Mulberry Park Read Online Free PDF Page B

when I’m sober.”
    The two men had become friends anyway and met almost every afternoon at Mulberry Park to play chess. Now, even though Carl was gone, Walter still showed up and set up the board on a picnic table.
    Hanging out at the park alone was a stupid thing to do, he supposed, but it was a heck of a lot better than reverting back to the old ways, going back to the time when the pub had been his home away from home.
    When he felt weak, he willed himself to think again of the tragedy that had struck about three years ago and had been so instrumental in causing him to take that first step into sobriety when nothing else had.
    There but by the grace of God go I, the old saying went. And it was true.
    It could have just as easily been Walter behind the wheel that afternoon, his reactions dulled by Jack Daniels’, Walter who’d hit that little boy riding his bicycle along the street, Walter who’d have to live out the rest of his days behind bars.
    At least he’d been spared that.
    Still, there was enough other remorse to wallow in, other guilt to trudge through.
    He kept the steering wheel straight, his eyes on the road ahead, but the urge to stop at Paddy’s was growing stronger. He could make a turn down Main and change his route, but each day on his trek to and from the park, he chose to drive by the pub, forcing himself to face temptation and pass it by.
    Today he was driving slower than usual, though. He glanced at the speedometer. Yep. Well under the twenty-five-miles-per-hour limit.
    He was practically at a standstill when he came to the pub, where a yellow neon OPEN sign flickered like a porch light, welcoming a tired old soul home, offering rest to weary bones, a place to unload a few burdens for a time, to share a few laughs.
    Yet in spite of the overwhelming impulse to stop, Walter pressed down on the gas pedal, increasing his speed. He’d beaten it again today, but he feared there might come a time when he’d give in, when he’d take the easy way out.
    As he passed the bar, he spotted a young boy walking along the sidewalk, kicking at a rock along the way. It was that kid from the park, the one who didn’t appear to have anywhere else to go, anything better to do.
    Again Walter suspected he and the boy had a lot in common, that they were both miserable and alone.
    He had half a notion to befriend the kid the next time he ran into him, but Walter didn’t have anything to offer anyone.
    And he was a fool to think he might.
     
    At quarter to ten, Sam Dawson grew tired of watching television and decided to read for a while. He clicked off the power on the remote, then headed to the room that had been his den before his niece moved in.
    She’d gone to bed hours ago, but checking on her before he turned in had become a nightly ritual. He wasn’t sure why, though. Maybe because he used to sneak off at night when he was a kid—not that anyone knew or cared when he did.
    Sam supposed that might not become a problem with his niece, but peeking in on her still seemed like the kind of thing a responsible guardian should do.
    From the doorway, he studied Analisa’s sleeping form, watched her chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber. She’d tucked a worn-out doll under one arm and a brand-new teddy bear under the other.
    His niece was a real cutie, and he was going to have his hands full when she grew up. But he was up to the task, even if that meant going head-to-head with any of the teenage boys who followed her home.
    Sam raked a hand through his hair, then glanced at the little table and chair set that Hilda, the nanny he’d recently hired, had suggested he purchase.
    Analisa sat there for hours, pretending to host a tea party for the queen or imagining a classroom for a couple of dolls and a few stuffed animals.
    Tonight scissors, paper, markers, glitter, and glue littered the white wooden tabletop.
    Analisa was usually pretty good about picking up after herself.
    He’d have a talk with her about it