Read Online Sunday Kind of Love by Dorothy Garlock - Free Book Online Page A

better if he’d died instead…”
    Sometimes Hank wanted to scream in frustration and anger, to confront the people talking about him and tell them that they were wrong, that they didn’t know what had actually happened. But instead, he held it inside where it festered, a wound slowly turning rotten. Besides, like his father had said, people believed what they wanted to believe, and no amount of telling them otherwise would ever change their minds.
    Coming down a steep hill, Hank caught sight of a bridge up ahead, spanning the Sawyer River. The moon kept peeking in and out of the dispersing storm clouds; in its soft glow, the bridge’s exposed beams looked like bones bleaching in the moonlight. Hank knew this bridge well, had fished off its struts as a kid, so he didn’t fight the urge to pull his truck onto it, the tires slapping across its wooden planks, before coming to a stop halfway across.
    He got out, leaving the engine on, music drifting from the open window. Facing the water, the breeze was brisk, but Hank paid the chill no mind. He was lost in thought, remembering his mother, worrying about his father’s drinking, wondering how different his life would be if Pete were still alive. The only person in the whole world who had stood by him was Skip Young, his friend since they’d been boys. But it wasn’t enough.
    Hank felt caught in a trap of his own making, with no way out. He desperately wished things were different, but he’d made a fateful decision and there was no going back. This was his lot in life, to be a pariah, all alone.
    But then, as Hank struggled against his mounting misery, he heard something, a noise loud enough to cut through the whistling wind and the music playing over the radio.
    It sounded like someone was screaming.
      
    I’m going to die!
    Caught in the river’s grip, Gwen was pulled along by the current. With every passing second, her sense of desperation grew. Again and again swells washed over her, plunging her head beneath the water’s surface, pushing her down, and forcing her to fight her way back to air. Her eyes scanned both banks, searching for anyone who might help her, but she was quickly moving away from town and all she saw was darkness.
    “Help me!” she shouted anyway.
    Gwen was growing weak, too tired to struggle for much longer. Her clothes were soaked through, weighing her down, pulling her like a ship’s anchor toward the bottom of the river. She wondered if she would die not from drowning, but from the fear of it.
    She clawed at the water, hoping for something to grab hold of, a fallen tree branch or some other debris, but there was nothing. Slowly but surely, it was becoming harder for her to stay afloat. How long had she been in the water? How far had she drifted? In the end, Gwen knew it didn’t matter. If she didn’t get out of the river soon, she was going to drown.
    And she would never see her family again…
    A vision struck her. She imagined her own funeral, her mother weeping uncontrollably, distraught over the loss of her only child, as her father struggled to remain stoic, even though he was devastated on the inside. Her aunt Samantha cried silently, her small shoulders shaking. Kent was there, of course, his eyes bloodshot, underlined by dark circles, while his hands trembled. Seeing him, Gwen realized that one of the reasons he was so overcome with grief was that he blamed himself for her death; she had drowned because he’d forced her away.
    Inspired to prevent such a grim future from coming to pass, Gwen made one last attempt to save herself. Fighting hard, she made ready to shout another cry for help, but when she opened her mouth, it was flooded with water. Gagging, her chest burning, she struggled to breathe but found that she couldn’t.
    Panic grabbed her tight.
    But then, briefly, through the swells of water tossing her around, Gwen thought that she saw something up ahead, a building or bridge, a structure looming toward the sky, lit