Read Online Pike's Folly by Mike Heppner - Free Book Online

drunk, at eleven o’clock.
    By the time dinner was ready, the candles had burned down to gnarled stubs, and the Natalie Merchant CD had restarted itself on autorepeat. Gregg, Allison and Heath passed the food around—Allison, who occasionally fancied herself a vegetarian, took a sliver of white meat just to be polite—and when the last silver serving platter finally came to a rest, Gregg lifted his glass of wine and offered a toast. “To you, Allison. I’m glad you picked me this year.”
    Feeling obliged to add something, Heath said, “Thanks for having me, Mr. Reese.”
    â€œOf course, Heath.” Gregg kept his glass raised. This spirit of toast making, which in most families rarely lasted more than a few seconds, was something he liked to hold on to for as long as possible. “You know, when Allison was a little girl, Renee and I would bring her down to the soup kitchens on Thanksgiving.”
    â€œThank God we don’t do that anymore,” she said affectionately.
    To show that he didn’t take himself too seriously, he laughed and set down his glass. “Well, we don’t need to anymore, because you’re a full-grown woman, and your mother always did a good job teaching you strong values.”
    Allison cracked up. “Mom didn’t do shit. You were one who taught me everything, not her.”
    He shook his head but didn’t argue the point; he was starting to lose his focus, and he could tell that Heath wanted to eat. “Anyway,” he said, “I’m very proud of you, and I’m grateful for having both of you here on Thanksgiving.”
    She reached out and took his hand. “I’m grateful for you, too, Daddy.”
    Pleased, he gave her hand a squeeze. Across the table, Heath thought,
I can’t believe I just met Nathaniel Pike.

5
    Sixty miles away, in the rolling hills of western Massachusetts, Marlene and Stuart were getting ready for their own Thanksgiving dinner. The inn where they were staying was packed with guests—young couples, mostly, weekenders from Boston, New York, Connecticut. According to the register, the Breens were the only guests from Rhode Island.
    The view through their bedroom window was of a brown fallow field and, in the distance, a margin of trees—most of them bare but some still clinging to a hint of autumn orange and red. Staring out the window, Marlene pictured her naked body striding across the bright, empty field. From the time they’d arrived, she’d kept an eye out for streaking opportunities, whether a suggestive overpass or a bend in the road. Here in the Berkshires, she could stay outside for hours at a time, maybe even bring herself to orgasm by the banks of a gushing, foamy-cold millstream. She and Stuart could have sex if they wanted. In the country, the roads and streams and skirting trailways were a constant invitation to take off their clothes and show themselves to the world.
    â€œWe’re going to have the best vacation, honey,” she said, inspecting herself in the bedroom mirror. Her skirt was a full size too tight around her waist, and her feet looked swollen where she’d stuffed them into a new pair of spiky heels. “Let’s eat quickly, okay? The less we order, the better. I’m fat enough as it is.”
    A voice inside advised him to say something nice about her weight, but instead he began unpacking his suitcase. He wished that they could enjoy the evening one step at a time and not let whatever might happen after dinner preoccupy and distract them.
    â€œWhat do you want to do tomorrow?” he asked. The thought of spending eight hours going to galleries and antique stands didn’t appeal to him. The bookstores in the area didn’t look like the sort to carry his book, either.
    Marlene went to the dresser, picked up her brush and used it to chop the snarls out of her hair. “It’s your call. We can go bumming, or we can have a