Read Online Wherever I Wind Up by R. A. Dickey - Free Book Online Page A

there is no tending to the heart. We don’t have many meals together, or play board games together, or do much of anything together. My father seems to be there in body only, as if he’s got something much bigger on his mind. I don’t know what that something is. An enigma? Yes, that’s what it is. An enigma. There are no rules or discipline, no curfews or consequences. I just come and go as I please. I am a kid who is crying out for limits, and getting none.
    The nomad checks back in, my father says when I come home after a few nights away. He doesn’t ask where I’ve been or what I’ve been up to. I could’ve been stealing cars or dealing drugs, for all he knows. I want to believe my dad is proud of me and that he loves me, but it’s rarely spoken. I want him to tell me. I want him to hug me. It’s not that I’m angry with him so much as I miss him. I want it to be the way it used to be. I want him to be the most important man in my life.
    Can you do that for me, Dad? I want to ask, but again, I never do.
    More and more, I spend time at places like the Bartholomews’ and the Fitzgeralds’ and with my aunt and uncle, Billy and Lynn Caldwell, whose doors and hearts are always open. I don’t tell anybody, but this is what I want. What I crave. I want to be in a place where hearts are open. I want to sit around the dinner table and listen to people talk about their day and share their feelings and concerns. I want to pray together as a family. Now that I am a Christian, I want more. I don’t want to be a tenant in my own house.
    I drive around Green Hills, trying to think of my options. I could sleep in my car, I tell myself. No, that wouldn’t be comfortable. I wouldn’t get any sleep. I’ve got a warm sweatshirt in the car and a couple of towels in the backseat. What about sleeping outside, on the golf course? Nah, I’m not a sleep-under-the-stars kind of guy, and besides, the grounds guys will start mowing and raking traps at five in the morning.
    All through Green Hill this goes on. I keep driving, thinking, What am I going to do? Ahead on the right I see a sign: FOR RENT . I slow up and pull over. It’s a brick home with a nice fenced yard. The house is dark and appears empty.
    Dueling voices fire up in my head.
    VOICE ONE : Maybe you can stay here tonight. Who would ever know? You won’t damage anything. You’ll sleep and leave. No harm, no foul.
    VOICE TWO: You can’t break into somebody’s house and sleep in it. Are you out of your mind? That’s a crime. That’s the most ridiculous idea you’ve ever had.
    VOICE ONE: It’ll be fun. It’ll be an adventure. It’s just one night.
    VOICE TWO: Stop it already. It’s insanity. You are not doing this.
    I park up the road a bit and walk back to the house and do some minor reconnaissance, peering through the windows. I don’t see an alarm or a dog or furniture. The house is vacant. I decide that if I can find a key, this is where I am spending the night.
    Voice One wins.
    Now I have to find the key. It’s probably under the mat or on the doorframe. Real estate agents aren’t that imaginative when it comes to hiding keys. I poke around for a few minutes, but no luck. I contemplate breaking a window, but my vagrancy has limits. I go around to the back of the house. There is a single pot on the back porch containing a half-dead fern. I lift up the pot and there is a single key amid sprinkles of fern dirt. I feel like Bilbo Baggins in the Misty Mountains when he stumbles on the Ring of Power. I put the key in the lock and, after a quarter turn to the right, I am in.
    I walk into the darkness, tiptoeing. I’m in the kitchen, I think. My heart is throbbing and I realize I would be a terrible criminal. I move slowly into different rooms just to confirm the house is empty. Voice Two, the Voice of Reason, resurfaces.
    What if I am arrested? Or caught by the owners and turned in to MBA? What will happen? I’ll be a goner from MBA, that’s what’ll