Read Online The Hollow Ground: A Novel by Natalie S. Harnett - Free Book Online
Authors: Natalie S. Harnett
Ads: Link
west side of town and kept walking deeper and deeper into the fire zone, sidestepping cracks and dips in the street. A man called from the doorway of a shingled building that had no windows in it. In faded letters above the door it read The Shaft.
“Adrian. Hey, Adrian, I’d heard you were back.”
Daddy waved and crossed the street.
“Buy you a beer?” the man said.
“Daddy, what about Ma? What you promised Ma?” I gripped the elbow of Daddy’s jacket but he shook me off. “Please, Daddy,” I cried. “You need to apologize to Mr. Wicket. You need to get your job back. Please, Daddy. For us.”
The man pinched my cheek. “What’s the problem, sweetheart? What’s got you worked up?”
Daddy told the man he’d meet him inside and then he pushed me toward the dirt parking lot where someone had dumped a TV and an armchair. The blue of Daddy’s eyes went as glassy and dark as night water. His fingers squeezed my shoulder until I imagined them touching bone. This was the part of my daddy I hated. The part that didn’t love us and wished us harm. “Get on your way,” he said, shoving me in the direction of Gram and Gramp’s. “Get on your way and don’t come back here again.”
Six
The night Daddy came home from quitting his job, Gram and Ma sat at the kitchen table waiting for him, Gram sipping tea and Ma sipping a can of Schlitz, neither speaking to the other, but sharing a kind of general dissatisfaction. Through the window above the sink you could see part of West Mountain glowing red, matching the way Ma and Gram must have felt inside.
“Here you go insultin’ the grandson of one of Dad’s friends,” Gram said as soon as Daddy stepped in the house. “When Dad spoke up to get you the job, no less! Always such a big shot with all your awards and nose in the books, but where’d it get you? Frankie would a taken any job he could get his hands on.”
“Shut up, Rowena,” Ma said. She stood and tossed her beer can in the sink where it rattled against some forks and spoons.
Gram’s face went slack with surprise. “What on earth you stickin’ up for him for?” When Gram said him she jerked her thumb at Daddy.
Ma stomped toward the hall and as she passed Daddy, her eyes clouded over like frosted glass, the way they did if he’d lost a horse bet or spent our last bit of money on whisky. “Promises shmomises,” she said so softly I barely heard it.
Gramp cleared his throat from where he slumped in the living-room Barcalounger. He waved Daddy toward him and asked what had happened. Daddy said that the little twerp of a manager wouldn’t let him take any breaks. “He expected me to work straight through,” Daddy said. “Who the hell is he to tell me when I can go to the bathroom?”
Gramp tilted the spit can gripped in his hands and pondered the gunk inside it. “If true … should punched … his face.”
Daddy’s eyes misted red as the fog clinging to West Mountain. “I just said it, so why wouldn’t it be true?”
Gramp shrugged and hocked up into the can.
That night Ma had me pray extra hard to her dead ma and to Auntie. “Somehow we got to get out of here. Somehow we got to figure a way.” And I guess the prayers I said for Ma were answered because less than a week later Ma had something happen she’d been waiting for all her life.
It was a Saturday. On Saturday mornings Ma and Gram worked a half day at the mill and I had a list of chores to do while they were gone. I hated doing them because no matter how hard I tried, Gram was never happy with what I did. There was always some streak she could find on the windows or floor. A powder of dust on this or that molding or lamp shade. But all the drilling and flushing only blocks from the house made it impossible to keep things clean, as Gram herself had admitted the first day we’d arrived. “She ain’t a miracle worker,” Ma would say and Gram would say, “You got that right!”
In addition to basic cleaning, Gram
“Adrian. Hey, Adrian, I’d heard you were back.”
Daddy waved and crossed the street.
“Buy you a beer?” the man said.
“Daddy, what about Ma? What you promised Ma?” I gripped the elbow of Daddy’s jacket but he shook me off. “Please, Daddy,” I cried. “You need to apologize to Mr. Wicket. You need to get your job back. Please, Daddy. For us.”
The man pinched my cheek. “What’s the problem, sweetheart? What’s got you worked up?”
Daddy told the man he’d meet him inside and then he pushed me toward the dirt parking lot where someone had dumped a TV and an armchair. The blue of Daddy’s eyes went as glassy and dark as night water. His fingers squeezed my shoulder until I imagined them touching bone. This was the part of my daddy I hated. The part that didn’t love us and wished us harm. “Get on your way,” he said, shoving me in the direction of Gram and Gramp’s. “Get on your way and don’t come back here again.”
Six
The night Daddy came home from quitting his job, Gram and Ma sat at the kitchen table waiting for him, Gram sipping tea and Ma sipping a can of Schlitz, neither speaking to the other, but sharing a kind of general dissatisfaction. Through the window above the sink you could see part of West Mountain glowing red, matching the way Ma and Gram must have felt inside.
“Here you go insultin’ the grandson of one of Dad’s friends,” Gram said as soon as Daddy stepped in the house. “When Dad spoke up to get you the job, no less! Always such a big shot with all your awards and nose in the books, but where’d it get you? Frankie would a taken any job he could get his hands on.”
“Shut up, Rowena,” Ma said. She stood and tossed her beer can in the sink where it rattled against some forks and spoons.
Gram’s face went slack with surprise. “What on earth you stickin’ up for him for?” When Gram said him she jerked her thumb at Daddy.
Ma stomped toward the hall and as she passed Daddy, her eyes clouded over like frosted glass, the way they did if he’d lost a horse bet or spent our last bit of money on whisky. “Promises shmomises,” she said so softly I barely heard it.
Gramp cleared his throat from where he slumped in the living-room Barcalounger. He waved Daddy toward him and asked what had happened. Daddy said that the little twerp of a manager wouldn’t let him take any breaks. “He expected me to work straight through,” Daddy said. “Who the hell is he to tell me when I can go to the bathroom?”
Gramp tilted the spit can gripped in his hands and pondered the gunk inside it. “If true … should punched … his face.”
Daddy’s eyes misted red as the fog clinging to West Mountain. “I just said it, so why wouldn’t it be true?”
Gramp shrugged and hocked up into the can.
That night Ma had me pray extra hard to her dead ma and to Auntie. “Somehow we got to get out of here. Somehow we got to figure a way.” And I guess the prayers I said for Ma were answered because less than a week later Ma had something happen she’d been waiting for all her life.
It was a Saturday. On Saturday mornings Ma and Gram worked a half day at the mill and I had a list of chores to do while they were gone. I hated doing them because no matter how hard I tried, Gram was never happy with what I did. There was always some streak she could find on the windows or floor. A powder of dust on this or that molding or lamp shade. But all the drilling and flushing only blocks from the house made it impossible to keep things clean, as Gram herself had admitted the first day we’d arrived. “She ain’t a miracle worker,” Ma would say and Gram would say, “You got that right!”
In addition to basic cleaning, Gram
Similar Books
