Read Online No Coming Back by Keith Houghton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Keith Houghton
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used to ulterior motives and coercion. I have to remember she’s looking out for me in the same way she always did. There’s no harm in her believing a kindly face will help shoehorn me back into Harper life. I have enemies. Krauss is a police officer. Keeping her close will soften attitudes.
I stretch stiff neck muscles. “It sounds like a plan. But first, I have business I need to take care of. Can we meet at Merrill’s, later, say around four?”
“Sure. Just don’t keep me waiting. Okay? If you decide to back out, let me know. You’ve got my number now. Use it. You can call me anytime. Night or day. I mean it, Jake. I want you to know I’m here for you. Besides, we’ve got a lifetime of catching up to do. It’s going to be great.”
Jail time can change a man for the better or for the worse. More often than not he doesn’t get to choose which.
I hang up and rub fingers through unkempt hair.
Whenever I feel disjointed I stick to routines.
Preprogrammed, I scoop up the mound of blankets from the floor and smooth them out on the bed, tuck everything in nice and tight. Plump the pillows even though I haven’t used them. Then I go to the bathroom to urinate, wash, brush teeth. I left my razor in St. Paul. No big deal; the stubble makes me look mean, and a little meanness might not be a bad thing right now. I crank up the shower and sluice away dried sweat, soap up my hair, rinse. Then I return to the bedroom to dress in clean clothes pulled from my duffel bag, mostly donations to the hostel. Everything either a little too small or a little too big, but clean.
Downstairs, I count the thousand dollars in the envelope from Lars, for the third time. I’m not sure what to do with all this money.
I know there will be bills to settle, debts to clear. I’m not sure how far it will take me or go toward satisfying my father’s creditors.
I stuff some twenties in a pocket and head to the kitchen, flush the remains of the stale cereal down my throat.
All the while I’m thinking about Jenna rotting away under that tree for all these years, visualizing the worms and the beetles pervading her soft skin, picturing her decomposing flesh swarming with maggots. Cruel roots sucking every morsel of goodness out of her. I wonder how many lovers have rolled entwined in the shade of that tree, oblivious to the carnage underway beneath; how many laughing children have climbed its leafy limbs to spy pirate ships from its crow’s nest, unaware of the skull and crossbones buried at its base.
Mittened knuckles thud against the kitchen window.
I look up to see a man peering through the grubby pane, recognizing the round and ruddy face of my uncle. He sees me looking and waves. I open up the door. “Owen?”
“Hey there, big fella. What’re you doing cooped up in here on a nice day like this? It’s glorious outside. You should be out there, soaking it all up.” He bangs snow from his boots and steps into the kitchen, brings a flurry of snow in with him. Without stopping, he pulls me close and hugs me tight. “Great to see you, Jake. You’re home at last, finally, where you belong. Harper hasn’t been the same with you gone.” He lets go. “When did you get in?”
“Later than planned. Early hours of the morning. I just got up.”
“Well, that explains why you didn’t answer the first time round. I came over after sunup. I saw the heat was on and banged on the door, but you didn’t answer. Catching up on your beauty sleep, was you?” He grabs me by the chin with his mittened hand. “Will you look at you? All grown up and back home! Wait till your aunt sees what a hunk you’ve become.”
I smile away his harmless sarcasm. “How is Julia?”
“Oh, she’s good, you know? No doubt looking forward to seeing her favorite nephew. Looks like it’ll have to wait until after the weekend, though; she’s away visiting her sister in Hibbing. She’s sick with the flu—her sister, that is, not your aunt. Bad timing
I stretch stiff neck muscles. “It sounds like a plan. But first, I have business I need to take care of. Can we meet at Merrill’s, later, say around four?”
“Sure. Just don’t keep me waiting. Okay? If you decide to back out, let me know. You’ve got my number now. Use it. You can call me anytime. Night or day. I mean it, Jake. I want you to know I’m here for you. Besides, we’ve got a lifetime of catching up to do. It’s going to be great.”
Jail time can change a man for the better or for the worse. More often than not he doesn’t get to choose which.
I hang up and rub fingers through unkempt hair.
Whenever I feel disjointed I stick to routines.
Preprogrammed, I scoop up the mound of blankets from the floor and smooth them out on the bed, tuck everything in nice and tight. Plump the pillows even though I haven’t used them. Then I go to the bathroom to urinate, wash, brush teeth. I left my razor in St. Paul. No big deal; the stubble makes me look mean, and a little meanness might not be a bad thing right now. I crank up the shower and sluice away dried sweat, soap up my hair, rinse. Then I return to the bedroom to dress in clean clothes pulled from my duffel bag, mostly donations to the hostel. Everything either a little too small or a little too big, but clean.
Downstairs, I count the thousand dollars in the envelope from Lars, for the third time. I’m not sure what to do with all this money.
I know there will be bills to settle, debts to clear. I’m not sure how far it will take me or go toward satisfying my father’s creditors.
I stuff some twenties in a pocket and head to the kitchen, flush the remains of the stale cereal down my throat.
All the while I’m thinking about Jenna rotting away under that tree for all these years, visualizing the worms and the beetles pervading her soft skin, picturing her decomposing flesh swarming with maggots. Cruel roots sucking every morsel of goodness out of her. I wonder how many lovers have rolled entwined in the shade of that tree, oblivious to the carnage underway beneath; how many laughing children have climbed its leafy limbs to spy pirate ships from its crow’s nest, unaware of the skull and crossbones buried at its base.
Mittened knuckles thud against the kitchen window.
I look up to see a man peering through the grubby pane, recognizing the round and ruddy face of my uncle. He sees me looking and waves. I open up the door. “Owen?”
“Hey there, big fella. What’re you doing cooped up in here on a nice day like this? It’s glorious outside. You should be out there, soaking it all up.” He bangs snow from his boots and steps into the kitchen, brings a flurry of snow in with him. Without stopping, he pulls me close and hugs me tight. “Great to see you, Jake. You’re home at last, finally, where you belong. Harper hasn’t been the same with you gone.” He lets go. “When did you get in?”
“Later than planned. Early hours of the morning. I just got up.”
“Well, that explains why you didn’t answer the first time round. I came over after sunup. I saw the heat was on and banged on the door, but you didn’t answer. Catching up on your beauty sleep, was you?” He grabs me by the chin with his mittened hand. “Will you look at you? All grown up and back home! Wait till your aunt sees what a hunk you’ve become.”
I smile away his harmless sarcasm. “How is Julia?”
“Oh, she’s good, you know? No doubt looking forward to seeing her favorite nephew. Looks like it’ll have to wait until after the weekend, though; she’s away visiting her sister in Hibbing. She’s sick with the flu—her sister, that is, not your aunt. Bad timing
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