We Live in Water Read Online Free PDF

me, Timmy. I know this piece of shit is your friend, but that just . . . just don’t do it for me.”
    That was when Oren moved. He moved like he moved in poker, not thinking about it until he did it, the way he never looked at his cards until it was his bet, because if he had no idea what he had, then no one else would be able to read him. He jumped, grabbed hold of the leg of the craps table, and pulled it over between him and Bannen. And then he had to find a spot through the semicircle. Flett, of course. It was the only play and Flett seemed to know it. Oren hit his friend full in the chest with his shoulder and the man gave, stumbled backward into a blackjack table behind him. Rutledge grabbed for him but Oren spun and was out the door. It was cold outside. He’d come out the back door, opposite side of the parking lot, and he ran as fast and as low as he could, into the trees. At first he couldn’t tell if anyone was behind him, but then he could hear voices and the crunch of brush.
    Oren ran like an animal, scrambling and darting, almost on all fours. The air burned his lungs. He tripped over something and scratched himself but he barely slowed. Tree limbs swatted at him. It was so dark in these woods that, when his eyes finally adjusted, he found it nearly impossible to believe he hadn’t run full into a tree. They were thick all around him and he moved like a kid running through a crowd of—Oh, shit.
    Oren came to a stop, panting.
    Goddamn it! He looked back over his shoulder. He’d brought Michael to Flett’s house earlier in the day, that was one thing. But bringing a six-year-old to Two Bridges—what was he thinking? He wasn’t, that’s what. He could’ve easily taken the kid to Katie’s for the night. Flett had even suggested leaving Michael at his house, in the basement. “You see how much he loves them fish,” Flett had said. “He’ll be fine.”
    Maybe Flett would find the kid and take him home. Even Bannen, asshole that he was, wouldn’t take out adult business on a kid. Would he? Oren needed to keep moving. Make his way south, to the highway, to Hayden. Maybe boost a car.
    He started running again but the adrenaline was fading and his broken rib cut him with each inhale. He saw a crease in the hillside and could hear water trickling. He ran down and found an old logging road hacked into the forest, two lines of faint tire tracks. Where the road crossed the creek they’d put in a culvert, a round section of corrugated no bigger than a man could crawl through. Oren dropped down to the creek bed, just above the water line, and ducked into it. There was just a trickle of water. He could stay here till morning. He thought about his escape and felt a sort of pride. It seemed big to him, epic, the kind of story men would repeat through the ages. He’d nailed Bannen’s wife and got away with it. That kind of story attached itself to a man forever. That is, if anyone ever found out about it. It was black dark. Oren closed his eyes.
    He pictured the boy sitting in the car again. Don’t move, he had told the kid when he went inside to straighten things out. And the kid wouldn’t move. Oren had only had Michael for three months, since the divorce went final, but he was a good kid. He did what he was told, and most of the time he sat in the apartment Oren rented in Coeur d’Alene, staring out at the traffic on the street like it was a damn television. Shit, the kid might sit in that car forever. What was the crazy question he’d asked on the way out here from Flett’s house? Water. Oren laughed to himself as he crouched in the culvert, icy creek flowing around the rubber of his boots.
    So, what if Flett didn’t find the boy in the car? What if they spent all night looking for Oren? Michael would sit there all night. It was cold out here. What if Michael came looking for him? He pictured Bannen grabbing his kid and Oren felt something hot rise in his throat. Maybe Bannen would take it out on the