Tessa (From Fear to Faith) Read Online Free Page B

his company the whole time as well.
    Mom came down the hall and rapped on my door. In a surprisingly cheerful voice, she said, “Supper’s ready.”
    Like I’m going out there. I rolled my eyes in disgust. Mom knew full well what Walter was doing, yet she pretended we were just a normal family coming together to enjoy dinner. This make-believe of hers could get so convincing at times that I’d question my own perceptions. But tonight I wasn’t buying it.
    Out in the kitchen, Walter was still on the phone. Who knew if he’d bother to eat before he left? As I had done many times before, I glanced around my room for something heavy enough to barricade my door. And once again, I discarded the idea as too dangerous and ineffective. The only thing that ever worked was running away.
    I rose and limped to the window, then returned to the bed and sat down again. I tore off my sweatshirt because I was hot, but put it on again because I started shaking with cold. My ankle began to ache. I rubbed it, wishing I could get a fresh ice pack from the freezer. Come on, Walter. Just leave already.
    The clatter of silverware on plates drifted in from the kitchen, mixing with TV commercials from the next room. My mouth watered as I caught a whiff of fried potatoes. I was hungry. Too bad I’d finished off the bag of corn chips earlier.
    A chair scraped the floor in the kitchen, and I heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. I leaped up, my heart racing.
    Walter shoved my door open without so much as a knock. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go. We got work to do.”
    I stammered as I tried to protest. “I . . . ah . . . can’t I eat something first?”
    “Supper’s done. Now move it; we’re already late for an appointment in town.”
    I wasted as much time as I dared tying my shoes and getting my coat. I hated going to town with Walter. He’d stop at the convenience store for a case or two of beer, then hang out with his friends at the bar for a couple of hours. Often it was midnight or later by the time we started working.
    Tonight, however, the bar stop was strictly business. Walter left the truck idling at the curb while he talked to a couple of guys in the side alley. Minutes later he was back, fuming.
    “Guess who didn’t show up. Again. I am not putting up with this. I’ll take you out there, and you can get started while I track him down.” He jammed the truck in gear and pulled out into the traffic.
    Get started . . . by myself? I swallowed the protest, but my head spun. This was asking too much. One tiny mistake, and the whole building would explode in a giant fireball. Or so Walter liked to tell me.
    The truck careened around a corner and sped down Second Street, heading toward the bridge. I hunched in the passenger seat, too preoccupied to notice how fast he was going. As he rounded the next corner, a flash of red and blue lights caught the back window. Ice touched my heart. Last I heard, Walter didn’t have a driver’s license anymore.
    Walter saw the lights as well. He swore and made a quick left in front of several oncoming cars. The police car followed. Cursing, Walter knocked a small newspaper-wrapped bundle onto the floor and kicked it under the seat before pulling to the curb.
    “What do you want?” he demanded of the officer who tapped on the window. “I’m in a hurry.”
    “I noticed that. I’ll need your license and proof of insurance.”
    “What for?”
    “License and insurance, sir.”
    With an oath, Walter pulled out his billfold and began digging through it. “I ain’t got the money to pay your stupid fines,” he grumbled. With two grimy fingers, he extracted his license and thrust it at the officer.
    The officer studied it a moment, as if making sure it was valid. “Do you still live at 16187 Vance Road, Northford?” he asked.
    “Most of the time; why?”
    “Is this truck titled in your name?”
    “It’s my truck, so it better be.”
    “Walter, I stopped you for going 40 in a