Read Online A Gathering of Crows by Brian Keene - Free Book Online Page B

you, it’s not like that.”
    “Well then, explain it to me.”
    The dogs quit howling, but neither of them noticed.
    “I didn’t mean to hurt you the first time. But this town, Marsha . . . I just couldn’t take it. When we were growing up, I always hated it here. You know that. And you were going away to college, and I couldn’t handle the idea of you going away and leaving me stuck here.”
    “So you decided to do it to me first? You ran off and joined the army and I’m the one who got left behind instead.”
    “That wasn’t supposed to happen. You wanted to be a veterinarian. You were supposed to be going to Morgantown in the fall.”
    “And I was, until you left. And then, instead of college, I got months of therapy and shrinks and drugs. I got Prozac instead of a degree.”
    “I didn’t mean for you to—”
    “To try to kill myself? You can’t even say it, can you?”
    His silence was answer enough.
    “Well, that’s what happened, Donny. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not. I tried to kill myself.”
    “And I’ve told you before that I’m sorry about that, Marsha.” He raised his head and met her eyes. “You don’t know how sorry I am. I loved you.”
    “I loved you too, asshole. And if you’d really fucking loved me, you’d have said good-bye. That’s the worst part. Remember when we were kids, and you and Ricky Gebhart spent all day one summer gathering garter snakes and putting them in a fivegallon bucket?”
    “Yeah, I remember.”
    “And then you assholes dumped the bucket over my head. I was so mad at you, and you followed me around for the rest of the summer, apologizing every single day. Because you cared. But after all those years growing up together—not to mention that we were supposed to be in love—you didn’t care enough to say good-bye when you left.
    “I wrote you letters.”
    Marsha paused. “When?”
    “Once in boot camp. And a couple of times in Iraq. Once while we were on leave in Kuwait. And I tried calling you from Italy, but I wasn’t used to the time-zone change and it was the middle of the night here. I woke your dad up.”
    “He never told me.”
    “That’s because he didn’t know it was me. When he answered, I couldn’t say anything, so I just hung up.”
    “Bullshit. I don’t believe you. And I definitely never got any letters.”
    “That’s because I never mailed them.”
    “Why not?”
    Donny shook his head. “I don’t . . . It’s hard to explain. I know why, but I don’t know how to put it into words. It . . . things were different over there. I mean, we grew up here, and all we knew was Brinkley Springs. That was our whole world.”
    “You make it sound like we never went anywhere else. What about Myrtle Beach and the state fair and that class trip we took to New York City when we were juniors?”
    “Yeah, but that’s still America. The world is more than just America. You see that when you get out there. We’re just a small part of things, and Brinkley Springs . . . hell, it ain’t even on the map. All the stuff that happens here, all the trivial bullshit and drama and gossip in people’s lives? That doesn’t mean shit out there.” He swept his hand toward the horizon.
    “I don’t understand,” Marsha said. “What does any of this have to do with why you never mailed me the letters?”
    Donny took a deep breath and leaned back against the side of his truck. “Like I said, it’s hard to explain. I changed. I saw some shit that . . . well, it wasn’t very pretty. I did things that I ain’t proud of. We all did. It was war, you know? Everything was different, and Brinkley Springs just seemed so far away. It was like you were part of another life. You were somebody that another version of me had known— and that other me was dead. He didn’t exist anymore. He was back here in Brinkley Springs, and that was a million miles away.”
    “You could have told me.”
    “I tried. I told you in every letter. But I never sent