The Good Son by Carolyn Mills (free e reader txt) 📗

Her eyes caught mine. “I know who you are,” she slurred. “Tell your brother he can go to hell.” Her friends pulled her away, shooting apologetic looks at me over their shoulders.

I stood up. Before I could decide what to say to Tommy, I saw Kendra Vardy heading toward her house. “Sorry, I’ve gotta run.” I sprinted after Kendra, and in a breathless rush asked if I could use her phone.

“I’m not supposed to let people in the house,” she said. “But if you’re quick, it’s fine. Just don’t touch anything.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “Thanks.”

I told Mom I wasn’t feeling well and when she came to get me, the first thing she asked was if I’d been drinking.

“No, Mom, I wasn’t drinking. I told you, it was more of a bonfire thing. Some of the older kids were drinking, but not, like, a lot.” I didn’t mention anything about Ricky being there. Or the scene with the crying redhead.

I SAW TOMMY AT SCHOOL after that and we said “Hi” to each other in the hallways, but that was about the extent of our interactions. There were only a few weeks left until summer break. Ricky called one night to tell us he’d been promoted at Future Shop; he was now a department manager.

“Well, we should have dinner together to celebrate!” Mom said.

Ricky came down on Sunday night and I was shocked by how much he’d changed his appearance. He’d cut his hair short and was wearing jeans that fit properly with a button-down white shirt. He looked older, more mature. Nicer. Not like the creep I’d seen at Kendra’s field party.

“You have to look successful to be successful,” he told me, while adjusting his collar in the hall mirror.

I nodded, but I highly doubted cutting his hair or changing his clothes meant he was any less of an asshole. I’d heard all the rumours by then, about him taking girls out to his car or to an empty bedroom at a party and then pretending he didn’t recognize them the next time he saw them. There was a disturbing story about him and two sisters, but I’d only heard the tail end of it. I didn’t want to know the details. I’d had more than enough of those.

“This is nice,” Mom said, as she placed a pork chop on each of our plates. “Dinner with both my kids.”

I eyed Ricky across the table as he served himself a heaping scoop of mashed potatoes. Why did he keep coming back to Dunford, anyway? You’d think he’d have enough of a life to keep him busy in Leeville.

Ricky passed me the serving spoon. “You still trying to beat everyone up?” he asked.

“Shut up,” I mumbled.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that. What’d you say?”

Mom cleared her throat. She turned to Ricky. “So, when do we get to meet Sophie?”

Almost as soon as he’d walked in the door, Ricky made sure to mention that he was sorry he was late, but he’d had to drop Sophie off first.

“Who’s Sophie?” Mom had immediately asked.

“My girlfriend. You’ll like her.”

“Is she from Dunford?” I’d asked, picturing the redhead, wondering what on earth would possess her to actually date my brother.

“No, she’s a Leeville girl.”

I hoped that meant Ricky might stop spending all his free time in Dunford, although I couldn’t help but wonder how long they’d been dating or if she’d already been in the picture when he disappeared with that redhead at the party.

“You could invite her to dinner sometime,” Mom suggested.

“I’ll ask her,” Ricky said, biting into a roll, chewing with his mouth open just wide enough for me to want to smack it shut.

SOPHIE WASN’T IN THE PICTURE long enough for Ricky to invite her to dinner. He didn’t give any explanation, other than shrugging and saying, “Sophie? She’s long gone” when Mom brought up her name.

“What happened?” Mom pressed.

“Heather,” Ricky said, laughing.

Whoever Heather was, we never met her, either.

CHAPTER TWO

•

AFTER LINDA’S PHONE CALL ABOUT Mom’s heart attack, I don’t know what to do with myself. I wonder, after the fact, if Linda called Ricky, too. I can imagine Mom telling her not to bother him, downplaying the whole incident for everyone’s sake, including her own. I would normally text him in a situation like this, to see whether or not he’d heard, but with everything else going on, I don’t want to touch base with him. I’m afraid to start a conversation.

If I wasn’t so sick, I’d ignore Linda’s advice and stop in to visit Mom. But then, seeing me might just make things worse. It might get her all worked up. Besides, Linda said she wasn’t technically supposed to have visitors, so it’s probably better if I leave her to recover in peace. I’ll check in on her in a few hours, after I’ve had a nap. I’m too tired to come up with a better plan.

It’s hard to find a comfortable position given how congested my sinuses are. I can’t lie flat without my face throbbing, so I end up on the couch with my head tipped back against the armrest, which seems to alleviate some of the pressure in my face. As soon as I close my eyes, I hear Roger’s voice yelling about the overflowing alum tank. I’ve never done anything so careless at work before, not even when I’d just started and didn’t know what polyaluminum chloride was.

After about thirty minutes or maybe longer of trying and failing to fall asleep, I drag my sorry self to the kitchen. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but when I open the cupboard and see a packet of Mr. Noodles, it seems like the perfect antidote to my shitty day. I fill the kettle and while I’m waiting for it to boil, I wallow, just for a minute or two, in self-pity.

I carry my steaming mug of noodles to the living room and switch on the TV. I may as well know what’s coming. If there are any new