Son of Destruction Read Online Free PDF Page B

knees buckled and I slid down the big old trunk and sat there until chiggers or redbugs or something started biting, unless it was the uglies. I jumped up. By that time I was feeling so bad that I had to pat the tree goodbye, and I said, ‘At least you’re OK,’ to make it feel better.
    It was time to get home and put on makeup and pray to God that Davis got in today before high school play practice let out and Steffy came home. I wanted to face up to him and get it over with without her walking in, so I walked faster, practicing speeches, and next thing I knew, I was ranting at the stone lions at Pine Vista, two living signs of the ruination of our neighborhood.
    Herman Chaplin’s development scheme went bust in the Twenties land crash, before even our grandmothers were born. He had a dream, but as far as he got was the lions and stone markers at every corner and the stucco wedding cake where Bobby grew up.
    The Chaplins always were a little bit too good for us, even Bobby, but in high school we never knew it, stupid me, I was in love with him. They went to college up north and settled around Boston and New York, but something happened up there and now all three of them are back, seething around in that big old house like snakes in a basket that’s too small for them.
    I used to dream up reasons for us to cruise Bobby Chaplin’s house, back when he ruled the school, but now I drive past on my way in from Far Acres without giving Bobby a thought. Usually I’m sealed in my car with the AC on and my favorite CD, but I’d been walking for too long, and it was worse than crossing 38th Street where Harrison got hit. I ducked my head down and hurried on by, figuring out ways to get back at Davis for betraying me.
    That scrawny, lascivious skank, Davis? Really? Is that the best you can do?
Wrong.
Did you not think I would find out, Davis?
No.
Were you trying to torture me?
No.
What are you, retarded? Like, you thought you could get away with it?
No.
I said , don’t ask, just get the hell out of here.
No, you need to guilt him a little bit, make him grovel before you kick him out, tell him . . .
    This is embarrassing. I heard Bobby’s front door open and I didn’t hear it. I hoped to God it wasn’t him. I kept going even after somebody called, ‘Nenna?’ and I went faster because I knew it was him.
    I didn’t stop until he caught up with me.
    ‘Nenna Henderson!’
    ‘Oh.’ Any other day I would have hugged him:
Bobby, it’s so great to see you
, even though it wasn’t, but I was caught short with my messed-up life hanging out, and partly it was the shock. He’d fallen away in the shanks. In the way of redheads whose lives are over but they don’t know it, his hair had faded to brown. I was too tactful to say,
What happened to you?
or ask him how he really was. I wanted to say
something
, but all I could think of was, ‘Oh!’
    ‘I saw you going by and I had to come out and say hey.’
    ‘Hey, Bobby.’ He was so friendly – did I smile? Did I look OK or did I look awful? Beyond it, I guess, because he looked all worried, and it pissed me off.
    ‘How are you?’
    ‘Don’t ask me now.’
    ‘I’m sorry. I . . .’ Maybe he was waiting for me to spill so he could pour out his story; maybe he wanted to tell me what brought him down, and God knows we’re all dying to know. I should have said,
Are you OK?
but it was getting late, I was exhausted, everybody would be home soon and I had cut him off before he had a chance to start.
    ‘Don’t be.’
Oh, Bobby, don’t linger.
    He kept going along beside me. ‘I thought maybe your car broke down.’
    ‘Not really.’
    ‘You looked like you could use some help.’
    I did, but nothing I could tell him. If I’d shown him mine, he’d have shown me his. We could have hugged goodbye with, maybe, promises of more to come, but not just then. I had to keep going, so I did. ‘Not really. I’m fine.’
    Bobby tagged along, whether or not I wanted it. Football