That One Day (That One #1.5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

sleep, and I’m fucking thankful for it.
    The next morning I go through the same regimen as last time. I shower, jerk off thinking about Frankie, and head out to a small diner for breakfast. There I realize something—no matter how far I go, what state I’m in, everything repeats itself. The cheap motels, the diners with the middle-aged waitresses who seem to have lost every ounce of happiness, the washed-out truckers everywhere. It’s depressing.
    Welcome to the American Dream.
    After finishing my breakfast, I check out of the motel, get gas, and hit the road. I should make it to Tucson by evening. I only hope the lawyer will still be in his office by the time I get there.
     
    When I stop to fill up the gas tank again, the heat is suffocating. Being from the north, I’m not used to this kind of temperature, and it feels like it might singe my hair right off. I wouldn’t be surprised if smoke started to rise from my forearms. A few minutes out of the car and sweat is trickling down my forehead. Why does my grandmother have to have a house in Arizona? Alaska would have been a much nicer, and cooler, option.
    Then again, I suppose hell rarely is a cool and breezy place; it is pretty fucking fitting I feel like I’m boiling alive since I’m in my own kind of hell.

Chapter 4
Home Sweet Fucking Home
     
    It’s around six p.m. when I finally pull into the parking lot of Neale & Murphy. Only a handful of cars are still parked there. When I look toward the building, I see movement in some of the offices. I get out of the car and make my way to the three story building. Although it’s evening, the heat hasn’t lessened, making it hard to breathe.
    I let out a sigh. “Here we go.”
    I enter the building and take a deep breath, enjoying the air conditioned chill. There is a reception desk right across from me; a young woman in a business suit with her blond hair in a stern bun typing away on her computer. She only seems to notice me when I stand right in front of her desk. She takes stock of my appearance, her eyes quickly scanning over me. Her lips pull down in a frown in response, a look of disdain on her pretty face.
    My first reaction is to tell her to go fuck herself before I realize how I must look to her. I haven’t shaved in days, and despite showering this morning,I’ve been on the road for nearly ten hours today. I look anything but fresh, my hair dishevele d from my hands continuously running through it. My torn jeans and faded black shirt are wrinkled and probably smell to heaven and back. I wouldn’t be surprised if she called the cops to pick up the homeless guy who just walked into her building.
    The disgusted look is quickly replaced with a professional and polite one as she flashes me a fake smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
    “How can I help you, sir?”
    I clear my throat. “I got a letter from Mr. Murphy about an inheritance from my grandmother. Is there a way I could see him tonight about it?”
    “You’ll need to make an appointment, sir.” She still gives me the fake smile, but I can see the disapproval in her eyes when her gaze travels up and down my less-than-stellar appearance.
    Unfortunately for her, I’m currently out of patience.
    “Listen, lady. I drove here all the way from Michigan. I’ve been on the road for longer than I care to think about. I’ve slept in motels that should be closed down by the CDC. And, I would like to take care of this shit now, not tomorrow. Let me speak to Mr. Murphy. Then you’ll never have to see my face again.” My voice has risen, and my breathing is coming out in hard bursts. I’m exhausted and pissed off.
    Her mouth is in a hard line when she grabs the phone, and I’m convinced she’s calling the cops or security.
    “Mr. Murphy, there is someone to see you. Apparently it’s urgent.”
    She pauses for a moment, looking up at me. “What’s your name?”
    “Benjamin Gibson. I’m here about Margret Andrews’ will.”
    She repeats the