Read Online Play Dirty by Sandra Brown - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sandra Brown
Tags: Contemporary
Ads: Link
sick?
One time, he had been. Sick. He got food poisoning from eating an opened can of beef stew that had been left out too long. He puked till he passed out, then came to on the bathroom floor, lying faceup in diarrhea and vomit, a knot as big as his fist on the back of his head from the fall.
He was eight years old.
After that, he took more notice of what he ate when his mother was gone. He learned to fend pretty well for himself until she reappeared.
On the night she left for good, he knew she wasn’t coming back. All day, she’d been sneaking things from the house when she thought he wasn’t looking. Clothes. Shoes. A satin pillow a guy had won for her at the state fair. She slept on it every night because she said it preserved her hairdo. When he saw her stuff that pillow into a paper grocery sack and take it out to her present boyfriend’s car, he knew this absence would be permanent.
The last time Griff saw his father, he’d been in handcuffs, being shoved into the back of a police car. A neighbor had called the cops, reporting the domestic dispute.
Dispute. A polite name for his father beating the shit out of his mother after coming home and finding her in bed with a guy she’d met the night before.
His mother went to the hospital. His daddy went to jail. He was placed with a foster family until his mother had recovered from her injuries. When the case came to trial, the DA explained to the six-year-old Griff that maybe he would be called on to tell the judge what had happened that night because he’d witnessed the assault. He lived in dread of that. If his old man got off, he would make Griff pay for tattling on him. The retribution would include a beating with his belt. It wouldn’t be the first, but it promised to be the worst.
And he honestly couldn’t say he blamed his dad. Griff knew words like whore, slut, and cunt meant ugly things about his mom, and he figured she deserved to be called those bad names.
As it turned out, there was no trial. His father entered a guilty plea to a lesser charge and was sentenced. Griff never knew when he got out of jail. Whenever it was, he didn’t contact them. Griff never saw him again.
From then on, it was just his mother and him.
And the men she brought home. Some moved in for extended periods of time, a week, maybe two. Others were guests who hit the door as soon as they got their pants back on.
Griff remembered, not long after his dad had been put in jail, crying because his mom had locked the door to his bedroom and he couldn’t get out, couldn’t get away from the spider that had crawled onto his bed. The guy she was with that night had finally come into his room, killed the spider, patted him on his towhead, and told him it was all right, he could go back to sleep now.
When he was old enough to be sent outside to play, some of his mother’s men friends had looked at him with apology, even guilt. Especially if the weather was bad. Others didn’t like having him around at all. That was when his mother told him to get lost and stay lost for a few hours. Sometimes he was given money so he could go to a movie. Most often when banished from the house, he would wander the neighborhood alone, looking for something to occupy him, later looking for mischief.
Some of his mother’s friends had given him no more notice than they would a seam in the faded wallpaper. Not many, but a few, were actually nice to him. Like the guy who’d killed the spider. But, unfortunately, he’d never come back. One guy, Neal something, had stayed a month or so. Griff got along with him okay. He could do a couple of magic tricks with cards and showed Griff how they were done. He came into the house one day with a shopping bag and handed it to Griff saying, “Here, kid. This is for you.”
Inside the bag was a football.
Years later, Griff wondered if Neal had recognized him when he got to be a pro player. Did he remember giving him his first football? Probably not. He
One time, he had been. Sick. He got food poisoning from eating an opened can of beef stew that had been left out too long. He puked till he passed out, then came to on the bathroom floor, lying faceup in diarrhea and vomit, a knot as big as his fist on the back of his head from the fall.
He was eight years old.
After that, he took more notice of what he ate when his mother was gone. He learned to fend pretty well for himself until she reappeared.
On the night she left for good, he knew she wasn’t coming back. All day, she’d been sneaking things from the house when she thought he wasn’t looking. Clothes. Shoes. A satin pillow a guy had won for her at the state fair. She slept on it every night because she said it preserved her hairdo. When he saw her stuff that pillow into a paper grocery sack and take it out to her present boyfriend’s car, he knew this absence would be permanent.
The last time Griff saw his father, he’d been in handcuffs, being shoved into the back of a police car. A neighbor had called the cops, reporting the domestic dispute.
Dispute. A polite name for his father beating the shit out of his mother after coming home and finding her in bed with a guy she’d met the night before.
His mother went to the hospital. His daddy went to jail. He was placed with a foster family until his mother had recovered from her injuries. When the case came to trial, the DA explained to the six-year-old Griff that maybe he would be called on to tell the judge what had happened that night because he’d witnessed the assault. He lived in dread of that. If his old man got off, he would make Griff pay for tattling on him. The retribution would include a beating with his belt. It wouldn’t be the first, but it promised to be the worst.
And he honestly couldn’t say he blamed his dad. Griff knew words like whore, slut, and cunt meant ugly things about his mom, and he figured she deserved to be called those bad names.
As it turned out, there was no trial. His father entered a guilty plea to a lesser charge and was sentenced. Griff never knew when he got out of jail. Whenever it was, he didn’t contact them. Griff never saw him again.
From then on, it was just his mother and him.
And the men she brought home. Some moved in for extended periods of time, a week, maybe two. Others were guests who hit the door as soon as they got their pants back on.
Griff remembered, not long after his dad had been put in jail, crying because his mom had locked the door to his bedroom and he couldn’t get out, couldn’t get away from the spider that had crawled onto his bed. The guy she was with that night had finally come into his room, killed the spider, patted him on his towhead, and told him it was all right, he could go back to sleep now.
When he was old enough to be sent outside to play, some of his mother’s men friends had looked at him with apology, even guilt. Especially if the weather was bad. Others didn’t like having him around at all. That was when his mother told him to get lost and stay lost for a few hours. Sometimes he was given money so he could go to a movie. Most often when banished from the house, he would wander the neighborhood alone, looking for something to occupy him, later looking for mischief.
Some of his mother’s friends had given him no more notice than they would a seam in the faded wallpaper. Not many, but a few, were actually nice to him. Like the guy who’d killed the spider. But, unfortunately, he’d never come back. One guy, Neal something, had stayed a month or so. Griff got along with him okay. He could do a couple of magic tricks with cards and showed Griff how they were done. He came into the house one day with a shopping bag and handed it to Griff saying, “Here, kid. This is for you.”
Inside the bag was a football.
Years later, Griff wondered if Neal had recognized him when he got to be a pro player. Did he remember giving him his first football? Probably not. He
Similar Books
