A Morning Like This by Deborah Bedford Read Free Book Online Page B

“Some days are harder than others. This one has been harder than most.”
    “David, what’s wrong?”
    He turned defensively toward Abby. “I never said anything was wrong. I just said it was a hard day.”
    “It started out lousy. I could tell. Something was wrong this morning.”
    “Look, Ab. We’ve got Braden to take care of. I’m not prepared to go into it right now.”
    “Did you have a late meeting or something?”
    He hesitated again. “Yeah. Something… came up.” He scrubbed his son’s grimy hair. “How about you, sport? Wow, I’m sorry. Did
     you lose a lot of blood?”
    “Yes. Lots.”
    David grasped Abby by the arm, taking charge, and she relaxed against him. “Did
you
do okay?” he asked her, drawing her shoulders close.
    “No,” she said, her voice finally calming. “I didn’t. I needed you.”

    Lies. Lies.
    One led to another, the falsehoods growing around him like snarled vines.
    David sat on their sofa with the huge mass of Brewster curled into knotwork at his feet, alternately holding ice against Braden’s
     swollen nose and reading aloud
The BFG
, Braden’s favorite library book from school.
    He’d promised Braden he wouldn’t miss this game. Beside’s being late, David had avoided the ballpark because he couldn’t bear
     playing the part. The part that had been his own life yesterday. The part that would have left him faking it, rooting for
     his son with his arm draped across Abby’s shoulders while beneath it all he counted the cost of infidelity.
    The telephone rang constantly tonight. At first, each time, David swayed forward on his feet, desperate to answer the calls
     himself. He was certain it would be Susan Roche inquiring about the test. But the questions all came from people concerned
     about Braden: team parents, friends from church who had heard about the accident, Ken and Cindy Hubner, and even the little
     girl named Josey who had a horrible fourth-grade crush on Braden and made Braden’s ears turn red each time anybody mentioned
     her name.
    Word of Braden’s calamity had traveled around town in less than two hours.
    “Thank goodness it wasn’t fractured,” he heard Abby saying over and over again to everybody who phoned. “He got walloped in
     the nose, I’ll tell you that much. It scared us to death. But nothing’s broken. Of course it was terrifying, but he’ll be
     okay.”
    David squirmed on the sofa, his voice droning on with the Roald Dahl story, his heart lurching within his chest every time
     he heard his wife speak the words.
    I don’t know, Abby, if he’ll be okay or not. I don’t know if
you’ll
be okay. Maybe, after today, our family won’t ever be okay again
.
    “Dad,” Braden said. “When you read aloud, you have to read like you’re interested in the story. You’re making it boring.”
    David read another two paragraphs before he gave up trying. “Sorry. Guess I’m not much in the mood to read tonight.” He lay
     the book, upside down and open, beside them on the couch. Once again, he replaced the ice bag on his son’s septum. “How’s
     the nose feeling, sport?”
    “I still can’t breathe through it.”
    “You ought to get some rest now. I’ll bring down your sleeping bag.”
    Dr. Meno had suggested they keep a close watch on Braden tonight, letting him bunk on the floor, waking him up every twenty
     minutes to make certain he hadn’t suffered a concussion. David knew that by morning Brewster would have edged Braden so far
     to one side that the dog would have a better part of the sleeping bag than the boy.
    Once David had spread out the gigantic down bag and Brewster had indeed claimed a spot on it, father and son voyaged to Braden’s
     bedroom and lugged out armfuls of extra pillows.
    “There you go. How’s that?”
    “Good.”
    David punched one last pillow into shape as Braden climbed in. “Good night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
    “How can they be bedbugs?” Braden said. “This