The Invaders Read Online Free

around.
    I sat on the wall and watched the kids on the Sunfish boats amble around in the bay, trying to keep themselves steady and their masts from rocking right to left as they fought to catch the wind. They were already allowed to sail without a partner, the teacher nearby in a Whaler. Whowas the guy they had teaching this year? He didn’t even seem to be making sure they were in control of their boats. I could do better, but they didn’t let club members work here. They had to keep the divisions clear and not confuse anyone about their place in the hierarchy.
    Maybe that could be my career goal—sailing instructor for wealthy seven-year-olds. Somewhere else. I watched the boats shudder out of the bay and into the sound and knew they would make it through just fine. I turned and watched the older members cross the parking lot to the club and it scared me to think that these people might have had a clue once and then had just given up and started wearing khaki shorts.
    This was my prodigal-son homecoming. Isn’t that how it always played out? Arms out and my father saying, “We knew you were having a rough time; we’re just happy to have you back.”
    I laughed at the thought of it, almost begged myself to believe it.
    Money wasted. I didn’t quite make it through. Last time they talked about final chances. I had worn them out. No one was going to say it though, they would begin acting out some family fantasy as soon as I walked through the door and they would talk about the things I would do instead—plans and goals. I was hoping for this outcome. I really, really was. I wanted to hear all the ways I could still be successful. I wanted to know that these things happen.
    I walked toward our house and at the door the key was under the seashell just as Cheryl had said. The tail of metal was sticking out. Anyone could have seen it and walked right in. There was such a sense of trust in this neighborhood. I didn’t get it. A couple years ago we went rifling through summer houses in the middle of winter. We’d find the hidden keys and party all night long, wandering around strangers’ houses looking at their family photos, eating whatever snacks were leftover from their stay. We thought they were probably in Florida wearing visors, floating out into the ocean, and it’d be months before they found clogged toilets, puke-lined beds, and empty booze cabinets.
    Cheryl was just asking to become a statistic. Not that they ever went anywhere and I had no idea when my dad was planning on retiring or if he’d even be taking Cheryl with him. But still. I didn’t want people going through their stuff.
    Inside, the house was dead quiet. All the windows were closed like we didn’t live at the beach. I opened the refrigerator and found nothing but boxed salad and a couple tomatoes and a carton of half-and-half. Some questionable leftovers in Tupperware. She was really falling down on the job here. The freezer was even sadder. A wall of Tupperware filled with fucking chicken soup as if she was stockpiling for the apocalypse. I got a box of Triscuits from the cabinet and took my stuff upstairs. I don’t know why Cheryl insisted on showcasing shit from high school around my room. Old lacrosse sticks on the wall and yearbooks fanned out on my desk like it was a fucking coffee table. I was going to have to talk to her about coming into my room when I wasn’t home, again. I put my bags in the corner; I’d go back for the boxes in my trunk later. You know, start small, and ease into this. I looked through my stuff and couldn’t find any weed. This was unacceptable. I had put it in one of my bags last night and now it was gone. Someone must have gone through them while I was asleep to get their rent money or whatever. I went through my drawers because I knew I had a stash somewhere, even if it was super stale. Maybe I could talk Cheryl into letting me have space in the