Read Online Hush by Anne Frasier - Free Book Online Page A

called the cops on them.
    The cops didn't get there until after Max had
extended a hand to help Ethan to his feet. They didn't get there
until the two men had gone sloshing into the house, until Ethan had
slipped into a pair of gray jogging pants, Max some plaid boxer
shorts.
    Two cops came to the door. From his room,
Ethan could hear Max talking to them in a low voice. Then they
left.
    This round had turned out okay, but that
didn't mean Ethan was going to cut Max any slack. And he knew it
didn't mean their problems were over. Things would cool down for a
day or two, but then they'd reach a flash point again. They always
did.
    Max knocked on the bedroom door and silently
handed Ethan his backpack.
    After he left, Ethan lit a couple of candles,
cut the lights, and threw himself on his bed. Then he grabbed his
Walkman from the backpack, put on the headphones, and cranked up
the music all the way, so loud it should blow out his eardrums. But
he didn't care. The music. He didn't know what he'd do if he didn't
have music. Go crazy, maybe. But he did have it. Not the crap his
friends listened to, but the good stuff, stuff that was too deep,
too meaningful for radio, stuff that kind of tore a hole in your
soul and left you aching for more.
    Ethan was sixteen years old and he didn't
have a clue what he wanted to do with his life. Shit. In two more
years he would be out of high school. What then? What then? He
couldn't see past graduation day. He couldn't see himself doing
anything but hanging out, playing video games, riding his
skateboard, listening to music.
    One day not long ago, Max had told him he'd
better start thinking about his future, making plans. Didn't the
guy know you shouldn't say that to a sixteen-year- old? A real
parent wouldn't have said that kind of crap. They'd say things
like, "When I was your age, I didn't know what I was going to do
either. Don't worry. It'll come. And when it does, you'll know it."
But no, Max didn't say anything like that. Instead, he started
grilling him, asking him what he was interested in. And Ethan would
answer, "Hell no, I don't want to be a cop!" Or, "Hell no, I don't
want to join the army!" And then Max would start talking about
college, and how Ethan had better start studying for his ACT. And
that would make Ethan's heart beat all the faster. He was just a
kid. He'd spent his whole life doing nothing, and now, suddenly he
was supposed to know exactly what he wanted.
    What he wanted was to find his father. All
along, he'd had the idea that if he could find his dad everything
would fall into place. Because his real dad would know what to say.
He and his real dad would sit around in the backyard, drinking
beer, shooting the shit. His real dad would show him how to clean a
carburetor, and how to tune an engine just like his friend Tyler's
dad had done. His real dad wouldn't talk about the importance of
noticing details in case you were ever a witness to some kind of
crime—which is exactly what had happened to Ethan a couple of years
ago. He'd been in the Quick Stop buying some pop when it was
robbed.
    "What'd they look like?" his dad had asked.
"How tall? What kind of clothes?" He didn't say, "I'm glad you're
okay." And when Ethan had said he didn't know, Max had gotten this
look on his face, a look of confusion, then acceptance. Like he
shouldn't have expected anything of Ethan in the first place.
    His real dad wouldn't have done that. His
real dad would have just been glad he was okay.
    His mom . . .
    Sometimes he thought he remembered her, but
how could that be? He was three years old when she died. Death—the
idea of death—scared the hell out of him. First you're there, then
you're not.
    He could almost remember her voice, and the
way he felt when she spoke to him. Loved. That's how her voice made
him feel. But how could he remember that? No, he was only filling
in the blanks with his own imagination.
    Max. Max was the first person Ethan
remembered. It was Christmas, and he and