Abram's Bridge Read Online Free Page B
ghosts who were trapped until their murder was solved or the culprit was brought to justice.
A truck pulled over across the road; Li’l Ron ceased his ascent of Aikman Street. He’d seen the look before. His father’s sad eyes begged for forgiveness.
Chapter Nine
Greg Sawyer watched his son staring back at him.
“Need a lift?” he said, sitting on the shoulder.
“Hey, Dad, sure.”
The boy looked okay. Greg was happy to see his drunken night hadn’t spoiled him in the eyes of his kid. Li’l Ron was resilient. After all the bullshit he’d been put through in the last couple months, it was a wonder he hadn’t flipped out. The bloodline was spoiled with that possibility.
He watched his son throw the Huffy in the bed of the truck, walk around the back and get in the passenger door.
Greg put the truck in Drive and the old pickup lurched forward.
“Sorry about last night,” he said. “I got no excuses. I hope I wasn’t too much of an asshole.”
Li’l Ron laughed, bringing a smile to Greg’s lips.
“Nah, Dad, you were a bit of a mess, but you weren’t mean to me.”
He saw the smile drop from the boy’s face.
Mom, Greg thought.
The old bat had pestered him about his drinking again. They’d been watching Dr. Phil when she made some comment about how he should go on the show, and that Dr. Phil would set him straight with some hard talk.
It escalated so fast. They were yelling in each other’s faces when she told him Jennifer was better off. That’s when he slugged her. Punched her right in the mouth. His stomach sank at the thought.
Some man.
She came right back with one of those goddamn knitting needles, catching right next to his eye. It had bled like a bitch.
“I hope you don’t…” Greg started, but then faltered.
“Did you hit Nan?” The boy asked. Blunt, straightforward.
“Li’l Ron, I… Yes. It wasn’t…I didn’t…”
“Did you ever hit Mom?”
“No…no, I never…” But he could see the boy didn’t believe him. Li’l Ron saw right through him.
“It’s not going to happen again, okay? I swear,” he said.
Li’l Ron wouldn’t look at him.
Greg pulled the truck in front of Jenner’s Grocery, killing the engine.
“Li’l Ron…”
The boy got out, stomped around the truck, pulling his bike out of the bed.
“Li’l Ron, wait,” he said, stepping out into the lot.
But the boy wouldn’t listen, and he didn’t blame him. What he had done last night was a shit move. One in a long line of shitty moves. But he was trying, dammit.
“Li’l Ron,” he called. The boy was gone, heading back up the hill.
“Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable,” Li’l Ron ranted aloud as he huffed his way back up the hill.
“You think you know somebody…” Tears fell, pouring from his eyes. Had he been wrong? Had he chosen the wrong side to stand on between his parents? He couldn’t recall ever seeing his dad act violently toward his mom, ever. But maybe he had on rose-colored glasses. Maybe he had blocked things out. He tried to reach back, but came up empty.
His head was a jigsaw puzzle of blurred pieces. He needed music, needed something else to block out the confusing voices.
Nan’s house came into sight, and then passed by. Her car was in the drive, his Walkman upstairs, but he needed to talk to Sweet Kate. He needed to see her.
Lucille Sawyer had passed the puffy lip off at brunch with her knitting group as an old woman’s trip over her grandkid’s video-game controller. The look that crossed her friend June’s eyes was one of disbelief and pity. Dammit, she hated that look. She would not become that woman again.
June Betts had been with her through all of it: Through Greg’s teen pregnancy with Jennifer, through Big Ron’s sporadic verbal beatdowns. June had been the one to take her to the hospital three towns away after Big Ron’s use of the butt of his rifle. She thought of the gun, sitting dormant in the basement, and absently reached for the scars,
A truck pulled over across the road; Li’l Ron ceased his ascent of Aikman Street. He’d seen the look before. His father’s sad eyes begged for forgiveness.
Chapter Nine
Greg Sawyer watched his son staring back at him.
“Need a lift?” he said, sitting on the shoulder.
“Hey, Dad, sure.”
The boy looked okay. Greg was happy to see his drunken night hadn’t spoiled him in the eyes of his kid. Li’l Ron was resilient. After all the bullshit he’d been put through in the last couple months, it was a wonder he hadn’t flipped out. The bloodline was spoiled with that possibility.
He watched his son throw the Huffy in the bed of the truck, walk around the back and get in the passenger door.
Greg put the truck in Drive and the old pickup lurched forward.
“Sorry about last night,” he said. “I got no excuses. I hope I wasn’t too much of an asshole.”
Li’l Ron laughed, bringing a smile to Greg’s lips.
“Nah, Dad, you were a bit of a mess, but you weren’t mean to me.”
He saw the smile drop from the boy’s face.
Mom, Greg thought.
The old bat had pestered him about his drinking again. They’d been watching Dr. Phil when she made some comment about how he should go on the show, and that Dr. Phil would set him straight with some hard talk.
It escalated so fast. They were yelling in each other’s faces when she told him Jennifer was better off. That’s when he slugged her. Punched her right in the mouth. His stomach sank at the thought.
Some man.
She came right back with one of those goddamn knitting needles, catching right next to his eye. It had bled like a bitch.
“I hope you don’t…” Greg started, but then faltered.
“Did you hit Nan?” The boy asked. Blunt, straightforward.
“Li’l Ron, I… Yes. It wasn’t…I didn’t…”
“Did you ever hit Mom?”
“No…no, I never…” But he could see the boy didn’t believe him. Li’l Ron saw right through him.
“It’s not going to happen again, okay? I swear,” he said.
Li’l Ron wouldn’t look at him.
Greg pulled the truck in front of Jenner’s Grocery, killing the engine.
“Li’l Ron…”
The boy got out, stomped around the truck, pulling his bike out of the bed.
“Li’l Ron, wait,” he said, stepping out into the lot.
But the boy wouldn’t listen, and he didn’t blame him. What he had done last night was a shit move. One in a long line of shitty moves. But he was trying, dammit.
“Li’l Ron,” he called. The boy was gone, heading back up the hill.
“Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable,” Li’l Ron ranted aloud as he huffed his way back up the hill.
“You think you know somebody…” Tears fell, pouring from his eyes. Had he been wrong? Had he chosen the wrong side to stand on between his parents? He couldn’t recall ever seeing his dad act violently toward his mom, ever. But maybe he had on rose-colored glasses. Maybe he had blocked things out. He tried to reach back, but came up empty.
His head was a jigsaw puzzle of blurred pieces. He needed music, needed something else to block out the confusing voices.
Nan’s house came into sight, and then passed by. Her car was in the drive, his Walkman upstairs, but he needed to talk to Sweet Kate. He needed to see her.
Lucille Sawyer had passed the puffy lip off at brunch with her knitting group as an old woman’s trip over her grandkid’s video-game controller. The look that crossed her friend June’s eyes was one of disbelief and pity. Dammit, she hated that look. She would not become that woman again.
June Betts had been with her through all of it: Through Greg’s teen pregnancy with Jennifer, through Big Ron’s sporadic verbal beatdowns. June had been the one to take her to the hospital three towns away after Big Ron’s use of the butt of his rifle. She thought of the gun, sitting dormant in the basement, and absently reached for the scars,