Sins of Our Fathers (9781571319128) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Shawn Lawrence Otto
almost malevolent, but then the glare shifted and Jorgenson smiled and waved. JW waved back and stepped across Nicollet Mall, heading toward his parking ramp.
2
Jorgensonâs expression stayed with JW as his dirty white Caprice made its way north and west into a purple-orange sunset. He had left the interstate just before Duluth and taken a four-lane, divided artery that angled off into the north country. After an hour it lost its median and came together, squeezing its way into a small town and finally ending at a flashing red light. JW turned onto a narrow, two-lane capillary that shot out past a Cenex station and a Dairy Queen (three people in line at the small yellow windowâa handful of kids romping on a red picnic tableâa girl crying over a dropped cone on the sidewalk, long light in her blonde curls) and then he was out into the rolling farm fields and sudden bluffs of Minnesotaâs Iron Range.
The regionâs iron and taconite mines had sprouted dozens of little towns full of Finns, Croats, Cornish, and Italiansâall of them stout, resilient people who could cheerfully survive decades stooped in tunnels moiling with pickaxes, so long as they had beers and pasties and the love of friends and good women. An hour ahead, in one of those range towns with its little Victorian houses covered in asbestos shakes, his wife Carol and their thirteen-year-old daughter Julie were waiting for him.
The road plunged into an area of glacial moraines. The sun lit the tops of the domes and angled long brown fingers into the valleys. Columns of shadowed geese piled down ontoshimmering lakes, forming dark squabbling islands. Wetlands grow damp beards of fog.
For the first part of the drive, JW had listened to an audiobook called The Power of Habit, about whether or not we have free will. It was a question that had come to occupy him recently. He had started listening to science books like this when Julie was eight or nine and he ordinarily loved them, but tonight he kept reaching up to turn the player off. The feral look in Jorgensonâs eyes kept coming back to him. He wondered if he had imagined it, or if he had overlooked something important in their parting exchange about getting a beer. He hoped he hadnât missed a career opportunity. He and Carol were tight on money, and if a new opportunity to help Jorgenson had been in the offing he should have stayed and gotten the beer. Even though Carol was expecting him, she would have understood.
Each time he turned the player back on, the worry boiled back up, and he turned it off again to think things through. He finally unrolled the windows to let the grassy air fill the car and buffet his ears with noise. Jorgenson was going to make a play for CEO when the Old Man retired. Maybe this had been a chance for the upper executives to feel JW out, to see if he could fill Frankâs shoes managing the Greater Minnesota branches.
If that was the case, Carol wouldnât want to move. She loved North Lake. He wondered if he could somehow manage things from there. After his dad was laid off from Reserve Steel, JW remembered, he had taken a job selling leases for cell phone towers. The job had him on the road a lot, but he had made it work. âHow do you know when youâre up North?â his dad used to ask farmers in order to loosen them up. âThereâs no sign announcing it, but you knowyouâre there when the Dairy Queen sells bait.â It always got a laugh.
On the other hand, maybe Frank had discovered the loan he had made to himself, and wanted to discuss it in private. A spike of anxiety shot through him. That would explain the predatory quality JW thought he had seen in his eyes. As he drove onward, his mind swung from one possibility to the other. He decided to call Jorgenson in the morning to apologize, and to see if the conversation led anywhere.
The stakes were high. North Lake was a torn-up town after the mines closed, and many of
2
Jorgensonâs expression stayed with JW as his dirty white Caprice made its way north and west into a purple-orange sunset. He had left the interstate just before Duluth and taken a four-lane, divided artery that angled off into the north country. After an hour it lost its median and came together, squeezing its way into a small town and finally ending at a flashing red light. JW turned onto a narrow, two-lane capillary that shot out past a Cenex station and a Dairy Queen (three people in line at the small yellow windowâa handful of kids romping on a red picnic tableâa girl crying over a dropped cone on the sidewalk, long light in her blonde curls) and then he was out into the rolling farm fields and sudden bluffs of Minnesotaâs Iron Range.
The regionâs iron and taconite mines had sprouted dozens of little towns full of Finns, Croats, Cornish, and Italiansâall of them stout, resilient people who could cheerfully survive decades stooped in tunnels moiling with pickaxes, so long as they had beers and pasties and the love of friends and good women. An hour ahead, in one of those range towns with its little Victorian houses covered in asbestos shakes, his wife Carol and their thirteen-year-old daughter Julie were waiting for him.
The road plunged into an area of glacial moraines. The sun lit the tops of the domes and angled long brown fingers into the valleys. Columns of shadowed geese piled down ontoshimmering lakes, forming dark squabbling islands. Wetlands grow damp beards of fog.
For the first part of the drive, JW had listened to an audiobook called The Power of Habit, about whether or not we have free will. It was a question that had come to occupy him recently. He had started listening to science books like this when Julie was eight or nine and he ordinarily loved them, but tonight he kept reaching up to turn the player off. The feral look in Jorgensonâs eyes kept coming back to him. He wondered if he had imagined it, or if he had overlooked something important in their parting exchange about getting a beer. He hoped he hadnât missed a career opportunity. He and Carol were tight on money, and if a new opportunity to help Jorgenson had been in the offing he should have stayed and gotten the beer. Even though Carol was expecting him, she would have understood.
Each time he turned the player back on, the worry boiled back up, and he turned it off again to think things through. He finally unrolled the windows to let the grassy air fill the car and buffet his ears with noise. Jorgenson was going to make a play for CEO when the Old Man retired. Maybe this had been a chance for the upper executives to feel JW out, to see if he could fill Frankâs shoes managing the Greater Minnesota branches.
If that was the case, Carol wouldnât want to move. She loved North Lake. He wondered if he could somehow manage things from there. After his dad was laid off from Reserve Steel, JW remembered, he had taken a job selling leases for cell phone towers. The job had him on the road a lot, but he had made it work. âHow do you know when youâre up North?â his dad used to ask farmers in order to loosen them up. âThereâs no sign announcing it, but you knowyouâre there when the Dairy Queen sells bait.â It always got a laugh.
On the other hand, maybe Frank had discovered the loan he had made to himself, and wanted to discuss it in private. A spike of anxiety shot through him. That would explain the predatory quality JW thought he had seen in his eyes. As he drove onward, his mind swung from one possibility to the other. He decided to call Jorgenson in the morning to apologize, and to see if the conversation led anywhere.
The stakes were high. North Lake was a torn-up town after the mines closed, and many of
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