Blood Brothers Read Online Free PDF Page B

to
upcoming events and articles about those she’d organized. On the
walls inspirational posters had been hung in hopes of boosting her
moods and keeping her productive. It had been a good plan and even
worked for awhile, but lately she just didn’t have the
motivation.
    Once inside the office she closed the door
behind her, taking care to lock it in the process. Moving to her
desk, she looked out the window. She had a nice view of the front
lawn—its wide expanse flat for a hundred yards then rolling hills
leading to the property line. She did nothing for a moment. She
simply stood, her feet rooted to the ground.
    For a heartbeat she held her breath. Then,
when she just couldn’t take it anymore, she broke down. Not like
earlier this morning when everyone but her was sleeping. No, that
had been nothing but a preamble. This was something much more than
that, more than merely sobbing. This was a total surrender to the
defeat and anguish that had been building within her ever since she
caught the scent of another woman on the man she married. It wasn’t
the first time, but in a situation like this repetition of the act
did not make it hurt any less. Perhaps it hurt more knowing that it
was far from the first and most assuredly would not be the
last.
    She twisted back from the window and set
herself down behind her desk. In the reflection of her pink iMac
monitor she saw her own image. Her face was a haunted face, and she
could feel the ghosts floating like acrid smoke in the pit of her
soul. The sight was startling, something she’d rather not see.
    She leaned back in the chair and pulled open
the top desk drawer on her right. It was filled almost to the brim,
with the top six inches of the drawer stuffed with letters,
receipts, greeting cards, and other miscellaneous bits of paper.
Using her hand as a scoop, she withdrew all of that. Underneath,
standing like silent sentinels, were a dozen brown prescription
bottles of various sizes.
    Stephanie’s love affair with pills was a long
and sordid one. It began the year after college and continued,
snowballing, until the present. Alcohol was a different story
entirely. She was not much of a drinker, perhaps a glass of wine or
champagne on occasion, but not much beyond that.
    The depression had started very, very slowly.
It was just a day, an ordinary day, a day like any other. It was a
year or so before she’d gotten pregnant with Christal and she was
at home, in the old house, staining a set of kitchen chairs out
back. It was summer and she’d worked up quite a sweat stripping and
cleaning the chairs, preparing them for the shellac. Deciding to
take a breather, she went inside the house. She was home alone;
Michael was still working, he worked long hours even then. After
grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she stepped into the
laundry room. With the air conditioner making the house much more
comfortable than outdoors, she decided to pick up the clothes while
she cooled off a bit. Oh how industrious she had once been. She
started with her sleep clothes which lay in the heap nearest the
dryer. After tossing them into the washer, she moved on to Mike’s
pile. He forwent pajamas in lieu of lounge pants and tee shirt. The
problem was, Michael never actually caught on to the theory of
clothing separation. His dress slacks often ended up with his sweat
suits and his ties often could be found crumpled up inside his
boxers. The only exception was his suit coats, those he hung neatly
on a rack above the washer and dryer.
    “Once a kid, always a kid,” Stephanie
remembered remarking as she stopped and began to divide the large
heap. In one pile she placed underclothes. In another, work shirts.
As she was going through the slacks, something fell from a pocket.
If she hadn’t been looking down she might have missed it. It was a
piece of purple plastic, and a funny smell exuded from it. She
knew, instantly, what it was.
    Trojan. Lubricated. A condom.
    If Mike Tyson had