Lamentation Read Online Free PDF Page B

say.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “You sure you can keep a secret?”
    “Yeah, Chris. I can keep a secret. But I don’t have time to play make-believe. I’m a grown-ass man with grown-up shit to do. So either tell me what that bullshit at the station was really about or—”
    “It’s big, little brother. Real big.”
    “Jesus Christ! Tell me, already.”
    Chris looked out the corners of his eyes, held a finger to his lips, and beckoned me nearer.
    I leaned in, my ear right next to his mouth, so close I could feel his hot breath.
    “I shot the sheriff,” he whispered. “But I did not shoot the deputy.”
    Chris let go my wrist and hurled himself back onto the sofa, howling. About knocked himself out with that one. “But I swear it was in self-defense!” He was barely able to get the words out through the guffawing.
    “You’re an asshole.”
    “Come back, little brother. I was kidding. Where you going?”
    “To bed. See you in the morning.”
    “I’m serious. We really did find something. Don’t you want to know what it is?”
    “No. I don’t.” I slammed shut my bedroom door.
    When I woke in the morning, he was gone.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I let my truck idle while I scraped the ice from my windshield. The bright morning sun rose over the crest of Lamentation Mountain, splashing orange splotches through snow-covered birches, halos ringing between tall evergreen trees. The news put the damage at over a foot, considerably worse than the original forecast. They were calling for an even bigger storm to roll in next week, a real Nor’easter. Trace flurries drifted down, floating aimlessly, catching the glint of the sun’s rays. I watched my breath crystalize in front of me.
    I pulled around the front of Hank’s to fill up. Would run me close to sixty-five dollars, thing sucked so much gas. The floor of my cab was littered with crinkled receipts and stiff papers, empty coffee cups and crushed cigarette packs, Gatorade bottles, fast food bags; the inside of my ride looked like a refugee camp. Waiting for the pump to stop, I gathered all the junk and threw it away. Doesn’t seem like much, but I felt like I accomplished something. Jenny was always complaining about what a slob I was.
    Went inside to grab a coffee and a copy of the
Herald
, even though I seldom read the damn thing these days. I used to be up on the latest news; now I bought the paper mostly out of habit. A high school kid took my money. He was wearing an Ashton Redcoats varsity wrestling jacket, so we shot the shit about that for a few. He said they were leaving for Regionals tomorrow. I told him about the year my brother and Adam Lombardi won the State Championship. He said, “Cool,” but to him I was probably just an old guy reliving his glory days. And not even
my
glory days, but my piece-of-shit junkie brother’s. I couldn’t fathom thirty when I was seventeen.

    Back on the road, I was able to dial in the classic rock station, 105, The Bone. The Outfield’s “Your Love” came on. Always made me smile. We never settled on an official song, but I used to tease Jenny that was it, and I’d belt it out when I wanted to mess with her. Used to piss her off since the song is about the singer’s girlfriend, “Jenny,” being on a vacation far away, and him screwing around with another, younger girl. Jenny wouldn’t really get mad, though, more like fake mad. She knew I only teased her when I was in a good mood.
    I blasted the tune, which crackled in and out through the static, as I fired up the day’s first cigarette and the caffeine started to kick in, sunbeams smacking the snow and ice that coated my hometown. I rolled down the window and let the cold, brisk mountain air wash over me. Pulled down the visor and strapped on my sunglasses, let the cigarette dangle from my lips, and cranked the radio up louder. You take your small victories wherever you can find them.
    Jenny’s place was past the trestles in the center of town, above the same