glad the Seniors’ Circle had opposed the upgrade. To her, bingo just wouldn’t be the same without the metal basket full of wooden balls making that distinctive clacking noise. The sound also served to alert the troops that the time had come to pipe down, which they were beginning to do already.

      Shay leaned over and casually announced the pattern for the coming round. She slowed the rotation of the basket until a ball released and rolled down the chute. Then she reached over and plucked the ball from the little cup where it landed. She picked it up...and made a sound of despair as it slipped through her fingers, landing on the floor and bouncing out of sight. Half of the crowd let out a collective groan, most of the other half looked around in bewilderment, while a smattering of flirtatious yell-talking continued.

      Jonah bent to look for the ball while Shay took a step back. After a few seconds Jonah reached down and then promptly stood, proudly holding the ball aloft like a hard-won carnival prize.

      “Oh, Jonah, thank you,” she said with relief. “Can you go ahead and read it?” She blinked and squinted and pointed at her eye, motioning that she had something in it.

      Jonah obliged. “N-35,” he cooed into the microphone. “N-35.”

      “Shoot,” Shay said when he glanced over at her again. She bent to her knees. “Now I dropped my contact. Would you mind calling the next number, too?”

      “Uh...sure.” He nodded and then reached over and began spinning the basket. “Like this?” He slowed the rotation until the next ball clicked into position.

      “That’s great,” she gushed. “You’re a natural.”

      “N-31,” he called smoothly. “N-31.”

      Shay crawled farther away as Jonah went ahead with the next sequence and then the next. Finally, she rose and scurried over to where Janie waited by the door with their coats and bags.

      “Masterful,” Janie said with a giggle as she handed over Shay’s belongings.

      “Thank you.” She executed a quick bow. She looked at Jonah and watched his face transform from bewilderment to understanding as he realized what she was doing. He narrowed his eyes menacingly as Shay gave him two thumbs up. She added a wave over her shoulder as she and Janie strolled out the door.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      JONAH LOOKED AROUND Gramps’s office with the same degree of bafflement he had ever since he’d arrived. He’d spent the last few days hanging out with Gramps and trying to get a sense of his overall health. He would seem fine one minute and then the next he’d appear tired or weak. His appetite was good; they’d gone out for dinner a couple nights ago where he’d seemed as young and energetic as ever, just as he had at bingo.

      Doc had been over to play cards twice and their gin rummy sessions were as heated and jovial as ever. Gramps had been working in the yard yet taking a lot of naps, and two of the days he’d slept for hours.

      He’d confessed to Jonah that he didn’t feel up to spending any time in the office, so Jonah had begun sorting through the files on Gramps’s desk, which was a mess—also very unlike him. He’d always advised Jonah that the trouble it took to keep things neat now saved precious time searching for important details later. Appearances suggested to Jonah that Gramps hadn’t been following his own advice. That concerned him, too—as did one of the case files Jonah had found near the bottom of a pile.

      “Gramps?” he called into the other room.

      The office of Caleb Cedar, attorney at law, was located inside Gramps’s house with an outside entrance for clients. This had been an ideal set-up when Jonah was growing up because he’d been able to hang out there while Gramps was working, yet still enjoy the comforts of home.

      Jonah had been nine years old when the small plane carrying his parents to Anchorage for a wedding had crashed. Jonah was supposed to have been with them, but he’d begged to be allowed to stay home with Gramps. His parents had acquiesced and then, less than three hours later, they were dead. Jonah had never recovered from the opposing emotions he’d felt as a child—felt still, even though his rational brain begged him to be rational about these feelings.