After the Fog Read Online Free PDF Page B

next to the side door that led into Unk’s home—the house they all shared. Henry winced as he brushed his boot over the welcome mat.
    The back of his heel smarted, scorched from the slag that had splashed onto his leg that morning. It would heal quickly, and he hoped to get enough soot off the soles of his boots. He didn’t want Rose to bawl him out before he had his first cup of coffee. Still, that was the least of his worries this morning.
    Buzzy thrust a forearm into Henry’s chest, jostling him like they were still kids fighting over their only baseball mitt.
    Henry shrugged Buzzy off. They weren’t little boys anymore.
    “You’re gonna make me beg?” Buzzy said. “Please. I will, I’ll do anything.”
    Henry could feel Buzzy’s hot breath hit his chin. He couldn’t bear to hear his brother’s voice crack, see the panic well in his eyes.
    “I can’t ask Rose for money,” Henry said. “The last time ran us about three hundred we didn’t have. Not this time, not after everything else.”
    Buzzy clenched his jaw in response, stepped back, and slipped on a crumbling cement step. He caught himself, his playful mood changing to angry. He leaned back into Henry.
    “I know what this is about. Rose hates me. She won’t give me a chance. Never has.” He picked up a pebble and whipped it down the hillside. “Thinks she’s so much smarter than the rest of us, your kids are fucking geniuses. She runs this house like she’s Henry Clay Frick and we’re non-union steel workers in 18 fucking 92.”
    He grasped Buzzy’s coat collar, the fabric, scratchy in his palm. “Don’t ever talk about Rose like that. She’s a little rough around the edge. Maybe a little nuts, but she loves this family as if it were her own.”
    Buzzy swallowed hard, but wouldn’t meet Henry’s gaze.
    Henry thrust the coat back into Buzzy’s chest. “I’ll think of a way to get the money. It’s not like these fellas are gunning for you, right? Give me time. And understand this. Rose has given us everything, never done anything but be herself. She’s honest. That’s more than I can say—”
    “It’s not like you’re perfect either,” Buzzy said. “If you recall a certain dame—”
    “Shut the fuck up. I’ll do what I can. For the brother you were before you turned into this heap of…I’ll figure something out. I owe it to Dad. I promised him I’d watch over you.”
    A voice blasted from the sloped yard in the alley. Buzzy hearing his name called, pushed past Henry and bolted up the small hill toward Murray Avenue, the sound of his feet grinding over the barren dirt they called a yard. Henry craned his neck to see who was yelling but although it was morning, the fog was still grainy, heavy like pillow-fill.
    Henry sighed. It was probably one of Buzzy’s card-playing pals. What could Henry do? Fix the damn problem. He knew that was the answer, Henry rubbed his temples, acid gathering in his belly. The real question was which problem to solve first.
    * * *
    Henry lifted the door on its hinges and pushed, alleviating that horrific whine he meant to get around to oiling away but never did. With the door shut, dread cloaked him. He hadn’t kept many secrets from Rose. Maybe he’d been afraid to. Or was he really the good guy he wanted to be all along?
    Now, his fear of the truth—what Rose would make of the facts—had turned everything backward. He told himself he could get away with it, that he had time to sort things out. Denial and hope were two wonderful states of mind for Henry.
    He stood in the shadows of the hallway, collecting his thoughts, watching his wife comfortable in the kitchen. He’d hoped long ago to have put her in her own home, make it “her” kitchen, but every time they were close, something snatched the money out from under them.
    Sometimes Rose heard him come into the house, but this morning she must have been deep in thought. She didn’t bark an order or wrap him in a hug or plant a kiss on his