Red Hats Read Online Free PDF

her neck. That was the first time she made love in a pool. She couldn’t tell which wetness was hers and which was the pool’s as Harold moved inside her. Once they had defiled the pool, they began to dry off, using the hotel towels stacked near the lounge chairs.
    Harold had taken his underwear off and wrapped a towel around his waist. As they were walking toward their hotel room, Alma snatched the towel from Harold’s waist and ran. She knocked loudly on every door she passed while Harold gave chase. They barely made it inside the room without being seen by patrons who opened their doors to see what the commotion was all about. Laughs like that had been the norm for them then.
Where did the spontaneity go? I’d give anything for us to laugh like that again.
    Now, at the window, Alma caught sight of Harold stumbling toward the building.
That’s why I don’t like him hanging around those good-for-nothings in the park.
Harold almost collided with a small group of women, each wearing a red hat. The shades varied from a ruby red to light pink, including everything in between. Each hat was styled differently. They looked like a group of churchgoers, only this was a Monday evening. The ladies gracefully avoided Harold’s wobbly walk.
    “All that drinking is going to kill you, old man,” Alma scolded as Harold teetered into the apartment. “You look like one of the neighborhood bums, with your clothes all wrinkled and your eyes rolled back in your head like a crazy man. But don’t pay me no mind. You just keep on doing what you want to do. It’s your life you’re throwing away.”
    Harold grumbled. Alma noticed he was sweating more than usual. Harold fumbled with his jacket, trying to hang it in the hallway closet. The jacket fell to the floor. He seemed too tired to bend over and pick it up and kicked a crumpled sleeve inside the closet and shut the door.
    Alma was surprised that he didn’t make a fuss over the wonderful aroma of her peach cobbler. She had spent the day making fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, yams, and collard greens. Topping it off was her famous peach cobbler. Why didn’t he dance his way over to the stove and tell her how much he missed her cooking? Instead, Harold offered her a weak smile, then used the wall as a guide to the bedroom.
    “I cooked for you,” Alma said, a little sweeter than she’d like to have sounded.
    “Thank you, baby, but I just need to lie down right now. My head’s about to explode. I’ll have a plate when I wake up,” he said weakly. His steps were halting and uneven. Harold made it to the bed and allowed his body to fall face-forward into his feather pillow. Alma was pissed.
    What an ungrateful man. I should throw all that goodfood in the garbage just to teach him a lesson. He didn’t even notice how good I look. Bastard didn’t even look at me.
    “I hope you die in your sleep, old man,” she whispered to herself.
    An hour slid
by, and Alma got tired of waiting for Harold to wake up. After forty-five minutes, she gave up on the hope of sharing a candlelit dinner. Maybe something was wrong. Cooking had made her hungry, so she began taking little pinches of food. First a small piece of chicken breast and then just a tablespoon of macaroni and cheese followed by a tiny slice of yams. After sampling everything, she told herself Harold didn’t know what he was missing, and she went ahead and ate a big plate with plenty of everything. That would show him.
    It’s not like him to sleep this long
, Alma worried. Taking naps was normal for Harold, but he power-napped, forty minutes maximum. Alma had given him a little extra time, but now enough was enough. She didn’t cook all that food for nothing. Alma marched into the bedroom.
    “Harold Steven Washington, get your ass out of that bed and come eat this food before I throw it on you!” she yelled.
    Harold was silent. She wondered why he was lying so still. She thought it must be hard to breathe with his face