The Girl on the Glider Read Online Free PDF

all like the badass outdoor tomcat he likes to portray himself as when others are around. Sam was lying at my feet, leash-free, but to keep him on the porch, I’d strategically placed two baby gates at each of the deck’s exits. Had I not done this, Sam would have waited until I was distracted and then dashed off into the woods. He is a mutt-mostly a mix of Rottweiler and Beagle, the latter of which comes out in him whenever he catches a scent. We walk quite often through the woods and whenever he sniffs a rabbit or a fox or any other creature, he strains at the leash hard enough to choke himself. On the few occasions where he’s actually slipped his collar, he runs off without thought of consequence, totally focused and consumed on tracking his quarry. Usually, he ends up lost and exhausted to the point of collapse, and I have to hunt him down and carry him back home. The baby gates prevented that, and allowed me to enjoy my cigar and whiskey in peace. Cassi was inside, talking on the phone to J. F. “Jesus” Gonzalez’s wife. The baby was asleep. All was right with the world.
        I was sitting there smoking and thinking about literary estates. Jesus and I had both been wanting to create literary estates for our families. I was pretty sure that was what Cassi and her friend were discussing, as well, because in addition to the literary estates, we wanted to legally draft an agreement wherein if either Cassi and myself or Jesus and his wife died unexpectedly, we would gain legal guardianship over the other’s children. Cassi was of a mind that we didn’t need to worry about things like that yet, but I wasn’t so sure. Both of our parents are too old to care full-time for a child, and my oldest son, who was eighteen at the time, had his whole life ahead of him. It didn’t seem right to burden him with the possibility of having to care for his younger half-brother should something happen to us.
        Creating a literary estate took money, something that neither Jesus nor myself had much of. I’d gotten a sample draft from a link Neil Gaiman had posted, and was weighing the possibilities of finding something similar on Legal Zoom.com or another website. I wondered if such a document would still be considered legal. This was important to me. I didn’t want to die and have the rights to my work fall into the hands of one of my publishers. The money, what little there was, should go to my sons.
        This was what I was thinking about when Sam started growling. I glanced down at him. He was staring at the top of the driveway. His ears were flattened and his haunches were raised. His tail was between his legs and he stood stiff as a board. When I reached for him, he growled again. His eyes never left the spot at the top of the hill.
        I looked around, thinking he’d seen an animal, but the driveway was deserted. Annoyed, I picked up Max, sat him down and then took Sam inside. When I came back out, Max had run off to the garage, and was standing outside the door, meowing to be let in. Although he is an outdoor cat, Max sleeps in the garage at night. It provides him safety from the cold in the winter and protection from nocturnal predators like coyotes and foxes and owls in the warmer months. I opened the door and let him in. Then I closed it behind me and returned to my cigar.
        As I sat down again, the porch glider began to move. The rocking was slow, but noticeable. Back and forth. Back and forth. The aluminum struts squeaked. Max began howling inside the garage. In the house, I heard Sam start growling again. He barked once, loud and powerful. Then Cassi hollered at him to shut up. Her voice was muted, almost lost beneath the forcefulness of his bark. Through it all, the glider kept rocking. There was no wind. I glanced up at the treetops to confirm this. No wind, not even a slight breeze. Sometimes, when a dump truck or tractor trailer goes barreling down the road, they’ll vibrate our deck,