Read Online Simple Simon by Ryne Douglas Pearson - Free Book Online Page A

was tracing over the pale blue lines that dissected the paper, scoring graphite channels down one column vertically, over one horizontally at the bottom, then up again covering the adjacent line. When he was done every vertical line on the page would be covered.
    Six sheets had already been completed. They were stacked neatly beneath the desk lamp.
    When the door opened Simon did not look up. His body did begin to rock.
    Martin Lynch brought the red haired man fully into his son’s room and closed the door. Simon did not like open doors. “Simon.”
    The blonde head bobbed up and swung briefly toward the voice.
    “There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.” Martin Lynch walked to his son’s bed and patted the white comforter. “Come sit over here.”
    Simon carefully placed the pencil along the top edge of the paper and walked toward the bed. He stopped a few feet short. The red haired man was in his way.
    Martin Lynch noticed his son shuffle-step back a bit.
    “Hello, Simon,” the red haired man said. He said no more when he saw the father caution him with a wave. The gesture urged him to give the kid room.
    “Simon, it’s all right. Come over by Daddy and sit down.”
    The big black shoes moved away and Simon scooted by and sat where his daddy told him to. His hands balled on his lap and he again set to rocking.
    “Simon, this is Mr. Burrell,” Martin Lynch said as he squatted and put a hand on his son’s knee. “He wants to ask you some questions. Is that all right?”
    Simon did not answer.
    “I’ll be right here,” Martin Lynch assured his son.
    Between the rocks, Simon’s head bobbed twice.
    “Okay.” Martin Lynch stood and backed away a few steps so he could lean against the wall.
    The red haired man smiled big and bounced low into a squat like the father had. He tried to look the kid in the eye but was thwarted by their constant motion and the low angle of his head. “How ya doin’?” he asked as though a long time friend. Simon knew that he was not and did not answer.
    Behind the red haired man, Martin Lynch observed cautiously. His son did not like this man.
    The red haired man covertly swept the room with just his eyes. On the night stand beneath a lamp he saw a magazine. He recognized the title. He picked it up and casually paged through it. “Do you like to read?”
    Simon’s rocking increased.
    The red haired man skimmed through The Tinkery and stopped at the first page of the puzzle section. “Do you like puzzles?”
    Simon’s head tipped up toward his daddy and then fell again. His thumbs began to work hard against the skin of his hands. Martin Lynch stopped leaning and stepped forward.
    The red haired man tilted his head to look beneath the angled young head. “Do you like puzzles?”
    “Hey.” Martin Lynch tapped firmly on the red haired man’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
    “Just trying to make him comfortable, Mr. Lynch.” Get the information…period.
    “Up,” Martin Lynch said, and the red haired man stood and faced him. “He’s not comfortable. That’s the problem.”
    “I guess so,” the red haired man said. He chewed at his lower lip and added a nod, then laid the magazine on Simon’s lap. He seemed sorry.
    “He’s not going to talk to you,” Martin Lynch said.
    “Well, maybe we should just talk, you and the Mrs. and I, downstairs,” the red haired man suggested. …period .
    Martin Lynch nodded and looked to his son. “I’ll be back up in a few minutes, Simon.”
    Simon rocked quietly as his daddy and the stranger left his room. Footsteps tapped on the stairs after the door closed. The box spring squeaked beneath his motion. A truck passed the house. At this time Simon knew it would be the truck that delivered milk to the market on the corner. A man named Mr. Toricel—
    Tsewp-Tsewp. Tsewp-Tsewp-Tsewp . THUMP. THUMP.  Simon’s rocking stilled at the sound of breaking glass. Mommy must have dropped a plate. She had done that before. On the