The Coach House Read Online Free PDF Page B

Johnston City, Illinois. Where all the men work in those god-awful coal mines, ten, sometimes twelve hours a day. My dad is still there as far as I know.”
    She couldn’t help but notice his usual confident demeanor suddenly turning awkward when he spoke of his family. “You don’t see your parents very often.”
    His eyes were vacant, his lips tight. “No.”
    “So you don’t keep in touch with your brother or sister, either?”
    “I don’t go home very often, Marie. When I left there for Chicago, with just $48.25 in my pocket by the way, I swore I’d never look back. And I haven’t.”
    “Not much to start out with.” His story disturbed her. She would have given anything to have a family.
    “No, it wasn’t.”
    “So your penchant for sales didn’t come from your father?”
    “My what?”
    “Penchant…your liking.”
    “Hell, no. I had to come up with my own ways to make money.”
    At lunch he told her about his teenage years. “I used to go down to the local bar and look for someone to play pool with. Easy money.”
    “Other teens?”
    “No. Grown men. Out-of-towners. Chumps, mostly. They looked at me, this gangly little kid, and thought I’d be a pushover for a few bucks.”
    “So you were good?”
    “Not really. But all I had to do was watch their first couple of shots, find their weak spot, and then play into it. Ha! Piece a cake.”
    Tuscola, Mattoon, Effingham. All the small towns looked the same after a while. It may have been three hundred miles by the map, Marie thought, but it felt much longer driving it. The radio broke their silence between conversations.
     
    Cold hard labor, it’s the labor of love
    Convicted of crimes, the crimes of passion
    Caught in a chain gang, the chains of fools
    Solitary confinement, confined by the rules
    “Not exactly what one wants to hear a week before getting married,” he said, referring to the song lyrics.
    “I’ll change the station. If you hear the rest of it, you may change your mind,” she teased.
    As they drove through Mount Vernon, the town adjacent to his family home, the countryside slowly turned into a haphazard sprawl of small homes and run-down businesses.
    “Well, my darling, we’re almost there. Now, don’t expect much. They live in a small…”
    “Richard, please don’t do that.”
    “Do what?”
    “Apologize for what they have or don’t have. Let me form my own opinions…okay?”
    He sent her a sidelong glance. “Whatever you say, dear.”
    It was a small house, too small to imagine five people living in all at one time. Alan and Bernice met them at the front door. Bernice wore her long black hair tied up in a bun at the back of her head. Her dress was worn but clean. Her hands revealed a lifetime of hard work.
    “Come in. Come in.” Bernice hugged Marie without being introduced. Her husband Alan stood behind her with an expressionless face. He wore an old pair of jeans and a stark, white tee-shirt on his too-thin body. He nodded at Richard as he ran his fingers through his thinning hair.
    “Come here, son. It’s so good to see you!”
    Richard stooped down to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.
    “Sit down. Sit down. Dinner is almost ready,” she instructed.
    Richard’s brother and sister were already seated at the table. Both were younger than he, though they looked older.
    The furnishings were exceedingly modest, nothing even remotely approaching modern or matching for that matter. The few pieces of upholstered furniture were close to threadbare with towels and rags covering the worst areas on the arms and headrests. The walls hadn’t seen fresh paint in some time, and the hardwood floors had obviously seen better days.
    “Something smells good, Mrs. Marchetti,” Marie commented, unable to identify the aroma. “Can I help you with anything?” She heard Richard snicker behind her. Marie had limited cooking skills. She would get him for that later.
    “No, everything is done. I’ve just been keeping it warm