Shadows on the Sand Read Online Free PDF

daughter to worry about. Or his son. Or his wife.
    I wanted to cry as I saw Greg’s shoulders hunch and his jaw clench.

4

    L
ife wasn’t fair. Or God was out to get him. Either way, he was knee-deep in chicken waste
.
    You get a little physical with someone and they die on you
.
    He shuddered with the wave of rage that swept over him. He stared at the ocean. What he needed was a hurricane so he could experience the force and frenzy of the water and wind. Exorcise his personal fury
.
    He hadn’t meant to kill. He hadn’t. But the stupid person up and died anyway. What was he supposed to do about it now? Dead was dead
.
    One thing for sure. They weren’t taking him down over it. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t say it was murder, it being an accident and all, but manslaughter could take him down too. Hard and fast. And he had no desire to fall
.
    His jaw hurt. He must be grinding his teeth in his sleep. He opened and shut his mouth, rotated his jaw. If anything, the throbbing increased, and with the pain his rage heated and burned
.
    He shook with the intensity of his hatred
.

5

    G reg felt more than heard the hiccup in the conversation, the “uh-oh, did you hear what he just said?” It happened less often these days than it had even a year ago, but every time it did, the barb of pain struck deep and true. He never knew what to do either, to ease his own ache or to relieve the distress of those who suddenly heard what had been innocently said and had taken on a macabre meaning when they thought of his circumstances.
    All he’d meant to do was remind Clooney how lucky he was to have Andi. That was all. Probably. He didn’t think he’d even been thinking about Serena or Greggie or Ginny when he spoke, at least not on any conscious level.
    Okay, so it bothered him to hear people complain about what he now saw as privilege. Not that Clooney was griping seriously. Still, Andi was here, vibrant and thriving. Pouty, not yet too insightful about character or behavior, especially of the male of the species, but living, breathing. Alive.
    Clooney recovered before Carrie. “She’ll make me old before my time is what she’ll do,” he said with an overdone frown.
    When Carrie spoke, he’d have thought she missed the awkward moment if it hadn’t been for the slight shake in her voice. “If that gray hair of yours is any indication, Clooney,” she said, “you’re well on your way to ancient without her help.”
    Clooney laughed too loudly.
    Greg stood beside his stool, staring at his empty plate lying on the counter. He’d eaten all his eggs and toast like a good little boy, and he didn’teven like eggs, no matter how they were prepared. For some reason they caught in his throat, threatening to make him gag. Yet he ate them day after dismal day.
    He just couldn’t face a cereal bowl. His had been waiting for him when he’d gone back into the house that terrible day, a soggy, bloated presweetened mess floating on soured milk.
    “Dad, you’ll rot your teeth!” Greggie and Serena had loved to tease him as only five- and seven-year-olds could. “Just because Grandmom never let you have anything but shredded wheat or bran flakes is no reason to be bad now that you’re big.”
    “It’s a good enough reason for me,” he’d say as he poured his Lucky Charms or Cap’n Crunch, licking his lips in anticipation of that first sweet burst on his tongue.
    “It’s okay,” Ginny would tell the kids. “He’s the one who pays the dental bills.” And she’d pour them their Cheerios or Raisin Bran while she smiled at him.
    She had the best smile, the kind that dripped with love and warmed your soul. He never could figure how he’d been lucky enough to get her to marry him. And she’d given him Serena, already a beauty with a steel-trap mind, and Greggie, blessed with Ginny’s warmth and charm.
    On his fifth birthday all Greggie wanted to eat at his party were Count Chocula and chocolate Pop-Tarts.
    “Sugar, like