Driving With Dead People Read Online Free

carrots. When she finally pulled open the door in the floor, the stench would be unbearable. I assumed “fermented” meant “explodes and stinks like hell.”
    But this Sunday, as Sarah Keeler was being lowered into the ground, I walked into Mammaw’s backyard. I was trying to figure out the best place to disappear to, when I saw my dad staring out the window at me. I felt that familiar jerk in my stomach. He was mad at me for something, and I had no idea what it was. I turned and walked in the other direction, feeling his eyes on me the whole way.
    The world wasn’t safe today. The truth was, this world was never safe.
    I walked around the back of the garage where Dash, Mammaw’s dalmatian, sat chained to his house. Dash had one blue eye and one brown eye and wasn’t overly friendly—due to the chain. He sat there staring at me with those crazy eyes. Feeling crazy myself, I decided to take a load off.
    I pretended to pet Dash, who never wanted to be petted, in case someone saw me sitting out there alone, though no one would. He smelled like shit. The nub of his tail was dabbed purple with some kind of cure-all that Mammaw had used on the farm to castrate pigs.
    Mammaw invented her own medicines. She created a salve for drawing out splinters that was made up of three different poisons. It would have killed you if you ate it, but slap a dab on a splinter, and your worries were over. JoAnn joked that if you used too much, it might actually pull up an organ.
    I sat down next to Dash and looked up at the sun. Sarah was probably under dirt by now. I thought of her eyes, nose, and hands in the airless pitch-black grave. I looked at Dash and the mudsplattered doghouse and wasn’t sure which was worse—a shitty life or a shitty death.
    Plucking up blades of grass, I wondered if I’d be able to see Sarah’s grave when my school bus rolled by the cemetery tomorrow. Maybe…unless she was buried in the back somewhere. I started to feel better, thinking I might be able to sneak a moment with Sarah on school days. Maybe I could even get Granda to take me over there some weekend to see her grave up close.
    I was used to seeing graves because there was a cemetery right behind our house. It wasn’t as big as Maple Creek, but it was big enough. A stone cement bench sat up there, perfect for playing rummy or jacks on, and an enormous beige hornets’ nest dangled from one of the elm trees. The spookiest feature was a sunken grave that dipped six inches lower than the ground. I imagined a bony finger poking up through the soil and slowly but steadily digging itself out. I hated that grave, but I never went up there without looking at it.
    Dad started yelling for me to get my ass into the house. They were saying the prayer and filling plates. I jumped up and ran for it. If Dad had to call you twice, you got spanked.
    Inside, I grabbed a plastic orange-and-white-flecked plate, a fork, knife, and spoon, and a white paper napkin, and bowed my head for the prayer Papaw was about to recite. My nose started itching, and when I went to scratch it, Dad slapped the back of my head, causing my plate and silverware to clatter to the floor. “Clumsy ass,” he hissed. Everyone looked over for a second and then bowed their heads again. One of us kids being slapped was no reason to stare. My uncle Larry and aunt Betty smiled at me.
    Larry, the youngest of the Peterson boys, was always sweet to his small son, Steve, holding his hand, sitting next to him while he ate.
    Papaw continued the prayer, but the cousins got tired of waiting and started lining up for food. “Respect the goddamn Lord,” Papaw bellowed. Everyone stopped in their tracks until he finished with a soft “Amen.”
    If there is a Lord , I thought, my chin starting to quiver, he sure created a bunch of losers when he pooped out this clan .
     
    After the food, Dad decided he wanted a picture of his four kids. We lined up according to height just as he ordered us to, facing