The Whirlwind in the Thorn Tree Read Online Free PDF Page B

he took a deadpan drag off the unfiltered Camel.
    “Those things will kill you,” I said.
    “World War II didn’t kill my dad, and neither did Camels, and if my wife couldn’t do it, this Camel ain’t gonna do it either.”
    We stood there a minute, listening to the traffic. “I always wondered how Carl got that scar on his neck.”
    “Well, now you know. So what are you gonna do, Ross?”
    At that point, it hit me that over the course of my life, I’d probably seen more of this man than I had my own father. The idea stunned me. I managed to say, “Not sure. I guess write the damn book.”
    “Attaboy. What made you change your mind?”
    “Those people’s faces.”
    “Very commendable. You sure it wasn’t the money?”
    “No. Maybe that Winton guy’s right. Maybe I’m not so bad. Maybe I can do it. I don’t owe them anything, but...what kind of guy would I be if I didn’t even try?”
    “It wasn’t the fame? Not even a little bit?”
    “No. I just don’t—well, I guess I don’t really want to let them down after all.”
    “You’re a damned liar.”
    “Okay, okay,” I said, smirking at him. “Maybe the fame. Just a little bit.”
    “Attaboy.”
     
    _______
     
    My mom, Bayard, and I were the last ones to leave—or at least I thought we were. On the way out, I passed the doorway into a little kitchenette and spotted Sawyer Winton sitting at the table inside, drinking a cup of coffee, his camera off and lying on the table.
    As soon as he saw me, he spoke up, “Hey, Mr. Brigham!” and started to get out of his chair.
    I told my companions I would be out in a minute and ducked into the little break room. “Don’t get up, Sawyer,” I said, settling into a chair myself. “And you can call me Ross.”
    “Okay...Ross,” said Sawyer, sitting back down. But when he saw the expression on my face, he tensed up again. We sat there for a long moment like this, staring at each other. He pretended to fiddle with the camera, turning it on, and put it back down at an angle that captured both of us. No doubt some sort of documentation, experience footage, for YouTube.
    At long last, Sawyer blurted, instead of whatever he had meant to discuss with me, “...What? What is it?”
    “I’m a wee bit pissed,” I said. “What possessed you two to bring up the petition in the middle of my father’s viewing? Call me up in front of my dead dad and put me on the spot in front of my mother and God and everybody? That reporter? Did you both lose your minds? What the hell, dude.”
    “Yeah,” he said, looking down at the table as he picked his fingernails. “I guess that wasn’t the most tactful thing to do, yeah, maybe. I guess I just thought something like that deserved some kind of—I don’t know, ceremonial feel, you know? A couple of the others thought it was kinda bad form, too. I’m sorry, Mr. Brigham.”
    “Well...I know you meant well.”
    I let the moment linger for emphasis, then added, “So what did you want to talk about?”
    “I just wanted to thank you for considering the book, and to let you know that I’m always available if you have any questions about the lore and canon of the series. I’ve been a lifelong fan ever since I read the first book when I was in third grade. I’m gonna be in town a couple days visiting with a few of the other fans while I’m here.”
    “Third grade, huh?” I said, taking out my cellphone. “What’s your cellphone number?”
    As I entered his number into my contacts list, Sawyer said, “My teacher, Mrs. Kirby, was reading it, gave it to me when she was done with it. I finished it in like, a week or two, and she was so impressed and stuff that she went out and bought me my own copy of the second one as soon as it came out, later that year.”
    “That’s cool.”
    “Look, uhh...Ross,” said Sawyer, taking something out of his jacket. It was an elderly, dog-eared copy of my father’s second book, The Cape and The Castle. The pages were yellowed, the