Read Online KARTER by Scott Hildreth, SD Hildreth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Scott Hildreth, SD Hildreth
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arms.
I woke up and looked around the dimly lit room. Jak lay beside me asleep. I desperately needed to pee. Quietly, I slipped my feet from under the comforter and onto the floor. I walked to the bathroom and peed. As I meandered to the kitchen and got a drink of water, I attempted to recall all of the events from the last twenty-four hours.
Still naked, I walked to the window and looked outside. The parking lot was empty. I looked at the screen of my computer. It was 3:20 a.m. I stood quietly and listened. I could hear Jak’s faint snoring from the bedroom. Quietly, I logged onto the computer and opened Google. I typed four words into the text box.
Eagle, anchor, pitchfork, and pistol.
I pressed enter.
The first site to pop up was Wikipedia. I didn’t need to go to any others. Jak’s exact tattoo was on their website.
Special Warfare?
Navy SEAL?
The tattoo was called a SEAL Trident.
Jak wasn’t a badass.
Jak was the baddest of all bad asses.
Holy shit.
For over an hour I read everything I could about Navy SEALS. It explained a lot. Jak would never fuck me over. Jak was in it for the long haul. Jak would protect me from harm. I went to a military records website and typed in Jak’s name and branch of service.
Jak Anderson Kennedy. U.S.N., retired.
D.O.B. 8 Jan 1976.
Jak was thirty-eight years old. I could care less how old he was. As long as he didn’t find out my age right away, we should be just fine. Eventually I knew I’d have to tell him, but for now? If he didn’t ask me, I would keep it my little secret. The thought of losing Jak over a little difference in age seemed quite stupid the more I thought of it. I cleared my history from the internet, logged off the computer and walked back to the bedroom.
Quietly, I crawled into bed with a man I obviously knew very little about.
But loved with all my heart.
JAK. She closed one eye as she blew a cloud of smoke from her lungs. In what had become a more health conscious world with far less people smoking, my mother continued to chain smoke cigarettes in her home as if she had no knowledge of them being detrimental to her health. As the last of the smoke cleared her lips, she looked down at her hand as if confused, “What’s her name again?”
“Karter, mom. Her name is Karter, spelled with a ‘K’,” I said as I raised my coffee cup to my lips.
“I thought you said Martha. It’s a good thing I asked, Jak,” she said as she pressed her cigarette into the overstuffed ashtray.
I chuckled and shook my head lightly, “Shhh. She’s going to hear you.”
She widened her eyes and stared across the table, “It sounded like you said Martha. I can’t help it you mumble. I hear just fine.”
“Mom, you need a hearing aid. I’ll pay for it. And you’re going to burn the house down if you keep smoking in here. No one smokes anymore. We should get you an e-cigarette, they’re healthy,” I smiled.
She scrunched her brow and tapped the cigarette case lying on the table beside her coffee cup, “I like real cigarettes. I don’t want to smoke battery powered smoke sticks, Jak.”
She picked up her coffee cup and raised it half the distance to her mouth, “She’s beautiful, Jak. How tall is she? And she has more tattoos than you do,” she sighed.
She lowered her coffee cup and leaned into the edge of the table. Her eyes shifted side-to-side and she attempted her best to whisper, “She has them on her hands, Jak.”
“Mom, stop. I know she does. On one hand, and I like them. She’s an artist, a painter. She’s good for me, she really is.”
“I know she is Jak. I can see it, I’m your mother, remember. I raised you. I know what’s good for you. I like her. She’s pretty and I like her hair,” she said as she leaned into the back of her chair.
My mother was a saint. She was the type of person to potentially question a person’s preferences to herself, but not outwardly. She was never critical of even the worst people. In
I woke up and looked around the dimly lit room. Jak lay beside me asleep. I desperately needed to pee. Quietly, I slipped my feet from under the comforter and onto the floor. I walked to the bathroom and peed. As I meandered to the kitchen and got a drink of water, I attempted to recall all of the events from the last twenty-four hours.
Still naked, I walked to the window and looked outside. The parking lot was empty. I looked at the screen of my computer. It was 3:20 a.m. I stood quietly and listened. I could hear Jak’s faint snoring from the bedroom. Quietly, I logged onto the computer and opened Google. I typed four words into the text box.
Eagle, anchor, pitchfork, and pistol.
I pressed enter.
The first site to pop up was Wikipedia. I didn’t need to go to any others. Jak’s exact tattoo was on their website.
Special Warfare?
Navy SEAL?
The tattoo was called a SEAL Trident.
Jak wasn’t a badass.
Jak was the baddest of all bad asses.
Holy shit.
For over an hour I read everything I could about Navy SEALS. It explained a lot. Jak would never fuck me over. Jak was in it for the long haul. Jak would protect me from harm. I went to a military records website and typed in Jak’s name and branch of service.
Jak Anderson Kennedy. U.S.N., retired.
D.O.B. 8 Jan 1976.
Jak was thirty-eight years old. I could care less how old he was. As long as he didn’t find out my age right away, we should be just fine. Eventually I knew I’d have to tell him, but for now? If he didn’t ask me, I would keep it my little secret. The thought of losing Jak over a little difference in age seemed quite stupid the more I thought of it. I cleared my history from the internet, logged off the computer and walked back to the bedroom.
Quietly, I crawled into bed with a man I obviously knew very little about.
But loved with all my heart.
JAK. She closed one eye as she blew a cloud of smoke from her lungs. In what had become a more health conscious world with far less people smoking, my mother continued to chain smoke cigarettes in her home as if she had no knowledge of them being detrimental to her health. As the last of the smoke cleared her lips, she looked down at her hand as if confused, “What’s her name again?”
“Karter, mom. Her name is Karter, spelled with a ‘K’,” I said as I raised my coffee cup to my lips.
“I thought you said Martha. It’s a good thing I asked, Jak,” she said as she pressed her cigarette into the overstuffed ashtray.
I chuckled and shook my head lightly, “Shhh. She’s going to hear you.”
She widened her eyes and stared across the table, “It sounded like you said Martha. I can’t help it you mumble. I hear just fine.”
“Mom, you need a hearing aid. I’ll pay for it. And you’re going to burn the house down if you keep smoking in here. No one smokes anymore. We should get you an e-cigarette, they’re healthy,” I smiled.
She scrunched her brow and tapped the cigarette case lying on the table beside her coffee cup, “I like real cigarettes. I don’t want to smoke battery powered smoke sticks, Jak.”
She picked up her coffee cup and raised it half the distance to her mouth, “She’s beautiful, Jak. How tall is she? And she has more tattoos than you do,” she sighed.
She lowered her coffee cup and leaned into the edge of the table. Her eyes shifted side-to-side and she attempted her best to whisper, “She has them on her hands, Jak.”
“Mom, stop. I know she does. On one hand, and I like them. She’s an artist, a painter. She’s good for me, she really is.”
“I know she is Jak. I can see it, I’m your mother, remember. I raised you. I know what’s good for you. I like her. She’s pretty and I like her hair,” she said as she leaned into the back of her chair.
My mother was a saint. She was the type of person to potentially question a person’s preferences to herself, but not outwardly. She was never critical of even the worst people. In
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