Read Online A Smudge of Gray by Jonathan Sturak - Free Book Online
Authors: Jonathan Sturak
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underneath her bed. As she turned the page highlighting the dessert
recipes, the phone on the nightstand rang.
“Hello?” she said even though she knew
who it was.
“Hi. Are you sleeping?”
His voice massaged Anne Marie’s eardrum
and provoked a smile on her face.
“I just laid down. What are you doing?”
she asked as she rested the magazine on her chest.
“Just working on some leads. I wanted to
see how you and Jonathan were.”
“Is that really why you called?”
“It is, honey. How are you?”
“Well, we had a good night. I took
him over to my sister’s to eat, and then he played Nintendo all night.”
Brian grinned. “That sounds nice. He
loves playing with that thing.”
“When will you be home?”
“I don’t know. I just need to finish up
a few things. You don’t need to stay up.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.” Anne Marie
removed the phone from her ear.
“I love you,” Brian responded, but only
the sound of a click replied.
Brian returned the receiver to its
cradle and combed his eyebrow with his finger. He felt nothing, a void in his
mind, but then the ache from a migraine loomed. As he scratched his temple, the
manila folder in front of him consumed his focus.
Chapter 11
A basketball banked off glass and
swished into a net. The gymnasium erupted with cheers. A group of youngsters
four feet tall looked at the shooter—a skinny kid with a blue jersey. His
teammates gave him a pat on the back, and then spread out on the court.
At the side of the court was a bench lined
with blue and red teams on opposite ends. Behind the teams, a crowd of mainly
parents and siblings filled the bleachers. The place was moderately sized and
the bleachers were surprisingly dense, like a bingo parlor on the second
Wednesday of the month.
A boy in red with curly hair dribbled
the ball between two blue defenders, but then he lost control and watched the
ball bounce out of bounds. The crowd collectively sighed.
“Come on, Anthony!” a boisterous
curly-haired man yelled.
On the sideline in front of the blue
team, an older man with white hair and wearing sweat pants paced. He had the
appearance of an NBA cutthroat coach, but at further inspection, he had the
face of Santa Claus after gastric bypass surgery. He was Coach Wilson, a man
with a love for sports that stemmed from his own son’s basketball days as a
youth. Even though his son had just turned thirty and had replaced the
basketball with a briefcase, Coach Wilson never stopped coaching.
He watched a burly kid on the red team chuck
the ball from the three-point line. It bounced off the top of the glass and
somehow went in. Laughs spewed from the crowd followed by some claps. Coach Wilson
looked at his team waiting like a line of cadets preparing for a drill
sergeant’s orders at six a.m.
“Jonathan, you’re up. Go get ’em,” the
coach prompted.
Jonathan Boise sprang up and adjusted
his shorts. He looked around as if he had no idea what to do. He glanced at his
coach, who gestured toward the boy with the untied shoelaces.
“Go in for Bobby,” Coach Wilson said.
Jonathan scurried on the court as the
boy at the end of the coach’s gesture clumped toward the bench.
In the crowd, Anne Marie extended her
neck as she watched her son enter the game. Her sister, Helen, sat next to her
with the same enthusiasm. Helen was an older version of Anne Marie with the
same cherry brown hair and complexion. Where she differed from her sister was
in style, as Helen chose to flaunt her feminine assets, a way to recruit a
sailor.
“Yeah, Jonathan! You can do it!” Anne
Marie shouted.
Jonathan inbounded the ball. The
referee handed him the hot potato, and then blew the whistle as the kids
shuffled on the floor. Jonathan hesitated, debating which of his teammates was
most available. As the ref counted to four, Jonathan saw the best option, the
new kid on the team—Kevin Malloy.
Kevin received the pass. A section in
the crowd
recipes, the phone on the nightstand rang.
“Hello?” she said even though she knew
who it was.
“Hi. Are you sleeping?”
His voice massaged Anne Marie’s eardrum
and provoked a smile on her face.
“I just laid down. What are you doing?”
she asked as she rested the magazine on her chest.
“Just working on some leads. I wanted to
see how you and Jonathan were.”
“Is that really why you called?”
“It is, honey. How are you?”
“Well, we had a good night. I took
him over to my sister’s to eat, and then he played Nintendo all night.”
Brian grinned. “That sounds nice. He
loves playing with that thing.”
“When will you be home?”
“I don’t know. I just need to finish up
a few things. You don’t need to stay up.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.” Anne Marie
removed the phone from her ear.
“I love you,” Brian responded, but only
the sound of a click replied.
Brian returned the receiver to its
cradle and combed his eyebrow with his finger. He felt nothing, a void in his
mind, but then the ache from a migraine loomed. As he scratched his temple, the
manila folder in front of him consumed his focus.
Chapter 11
A basketball banked off glass and
swished into a net. The gymnasium erupted with cheers. A group of youngsters
four feet tall looked at the shooter—a skinny kid with a blue jersey. His
teammates gave him a pat on the back, and then spread out on the court.
At the side of the court was a bench lined
with blue and red teams on opposite ends. Behind the teams, a crowd of mainly
parents and siblings filled the bleachers. The place was moderately sized and
the bleachers were surprisingly dense, like a bingo parlor on the second
Wednesday of the month.
A boy in red with curly hair dribbled
the ball between two blue defenders, but then he lost control and watched the
ball bounce out of bounds. The crowd collectively sighed.
“Come on, Anthony!” a boisterous
curly-haired man yelled.
On the sideline in front of the blue
team, an older man with white hair and wearing sweat pants paced. He had the
appearance of an NBA cutthroat coach, but at further inspection, he had the
face of Santa Claus after gastric bypass surgery. He was Coach Wilson, a man
with a love for sports that stemmed from his own son’s basketball days as a
youth. Even though his son had just turned thirty and had replaced the
basketball with a briefcase, Coach Wilson never stopped coaching.
He watched a burly kid on the red team chuck
the ball from the three-point line. It bounced off the top of the glass and
somehow went in. Laughs spewed from the crowd followed by some claps. Coach Wilson
looked at his team waiting like a line of cadets preparing for a drill
sergeant’s orders at six a.m.
“Jonathan, you’re up. Go get ’em,” the
coach prompted.
Jonathan Boise sprang up and adjusted
his shorts. He looked around as if he had no idea what to do. He glanced at his
coach, who gestured toward the boy with the untied shoelaces.
“Go in for Bobby,” Coach Wilson said.
Jonathan scurried on the court as the
boy at the end of the coach’s gesture clumped toward the bench.
In the crowd, Anne Marie extended her
neck as she watched her son enter the game. Her sister, Helen, sat next to her
with the same enthusiasm. Helen was an older version of Anne Marie with the
same cherry brown hair and complexion. Where she differed from her sister was
in style, as Helen chose to flaunt her feminine assets, a way to recruit a
sailor.
“Yeah, Jonathan! You can do it!” Anne
Marie shouted.
Jonathan inbounded the ball. The
referee handed him the hot potato, and then blew the whistle as the kids
shuffled on the floor. Jonathan hesitated, debating which of his teammates was
most available. As the ref counted to four, Jonathan saw the best option, the
new kid on the team—Kevin Malloy.
Kevin received the pass. A section in
the crowd
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