Untaken Read Online Free PDF Page B

the worst one of all.
    I snuck through to the living room, skirting a line of Amstel bottles that Dad had set up like a convoy of marching soldiers in some weird moment of boozy three a.m. artistry, then peered through the window.
    Tom Biedermann shifted from foot to foot on the front steps, chewing a stumpy fingernail. He raised his hand to ring the bell again, then stuffed it back in his pocket.
    I snorted.
Chickenshit.
    That’s what dad called Mr. Biedermann whenever he saw his Prius go by, with its lame hippie bumper stickers on the back.
    ‘Send your kids to college, not Iraq,” was the one that really got Dad steaming. He was all about supporting our troops—had wanted to serve himself, but never could because of having to raise me. I figured when I got old enough, I’d join the army myself.
    I was always keen to read about army guys, true stories or pretend ones. It appealed to me, that life. It seemed so ordered. When I joined the army, Dad would be proud. If he couldn’t be a soldier himself, I knew me becoming one would be almost as good.
    When the Biedermanns saw Dad’s truck parked in our yard with its own collection of bumper stickers, including “Ted Kennedy’s car has killed more people than my gun,” well, Mr. Biedermann would turn his nose up in the air like he smelled something bad, and Mrs. Biedermann would shake her head as if we were so far beneath her she felt pity. If Dad himself was in the truck, then they’d look more disgusted still.
    It wouldn’t have been so bad if that was as far as it went. I figure that the world is a big place, there’s room for a few assholes up in the mix, but unlike the other neighbors, the Biedermanns didn’t have the sense to see that dad was never going to change his ways, and asking him to do anything was a surefire way of getting him to do exactly the opposite.
    The doorbell rang again.
    “Just get out of here,” I muttered under my breath. Dad coming home to find Biedermann on the porch would be worse than a thousand Stevies in the house.
    Dad had these pills he was supposed to take to keep him from flipping out, but over the past few weeks, he’d stopped taking them.
    “I don’t need pills,” he’d said. “Folks managed fine for most of history without no pills.”
    He’d spent the past month picking fights—with me, with the clerks at the 7-11, even with his buddies at the UPS depot where he worked. He had a big mean building up inside him, and it was only a matter of time until he unloaded it on some unlucky asshole.
    If I didn’t want dad getting in trouble, I’d just have to suck it up and get rid of Biedermann myself.
    Mr. Biedermann hitched a smarmy smile on his face when I opened the door, but I could see his eyes widen as he took in the state of the house behind me. He looked like a big old hound dog smelling game.
    “Your Dad home, Brandon?”
    “Nope.” I shrugged. “Help you with something?”
    “It’s about the yard,” he said. “I know we’ve had this discussion before.”
    “Yup.”
    He sighed. “Louise said she saw a rat last night.”
    “That so?” I said, my heart sinking. I’d thought that poison I’d laid down had gotten rid of the rats.
    “I don’t want to call the City, Brandon, but I’m going to have to if your Dad doesn’t get the yard cleaned up. What your dad does in his house is his own business,” he added. “But vermin in the neighborhood…” He gave a delicate little shudder.
    “I’ll tell Dad when he gets home.”
    “Is there a time I might speak to him myself?” Biedermann asked, his bushy eyebrows rising almost comically.
    Maybe the asshole was braver than I’d given him credit for. Or just real dumb.
    “If Louise and I can help in any way, you let us know. We’re right next door if you ever want to talk, Brandon.”
    Great, now they felt sorry for us too.
    “Sure,” I said.
    “Say, did you see on the latest on the news about the ships?” he started, like we were pals