Burning Bright: Stories Read Online Free PDF

restless, constantly shifting on the bench as though unable to find a comfortable position. He finally got up and came over to where Parson sat, stood before him.
    “You never liked me, did you?” Danny said.
    Parson looked up at the boy, for though in his twenties Danny was still a boy, would die a boy, Parson believed.
    “No, I guess not,” Parson said.
    “What’s happened to me,” Danny said. “It ain’t all my fault.”
    “I keep hearing that.”
    “There’s no good jobs in this county. You can’t make a living farming no more. If there’d been something for me, a good job I mean.”
    “I hear there’s lots of jobs in Atlanta,” Parson said. “It’s booming down there, so you’re headed to the land of no excuses.”
    “I don’t want to go down there.” Danny paused. “I’ll die there.”
    “What you’re using will kill you here same as Atlanta. At least down there you won’t take your momma and daddy with you.”
    “You’ve never cared much for them before, especially Momma. How come you to care now?”
    Parson thought about the question, mulled over several possible answers.
    “I guess because no one else does,” he finally said.
    When the bus came, Parson walked with them to the loading platform. He gave the girl the bag and the tickets, then watched the bus groan out from under the awning and head south. There would be several stops before Atlanta, but Danny and the girl would stay aboard because of a promised two hundred dollars sent via Western Union. A promise Parson would not keep.
    The Winn-Dixie shelves were emptied of milk and bread but enough of all else remained to fill four grocery bags. Parson stopped at Steve Jackson’s gas station and filled the kerosene can. Neither man mentioned the shotgun now reracked against the pickup’s back window. The trip back to Chestnut Cove was slower, more snow on the roads, the visibility less as what dim light the day had left drained into the high mountains to the west. Dark by five, he knew, and it was already past four. After the truck slid a second time, spun, and stopped precariously close to a drop-off, Parson stayed in first or second gear. A trip of thirty minutes in good weather took him an hour.
    When he got to the farmhouse, Parson took a flashlight from the dash, carried the groceries into the kitchen. He brought the kerosene into the farmhouse as well, then walked down to the trailer and went inside.The heater’s metal wick still glowed orange. Parson cut it off so the metal would cool.
    He shone the light on the bed. They were huddled together, Martha’s head tucked under Ray’s chin, his arms enclosing hers. They were asleep and seemed at peace. Parson felt regret in waking them and for a few minutes did not. He brought a chair from the front room and placed it by the foot of the bed. He waited. Martha woke first. The room was dark and shadowy but she sensed his presence, turned and looked at him. She shifted to see him better and Ray’s eyes opened as well.
    “You can go back to the house now,” Parson said.
    They only stared back at him.
    “He’s gone,” Parson said. “And he won’t come back. There will be no reason for his friends to come either.”
    Martha stirred now, sat up in the bed.
    “What did you do to him?”
    “I didn’t do anything,” Parson said. “He and his girlfriend wanted to go to Atlanta and I drove them to the bus station.”
    Martha didn’t look like she believed him. She got slowly out of the bed and Ray did as well. They put on their shoes, then moved tentatively to the trailer’s door, seemingly with little pleasure. They hesitated.
    “Go on,” Parson said. “I’ll bring the heater.”
    Parson went and got the kerosene heater. He stooped and lifted it slowly, careful to use his legs instead ofhis back. Little fuel remained in it, so it wasn’t heavy, just awkward. When he came into the front room, his brother and sister-in-law still stood inside the door.
    “Hold the door