Guilty Read Online Free PDF

get in touch with them first thing in the morning. I’ll tell them how to contact you.” She glances around again. “How are you holding up? Is everything okay?”
    I nod again.
    â€œI can put you in touch with victims’ services,” she says. “In case you need anything or want to talk to someone.”
    â€œI’m fine,” I say. As fine as anyone can be whose father just killed someone and then was killed himself.
    She pulls something else from her pocket. It’s a business card. She writes something on it before she gives it to me.
    â€œIt’s the phone number for victims’ services,” she says. “Just in case you need some help with something. My number is on there too. Okay?”
    â€œOkay.”
    After she leaves, I put the brochure and the business card on the kitchen table. I sit down. I look at the newspaper again. It’s still open to the death notice for Tracie Newsome. I read it one more time.

Nine
    FINN
    J ohn calls me. So does Geordie. They both say they’re sorry about Tracie. They’re both smart enough and know me well enough not to call her my mom. They ask how my dad is holding up. They ask me if I want company or if I want to go out and do something. I tell them no on both counts, even though the real answer is yes. I’d love to get out and away from here. But I feel like the right thing to do is to stay home with my dad.
    Matthew Goodis, who manages Dad’s club, drops by on Saturday afternoon. When I answer the door, he says, “Sorry about what happened, Finn. Is your dad home?” He looks over my shoulder as if he expects to see my dad standing there.
    â€œHe’s upstairs,” I say. “Come in. I’ll get him for you.”
    He steps inside. I go to get my dad. He’s in his bedroom, sitting on the bed, holding a silver-framed picture of Tracie and him on their wedding day. He isn’t crying or anything. He’s just staring at it.
    â€œMatthew is here,” I tell him.
    He stares at the picture for a few seconds longer before setting it on his bedside table and standing up. He looks tired, but he follows me downstairs. Matthew says he’s sorry to be a bother but that there are some things about the club that need to be straightened out.
    â€œThat’s okay,” my dad says. He and Matthew go into my dad’s home office at the back of the house. They’re there for a long time, and neither of them is smiling when they come out. Well, why would they be? My dad is all broken up about Tracie, and Matthew knows it.
    â€œAt least that’s one less thing to worry about,” Matthew says before he leaves the house. “But I sure wish none of this has happened”
    â€œSo do I,” my dad says.
    â€œWhat was he talking about?” I ask my dad after Matthew is gone.
    â€œHuh?” my dad says.
    â€œWhat’s one less thing to worry about?”
    â€œBusiness,” he says. “There’s an act we’ve been trying to book. We got it.”
    My dad goes back upstairs. He doesn’t come down for supper. He spends the next day fussing over the funeral arrangements. I hear him call the funeral director at least five or six times.
    Before I know it, it’s Monday.

    The funeral service is held in the funeral home because neither my dad nor Tracie went to church, not even to get married.
    The place is packed, which surprises me at first. Then I think, just because I never liked Tracie, that doesn’t mean she didn’t have friends. She had plenty of them, women she called her girl friends, even though they’re all pushing forty. They’re all there in little black dresses. They’re all like Tracie—perfect hair, perfect makeup and expensive clothes that they hope make them look younger than they really are, and lots of jewelry given to them by their rich husbands. All of Tracie’s close friends started out like Tracie. They were