The Fury and the Terror Read Online Free Page B
the bed's empty I can't sleep either. Want coffee? How about something to eat? Bacon-crumble waffles."
"Sure." Geoff made himself at home rummaging in the pantry, found a box of cereal. He stopped at the fridge on his way to the breakfast table in the center of the kitchen.
"Know what you get when you crash a helicopter with a flock of songbirds?" he asked Betts as he was taking out a carton of milk.
"Shredded tweet," Eden said, robbing him of the punch line as she bustled into the kitchen. Betts bellowed, spilling some batter down the front of the waffle iron. Eden made a face at Geoff. "That's fifth-grade humor."
"I always liked the fifth grade," Geoff said. "That's when I discovered girls. When did you discover boys?"
"I was wiping the sweat out of my eyes on the bench, looked up, and there you were, practicing your cross-over dribble. I thought, hey, this carbon-based life-form is different from me. It's wearing a jockstrap." Eden had put on her old high school jersey, number 12, with ratty overalls, and was barefoot. She kissed Geoff, recoiled slightly with a wrinkling of her nose. "Gahhh."
Betts turned to Geoff. "Notice I was too discreet to say anything?"
Geoff said, "Two A.M. I pull ovah this guy with Nevada plates. He's all ovah the road, but not speedin', thanks be to God. So he blows a two point seven on the Breathalyzer, right? I mean really lit. There's an empty fifth of Johnnie Red. Another one-half empty on the seat of his Caddy. Claimin' he drives bettah when his hands are steady. Hell of it is, his hands are steady. Stomach's a different story. Chucks it all in my direction. I'm quick but not that quick. Needed a complete change. No time to wash the stink out of my hair."
"Cool, I gotta see that. Bring the tape. It's probably funnier than our New Year's party. Did I ever mention you talk real fast?"
"When you get in a critical mood, means you're unhappy with yourself."
"Try a baby wipe," Eden suggested. "Some of Dad's cologne wouldn't hurt."
"Good idea. You nervous?"
Eden held out her right hand, palm down.
"No, it's an earthquake. Of course I'm â"
"Just look at the front of the rim. Block out the crowd."
"Yeah, thanks, Coach."
Geoff left the kitchen to use Eden's bathroom. Eden's cell phone rang. She dug it out of a bib pocket of the overalls and spent the next several minutes raptly in conversation with her best friend, Megan Pardo, in spite of scowls from Betts.
"When she's on the phone Eden measures time in dog years," Betts complained to Geoff when he returned to the kitchen. His hair was re-combed and glistening. Geoff smiled as if he'd never heard her say it before and passed his plate for waffles.
"Stop me if it's none of my business, but how old was Eden when you and Rileyâ"
"Just four months."
Betts looked a little strange about his bringing up the adoption at this time. Geoff smiled and said after a forkful of waffle, "Eden and I talk about it. Who her parents might have been. With her coloring and imagination, we're pretty sure one of them was an Irish poet."
"She does have an imagination," Betts said with a shrug.
"But that's not all there is to it. Imagination, I'm sayin'."
Betts looked at him through the smoke of her first cigarette of the day, mindful of the booted cop look, the trim uniform, the blunt butt of his Glock semi-auto holstered high on his belt. And was silent.
Geoff said, still smiling, casual, "We've talked about that, too. Second sight, isn't that what it's called?"
Betts drew into herself ever so slightly, but didn't have to reply: the police dispatcher was on the radio that Geoff wore on his left shoulder. He was back in service with another hour and a half to go on his shift.
"Eighteen-wheeler jackknifed at the Buck Lake exit," Geoff explained. Eden looked around, then met him at the door for a quick kiss on his way out. "See you at the stadium," he said. "Front of the rim, Eden."
Eden stayed on the phone for another ten minutes, laughing
"Sure." Geoff made himself at home rummaging in the pantry, found a box of cereal. He stopped at the fridge on his way to the breakfast table in the center of the kitchen.
"Know what you get when you crash a helicopter with a flock of songbirds?" he asked Betts as he was taking out a carton of milk.
"Shredded tweet," Eden said, robbing him of the punch line as she bustled into the kitchen. Betts bellowed, spilling some batter down the front of the waffle iron. Eden made a face at Geoff. "That's fifth-grade humor."
"I always liked the fifth grade," Geoff said. "That's when I discovered girls. When did you discover boys?"
"I was wiping the sweat out of my eyes on the bench, looked up, and there you were, practicing your cross-over dribble. I thought, hey, this carbon-based life-form is different from me. It's wearing a jockstrap." Eden had put on her old high school jersey, number 12, with ratty overalls, and was barefoot. She kissed Geoff, recoiled slightly with a wrinkling of her nose. "Gahhh."
Betts turned to Geoff. "Notice I was too discreet to say anything?"
Geoff said, "Two A.M. I pull ovah this guy with Nevada plates. He's all ovah the road, but not speedin', thanks be to God. So he blows a two point seven on the Breathalyzer, right? I mean really lit. There's an empty fifth of Johnnie Red. Another one-half empty on the seat of his Caddy. Claimin' he drives bettah when his hands are steady. Hell of it is, his hands are steady. Stomach's a different story. Chucks it all in my direction. I'm quick but not that quick. Needed a complete change. No time to wash the stink out of my hair."
"Cool, I gotta see that. Bring the tape. It's probably funnier than our New Year's party. Did I ever mention you talk real fast?"
"When you get in a critical mood, means you're unhappy with yourself."
"Try a baby wipe," Eden suggested. "Some of Dad's cologne wouldn't hurt."
"Good idea. You nervous?"
Eden held out her right hand, palm down.
"No, it's an earthquake. Of course I'm â"
"Just look at the front of the rim. Block out the crowd."
"Yeah, thanks, Coach."
Geoff left the kitchen to use Eden's bathroom. Eden's cell phone rang. She dug it out of a bib pocket of the overalls and spent the next several minutes raptly in conversation with her best friend, Megan Pardo, in spite of scowls from Betts.
"When she's on the phone Eden measures time in dog years," Betts complained to Geoff when he returned to the kitchen. His hair was re-combed and glistening. Geoff smiled as if he'd never heard her say it before and passed his plate for waffles.
"Stop me if it's none of my business, but how old was Eden when you and Rileyâ"
"Just four months."
Betts looked a little strange about his bringing up the adoption at this time. Geoff smiled and said after a forkful of waffle, "Eden and I talk about it. Who her parents might have been. With her coloring and imagination, we're pretty sure one of them was an Irish poet."
"She does have an imagination," Betts said with a shrug.
"But that's not all there is to it. Imagination, I'm sayin'."
Betts looked at him through the smoke of her first cigarette of the day, mindful of the booted cop look, the trim uniform, the blunt butt of his Glock semi-auto holstered high on his belt. And was silent.
Geoff said, still smiling, casual, "We've talked about that, too. Second sight, isn't that what it's called?"
Betts drew into herself ever so slightly, but didn't have to reply: the police dispatcher was on the radio that Geoff wore on his left shoulder. He was back in service with another hour and a half to go on his shift.
"Eighteen-wheeler jackknifed at the Buck Lake exit," Geoff explained. Eden looked around, then met him at the door for a quick kiss on his way out. "See you at the stadium," he said. "Front of the rim, Eden."
Eden stayed on the phone for another ten minutes, laughing
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