The Singing River Read Online Free PDF

my head, cool air hit my bare stomach just below my crop top.
    My eyes narrowed. “What kind of something?”
    My blue jean shorts hit the floor.
    “Do you always have to do that?” Mom asked.
    Glancing down at my crop top and white underwear, I shrugged. “God, Mom, it’s just us.”
    She shook her head as I moved to the washer and dryer in the hall between the kitchen and her bedroom. A large, clean New Orleans Saints T-shirt and underwear lay on the dryer, and I snatched them up before moving into her bathroom. We had another bathroom at the other end of the trailer, but it was so tiny, there was barely room to stand.
    I turned on the shower, my fingers testing the water before glancing into the bedroom. “What have you got planned for me?”
    Mom grabbed a pack of Marlboro Lights off her dresser and lit a cigarette. I scowled. She had been smoking since she was a teen and stopping didn’t seem to be on her priority list.
    “An old school friend of my boss’s stopped by the office during my interview today,” she began.
    I threw her a look before closing the bathroom door, leaving it cracked as I shed the rest of my clothes and climbed into the shower.
    “No,” Mom quickly amended, “I know what you’re thinking and it’s not like that. He’s too old for you, and I’m an awful matchmaker. He studies history, and he’s particularly interested in Southern folklore.”
    Grabbing the bottle of shampoo, I scrubbed my hair. “And that has something to do with me?”
    “He’s studying the Singing River legend.”
    I paused, letting the soapy water sluice down my body, my eyes on the stained shower wall. I’d been five years old, sitting on my grandfather’s knee, when I’d first heard the story of the Pascagoula River. My papaw had loved telling stories. He’d sit on his couch, a glass of milk and cornbread in one hand, the other patting his knee. He’d smelled like Old Spice and hair grease, and I’d been fascinated by his stories. The Singing River had affected me more than most.
    Mom was encouraged by my silence, and she tapped the door.   “I told him you’d love to ride down there with him, maybe do a little investigating.”
    I shut the water off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around my chest before pulling open the bathroom door. It put me face to face with Mom.
    “Really?” I asked. “So he’s a historian?”
    Mom grinned. “An amateur one. He’s a journalist for a living.”
    Excitement thrummed through my veins.
    “You leave Sunday for a few days on the river,” Mom added.
    My spirits fell.
    “But work ...”
    Mom exhaled, a stream of smoke rising from her lips. “Call Frieda and adjust your schedule. It’s only for a couple of days. He’ll be making several trips this summer.”
    I pulled the Saints T-shirt over my head and let the towel fall to the floor.
    Mom glared at it. “You won’t make a tidy housekeeper one day.”
    “I’m testing a new theory,” I replied.
    Mom’s brows rose. “You tryin’ to see if clothes will grow legs and walk to the laundry?”
    I donned the underwear and draped an arm over Mom’s shoulder, avoiding the smoke from the cigarette in her fingers. “I’m waiting to see how long it’ll take you to pick them up for me.”
    Mom bent and grabbed my towel, using it to pop me on my rear.
    “Insolent child!” Her lips twitched. “I didn’t send you to school to learn sass.”
    I winked at her. “Didn’t you know? I’m majoring in smartassery in the fall.”
    Mom groaned. “Get!” she ordered.
    I grinned all the way to the kitchen where Mr. Nelson’s tomatoes and a pack of bacon waited.

 
     
    Chapter 6
     
    River
     
     
    Roman slept curled in the fetal position, his arms hugging a pillow, his teeth grinding, and his fists clenched.
    I stood in the open doorway of his bedroom and watched him, my car keys dangling from my fingertips.
    “Haven,” I whispered.
    There had been no reason to return to the dairy bar after I’d dumped