BOMAW 1-3 by Mercedes Keyes Read Free Book Online

you mind turning that off, please? It's scaring my grandson!"
    Sighing, Everett complied. As the roar of the engine died, her voice filled the void with a forced, controlled shrillness. "How could you sit here and let him dart across the road that way!" she shot, now standing next to his motorcycle, reaching down to take Isaac's hand.
    "Excuse me? I didn't let him do anything! I wasn't expecting it!" he returned, incredulous.
    "He could have gotten hit by a car or a truck!"
    "Hold it just a minute here, lady! First of all, you should not have turned your back on him! And second, it happened before I could react. Suddenly he was here! That is not my fault!" he continued in his own defense.
    "Well if you hadn't come charging up the danged road on this motorcycle, startling the baby and impressing upon him all this shiny, noisy metal, he wouldn't have!"
    "Excuse me, Sylvia Payne, but this is a free country! I have every right to ride my motorcycle in whatever fashion I choose! How was I suppose to know that children would be present when I came up or down it? Or whatever the hell I did—"
    "Please mind your mouth and your language, my grandchildren are present!" Sylvie snapped in return.
    "Grandma, I wanna ride the motorcycle!" Isaac cried, growing upset with the dispute between the adults, simply because he understood already at this age that this could mean he wouldn't get to ride. He was right.
    "And you, little boy, aren't riding anything. You better hope I don't get you back to the house and spank your butt! You know better than to leave that yard, crossing this road...without me or someone with you. So you just pipe down...it's naptime for you!" With that, Sylvia looked up at Everett once more. "If you will now excuse me, I'll get back to my side of the road." With that said, she turned, looked again and headed across the road with Isaac in tow.
    "Sylvia Payne, Sylvia Payne, you know what…as I said the last time, your name...is truly fitting!" he yelled the last part at her as she made her way across her front lawn to her side door, ignoring him all the way.
    Everett sat on his motorcycle staring for long moments at her yard, the house and her car, thinking about their encounters thus far. Shaking his head, he restarted his bike and drove it into his yard, parking it next to his garage. While he made sure to lock it up as he usually did then covered it with the canvas, he thought about her grandsons. They were white. Both blonds, one straight-haired, the baby with curly hair, brown eyes, and very fair skin. He was intrigued by it, knowing as he did that such families existed, as in the case of his brother. His wife, however, was Spanish, not Black, yet she was on the dark side. In his brother's family there was a slight case if it, where the members were of the same blood, but racially different in physical attributes, just not as strong in contrast as there was between Sylvia and her grandsons. Again, his curiosity was pricked. He was an artist. The surroundings of their homes were dense in beauty and color and she added to it. He couldn't quite put his finger to it yet, but Sylvia Payne was slowly gaining way under his skin. Her grandsons added another dimension. The artist in him wanted to capture them on canvas, but she was such a mean pistol. No, that wasn't true. He also remembered standing in his doorway watching her as she stood in his studio, gazing longingly at a portrait he'd painted. Right there, right then, there had been no anger or meanness in her gaze, but one of longing...of loneliness. One that she worked hard at trying to hide.
    Standing now within his kitchen peering out of its window, he felt the need within him suddenly strengthen to break through this wall she'd placed around herself. Problem was, he had no idea as to how he would do it, but do it he would. Once he succeeded in getting through, what next? Where would that place him in her life? Where would that place her in his?
    "Hell!" Everett