Untold Damage Read Online Free

eat-in kitchen. The round wooden table that sat four was still there, right under the large windows that overlooked the backyard. It was late into winter, the flowers nothing but stalks. She gestured for him to sit. “Coffee?”
    â€œSure. Thanks.”
    She retrieved the bag of coffee from the freezer, filters from the pantry. Set the machine up. Hit the On button. Put a pint of half-and-half on the table along with a sugar bowl. Sat opposite him. The silence grew uncomfortable. She seemed to want to say something but instead kept tracing invisible designs on the table with her index finger.
    â€œIf there’s anything I can do to help,” he found himself saying, “just let me know.”
    She failed to hide her skepticism, though she tried. Another curb stomp to his soul. He’d broken bread with these people, bled with their son. It took him a moment to regroup. Took all his failing inner strength to find his voice. “I spoke with Oberon Kane.”
    More designs traced. “Oh?”
    â€œYeah. He filled me in on Eric. A little. Told me … about some of it.”
    A moment. Then a nod. Eyes were wet now.
    â€œI had no idea he … was in trouble,” he continued. “Oberon, well, he told me that Eric had my name and address in his pocket.”
    Phoebe got up from the table. Went to the coffee machine. Stood there, still as stone, for ten very long seconds. Poured two cups. Came back. Put them on the table. “I’d heard about you, Mark,” she said, anger creeping into her voice. “I’d heard about how it’d turned out for you. What you gave up. Your family. Everything.” Glared at him. “I figured he had your name and address in his pocket because you were selling him that stuff he was putting into his soul. That you were his dealer. Making money off of other people’s addictions? That’s what you are, right?”
    Finding his voice was like finding a needle in a haystack. “No, Phoebe,” he replied with as much conviction as he could grab on such short notice. “I never dealt to him. Hell, I hadn’t even seen him in years. Didn’t know about his addiction. I’m telling you the truth: I didn’t deal to him. Ever. To him, or anyone else.”
    â€œYou only take it, right? Isn’t that right, though? You shoot it, don’t you?” Angry. So angry. He understood that, and there was enough of him left to know that she wasn’t angry at him, but at what he was. At the brand he bore: junkie. He waited her out, wishing he’d never come, knowing that was a bullshit feeling.
    After a moment, she relaxed. Shoulders sagged. Wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know you haven’t been around. He mentioned you a lot, though. Missed you, actually.”
    â€œHe did?”
    She looked right at him. Looked right into him. “Yes. He did.”
    He filled his coffee with a lot of sugar. Partly to stall for time so he could collect his thoughts. “Wish I’d known that.”
    â€œI don’t know why he had your address, Mark,” she finally said. “We had no idea about his starting up again. About him … going back.”
    â€œHow’s his wife taking it? Jenna?”
    A nod. “About how you’d expect. They weren’t really together, but … they were still close.”
    He stared at the black, oily liquid in his cup. “How’s Hal taking it?”
    For an answer, she indicated the door behind him. Hal’s den. “He’s in there.” Tears started. Hard. He didn’t know what he was really doing, but he got up and went to her. Put his arm gently around her shoulder.
    â€œI’m so sorry, Phoebe. I’m going to miss him, too.”
    He could feel her nod. Let her go. She wiped at her eyes. He went and pulled a tissue out of the box that had always lived on the kitchen table.