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

secretary has already gone home, so I’ll have to fetch it myself.” He gives me an apologetic smile. As he walks past me, he gives me a pat on the shoulder.
    Once he’s out of the room, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and running my hands over my face. Fuck. How did I get into this nightmare? For a second I wish I’d gone out with Dave right after class and spent the night partying. By the time I would have gotten home, I’m sure the letter would have disappeared.
    A few minutes later, Mr. Murphy comes back, and I sit up straight.
    “Okay Ben, first I’ll need you to sign the papers here and here.” He points to the lines I’m supposed to put my signature on. I know the smart thing would be to read what I’m signing, but I just don’t give a fuck. As soon as the papers are signed, he hands me an envelope.
    “Everything you’ll need is in there. Papers, keys, and the name of the institution where your father is.” He hands it to me and follows it up with his business card. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”
    I nod at him and shake his hand. “Thanks.” Making my way out of the office, I head toward the stairs instead of the elevator, hoping the exercise will lessen the anxiety I feel.
    I step out into the hot air, leaving the coolness of the office building behind. Sitting in my truck, I open the envelope. I look through the papers, put the keys for the house in my pocket, and then stare at the neatly handwritten note. It’s the address and phone number of St. Michael’s Hospital.
    So, this is where I can find my father. Locked away in God-knows-what kind of state. Visions of straightjackets and padded cells swirl in my mind.
    I start the truck and make my way through Tucson to find my new home. It takes me a while, especially since I don’t have my phone to search the address. I stop twice to ask for directions, not wanting to spend the night driving through the city.
    Two hours after arriving at the lawyer’s office, I pull onto a quiet street. It’s nothing fancy. Just a nice, middle-class neighborhood. There are kids riding their bikes outside, and I see people sitting on their porches. It’s so idyllic I want to barf.
    I see a father playing football with his son in the front yard and it makes my heart ache. Shaking my head, I continue down the street in search of my grandmother’s house. I have no idea what it looks like, so I have to rely on scanning the house numbers. Halfway down the street, I spot it and pull into the driveway.
    143 Belmont Road. Home sweet fucking home.
    The oppressive heat envelops me as soon as I get out of the truck. How can it still be this hot? I grab my duffel bag as well as the paper bag containing some burgers and fries I picked up on the way, and make my way toward the house. It’s a one-level, red brick, ranch-style house with a driveway big enough for five cars. It looks like it was built a few decades ago, and I wonder if I’ve ever been here, or played here with my father.
    The windows and door up front have white bars with an intricate leaf pattern on them. There is an iron bench standing under one of the windows next to the front door. The plants in the front yard are all dried up. I guess no one watered them after my grandmother died.
    I take the keys out of my pocket and unlock the door, taking a step inside. Instantly, I’m hit by an overwhelming, musty smell. It’s bad, but considering my grandmother has been dead for a few months and no one was in here since, it’s not that surprising.
    I leave the front door open, looking for a light switch. But, no fucking surprise, the light isn’t working. I make my way to the side table next to the couch and try my luck there. Again, everything stays dark. The windows don’t allow for much light to come in from the outside, especially since it’s getting dark already.
    I stumble back out to the truck and get my flashlight out of the trunk, going in search of the fuse box. I