An Incidental Reckoning Read Online Free Page A
Author: Greg Walker
screams and block out the gunshots that brought them to an abrupt end? But did anyone really know that answer, until they were there? Even the ones that hadn't been forced to fight their best friend in high school? And especially the ones absolutely certain they could?
"I suppose we'll know if the time ever comes. All we can do is live the best we know how."
"Sure." Will said, but he sounded disappointed, as though he had expected Jon to have all of this worked out.
My father would have , Jon thought. His method of parenting consisted of spouting platitudes, placing unrealistic expectations on his son, and then stepping back and offering no support or encouragement when he failed to live up to them. But plenty of criticism. When he wasn't at the bar drinking.
A trout finally roused itself and struck Jon's line, and the conversation was postponed as he reeled in a thirteen inch brown that gasped for oxygen as Jon carefully removed the hook.
"Should we keep this one?"
"Nah, it's getting late and that certainly isn't enough for both of us. Let's wait until we can cook a full supper. If we get that lucky."
"All right. Should probably get going. I don't want to try and find our way back to the car in the dark."
Jon stooped and put the trout back into the water. He released it, and it flailed its tail apathetically and then turned over and floated belly-up. He watched it, willing it to swim. Trout were such delicate fish, didn't take much to kill them. He hoped this one was only recovering from the shock of its abduction, and would soon revive and dart back into the cold darkness of its protected shelter. He suddenly felt terrible for luring it out for his own sport, a mild pleasure soon forgotten but a life and death game for the fish.
Swim.
Swim, swim, swim, swim...
With a flash, its scales catching the last of the afternoon sun lighting the pool, the trout righted itself and disappeared into the deeper water. Jon breathed a sigh of relief, found himself close to tears, surprised by it. He had never given a second thought to catching a fish, wondered if in five years he'd be head of a local PETA chapter and chaining himself to tree trunks.
"You okay, Jon? Ready to go?"
He stood up and looked out into the water, wanting to make sure the fish didn't rise to the surface again; which, if it happened, would feel like an omen of some kind though he had never believed in that sort of thing, either. The surface of the water remained unbroken, and Jon collected his pole and creel, and without looking back followed Will down a faint fisherman's trail.
Just as he made out the white roof of Will’s car through the dense vegetation, a thought occurred and he asked, "Will, are you sure Brody didn't see you?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. Nobody was home. Hey, I brought some hot sausage we can cook up on the grill for dinner if you’re interested."
"Sounds great."
Anything sounded better than fish.
Chapter 3
They spent the evening in a companionable, but tense, fashion. Jon sensed that Will would talk more about his philosophy of courage if encouraged, but he wanted none of it, tended to shun most abstract thought, saving his concerns for the here and now. The sausage was excellent, and just sitting, chewing and staring into a fire provided all the stimulation he currently required.
They spoke some about their wives, and Will about his son Justin, too. Jon had no children, had never wanted children. With any woman he had dated, and they had been few, he managed to slip in some indication of his thoughts early on and then decided on future dates based on her reaction. He knew his aversion to producing offspring came from his lack of any real role model when it came to fathering, refusing to pass on the damage done by his own dad. They hadn’t spoken in years, and Jon couldn't guarantee attendance at his funeral, or envision a tearful reconciliation on the
"I suppose we'll know if the time ever comes. All we can do is live the best we know how."
"Sure." Will said, but he sounded disappointed, as though he had expected Jon to have all of this worked out.
My father would have , Jon thought. His method of parenting consisted of spouting platitudes, placing unrealistic expectations on his son, and then stepping back and offering no support or encouragement when he failed to live up to them. But plenty of criticism. When he wasn't at the bar drinking.
A trout finally roused itself and struck Jon's line, and the conversation was postponed as he reeled in a thirteen inch brown that gasped for oxygen as Jon carefully removed the hook.
"Should we keep this one?"
"Nah, it's getting late and that certainly isn't enough for both of us. Let's wait until we can cook a full supper. If we get that lucky."
"All right. Should probably get going. I don't want to try and find our way back to the car in the dark."
Jon stooped and put the trout back into the water. He released it, and it flailed its tail apathetically and then turned over and floated belly-up. He watched it, willing it to swim. Trout were such delicate fish, didn't take much to kill them. He hoped this one was only recovering from the shock of its abduction, and would soon revive and dart back into the cold darkness of its protected shelter. He suddenly felt terrible for luring it out for his own sport, a mild pleasure soon forgotten but a life and death game for the fish.
Swim.
Swim, swim, swim, swim...
With a flash, its scales catching the last of the afternoon sun lighting the pool, the trout righted itself and disappeared into the deeper water. Jon breathed a sigh of relief, found himself close to tears, surprised by it. He had never given a second thought to catching a fish, wondered if in five years he'd be head of a local PETA chapter and chaining himself to tree trunks.
"You okay, Jon? Ready to go?"
He stood up and looked out into the water, wanting to make sure the fish didn't rise to the surface again; which, if it happened, would feel like an omen of some kind though he had never believed in that sort of thing, either. The surface of the water remained unbroken, and Jon collected his pole and creel, and without looking back followed Will down a faint fisherman's trail.
Just as he made out the white roof of Will’s car through the dense vegetation, a thought occurred and he asked, "Will, are you sure Brody didn't see you?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. Nobody was home. Hey, I brought some hot sausage we can cook up on the grill for dinner if you’re interested."
"Sounds great."
Anything sounded better than fish.
Chapter 3
They spent the evening in a companionable, but tense, fashion. Jon sensed that Will would talk more about his philosophy of courage if encouraged, but he wanted none of it, tended to shun most abstract thought, saving his concerns for the here and now. The sausage was excellent, and just sitting, chewing and staring into a fire provided all the stimulation he currently required.
They spoke some about their wives, and Will about his son Justin, too. Jon had no children, had never wanted children. With any woman he had dated, and they had been few, he managed to slip in some indication of his thoughts early on and then decided on future dates based on her reaction. He knew his aversion to producing offspring came from his lack of any real role model when it came to fathering, refusing to pass on the damage done by his own dad. They hadn’t spoken in years, and Jon couldn't guarantee attendance at his funeral, or envision a tearful reconciliation on the
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