Read Online Reilly 02 - Invasion of Privacy by Perri O'Shaughnessy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Perri O'Shaughnessy
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living room she watched the evening cast its shadow over the snow outside the picture window, then stoked the fire, ready to leap to the phone or the door, whichever rang first. She sat on the round hooked rug by the hearth, looking into the orange and blue flames, thinking about what Mrs. Polk had said.
By late afternoon Bob had found the county buildings. He had gone with his mom once to watch her argue an appeal in the San Francisco courthouse, so once they arrived in Salinas he knew how to find the particular office he wanted. You looked at the directory, and stood by the elevator looking alert. He took the elevator to the third floor, going up with a red-headed lady with a heavy briefcase just like his mom’s. At the county health department office he put his things on a plastic chair, then waited in line for his birth certificate. The clerk told him it cost thirteen dollars, and Bob gave her a twenty from his birthday money. He told her his birthdate. She came back a few minutes later with a sheet of paper. He didn’t look at it until he got outside.
Behind the courthouse, a large grassy yard held no people to bother him. He sat down and took off the pack. He held the paper, smoothing it, not opening it until he felt ready.
A crow landed a few feet away and eyed him. He dug down in the pack for some bits of cheese. Soon many crows pecked around him. He examined a colony of ants wending their way into a clump of dirt near his feet. A sharp pang of fear made his hands shake. He felt like a chick scratching on the inside of its egg, about to pop into someplace completely new.
He opened the paper and began puzzling it out.
CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH, STATE OF CALIFORNIA, he read at the top. ROBERT BRENDAN REILLY, he read, shivering a little, though the sun shone. The crows flew up together, cawing. Waving his hand and squinting, he read on.
Under Father of Child it said KURT GEOFFREY SCOTT. Blinking, he read it again.
He wanted to tell somebody, jump up and say this is my father, look here, Kurt Geoffrey Scott. He did jump up, and ran around for a minute on the grass, kicking at the ants.
His father was real and that made him real. Strange, half-formed ideas and doubts flew away, off into the cloudless sky.
Mother of Child, Nina Fox Reilly. Father of Child, Kurt Geoffrey Scott.
Nina was lying down, her head propped on a pillow on the floor. The fire, down to glowing embers, made the only light in the house. She had been sleeping. Something had awakened her. Bobby?
Not Bobby. The sounds, at first just soft, shuffling sounds, made her train her ear to make sure she was not mistaking branches of trees scraping the roof in the wind. No, the floorboards were creaking somewhere in the house. What she heard was the sound of footsteps, stealthy and deliberate, moving across the floor.
She sat up slowly, still maintaining a small emotional distance born of disbelief Could she trust herself to recognize reality in the dark like this? Could she be dreaming? But her bare toes felt cold. Her fingers, clenching and unclenching the blanket, responded to the texture of the fabric. Heat emanated from the embers at the bottom of the fireplace.
A loud thump, the sound of something large crashing to the floor, convinced her. She jumped up, looking for a weapon. She found the shovel and brush among the fireplace tools, but no poker. Matt hid the poker from the children.
Looking around the dark room, she spotted the ax. Wasn’t that just like Matt to leave his ax out and the poker hidden, she thought stupidly, her teeth chattering as she picked up the ax and made her way slowly through the room, trying not to run into furniture.
She wanted to get to the kitchen, with an aim toward getting to the phone, but before she could, the atmosphere had subtly changed. The sounds stopped.
Irresolute, she stood at the door to the hallway, looking around. Was it possible whoever was here was waiting for her?
The house, still and expectant
By late afternoon Bob had found the county buildings. He had gone with his mom once to watch her argue an appeal in the San Francisco courthouse, so once they arrived in Salinas he knew how to find the particular office he wanted. You looked at the directory, and stood by the elevator looking alert. He took the elevator to the third floor, going up with a red-headed lady with a heavy briefcase just like his mom’s. At the county health department office he put his things on a plastic chair, then waited in line for his birth certificate. The clerk told him it cost thirteen dollars, and Bob gave her a twenty from his birthday money. He told her his birthdate. She came back a few minutes later with a sheet of paper. He didn’t look at it until he got outside.
Behind the courthouse, a large grassy yard held no people to bother him. He sat down and took off the pack. He held the paper, smoothing it, not opening it until he felt ready.
A crow landed a few feet away and eyed him. He dug down in the pack for some bits of cheese. Soon many crows pecked around him. He examined a colony of ants wending their way into a clump of dirt near his feet. A sharp pang of fear made his hands shake. He felt like a chick scratching on the inside of its egg, about to pop into someplace completely new.
He opened the paper and began puzzling it out.
CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH, STATE OF CALIFORNIA, he read at the top. ROBERT BRENDAN REILLY, he read, shivering a little, though the sun shone. The crows flew up together, cawing. Waving his hand and squinting, he read on.
Under Father of Child it said KURT GEOFFREY SCOTT. Blinking, he read it again.
He wanted to tell somebody, jump up and say this is my father, look here, Kurt Geoffrey Scott. He did jump up, and ran around for a minute on the grass, kicking at the ants.
His father was real and that made him real. Strange, half-formed ideas and doubts flew away, off into the cloudless sky.
Mother of Child, Nina Fox Reilly. Father of Child, Kurt Geoffrey Scott.
Nina was lying down, her head propped on a pillow on the floor. The fire, down to glowing embers, made the only light in the house. She had been sleeping. Something had awakened her. Bobby?
Not Bobby. The sounds, at first just soft, shuffling sounds, made her train her ear to make sure she was not mistaking branches of trees scraping the roof in the wind. No, the floorboards were creaking somewhere in the house. What she heard was the sound of footsteps, stealthy and deliberate, moving across the floor.
She sat up slowly, still maintaining a small emotional distance born of disbelief Could she trust herself to recognize reality in the dark like this? Could she be dreaming? But her bare toes felt cold. Her fingers, clenching and unclenching the blanket, responded to the texture of the fabric. Heat emanated from the embers at the bottom of the fireplace.
A loud thump, the sound of something large crashing to the floor, convinced her. She jumped up, looking for a weapon. She found the shovel and brush among the fireplace tools, but no poker. Matt hid the poker from the children.
Looking around the dark room, she spotted the ax. Wasn’t that just like Matt to leave his ax out and the poker hidden, she thought stupidly, her teeth chattering as she picked up the ax and made her way slowly through the room, trying not to run into furniture.
She wanted to get to the kitchen, with an aim toward getting to the phone, but before she could, the atmosphere had subtly changed. The sounds stopped.
Irresolute, she stood at the door to the hallway, looking around. Was it possible whoever was here was waiting for her?
The house, still and expectant
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