Finding Parker by Scott Hildreth, SD Hildreth Read Free Book Online Page B

pole is typical.
    Pluck.
    Assuming typical length for the pole, my math is correct. Forty-three feet.
    Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.
    Pluck.
    Too many variables. Far too many.
    Pluck. Pluck.
    What if Kenton really wants me to step aside and not take Katelyn on a date?
    Surely he would have expressed his concerns. If nothing else he would have spent some time discussing it.
    He did not.
    Pluck. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.
    He wants me to take her to meet him. That’s the reason he hired me.
    He wants me to do what is right. Regardless of who Katelyn is and why we’re on a date, the right thing to do is to proceed with the plan.
    Pluck.
    I need to do what is right.
    Pluck.
    Yet.
    I need to know when to fold my hand.
    Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.
    When to forfeit.
    Pluck.
    Now is not the time.
    I need to continue, proceed, move forward. If there is a lesson to learn, I will learn it. I won’t make the same mistake twice.
    I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I rotated my head slowly and focused on my eyebrows. The light above the mirror provided sufficient illumination to support what I already assumed.
    Eyebrow perfection.

PARKER. The passage of time has always been something I have found fascinating. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Seasons. Years. Decades. Lifetimes.
    Through the course of college, time passed at various speeds. Generally speaking, it was all too quickly. There never appeared to be enough time to get the work completed that was before me. After I had graduated, it seemed as if it was no more than a year ago when I started.
    Time passes at a constant rate. It never changes. A second is always a second. Sixty of them make a minute, and sixty minutes make one hour.
    Always.
    Our perception of the passage of time, however, changes. I believe when I am anxious of the arrival of a particular event, time seems to pass very slowly. If I allow myself to become consumed by smaller events preceding the larger event, time seems to pass more quickly.
    In short, I have concluded thinking - or reasoning - creates the illusion of time passing slowly. Mindlessness allows us to fly through the days and nights as if they never existed. One may stand to reason, and I certainly do, that a thoughtful person lives a lifetime equal to three or four of that of a mindless couch potato.
    Fascinating.
    “Oh my God, It seems like this day just appeared . You know, it was here like…well, boom !” Katelyn tossed her hands in the air to demonstrate the explosion.
    “I sure arrived quickly, didn’t it?” I turned my head and smiled, knowing it seemed like an eternity.
    I turned the corner onto Camino De La Costa. As I proceeded up the street, Katelyn’s jaw noticeably dropped. Sitting in the passenger seat with her mouth open, staring at the homes along the road, she spoke.
    “Oh. My. God.”
    6201. Here we are.
    Slowly, I turned into the entrance of Kenton’s home.
    “Breathtaking, aren’t they?” I said as I came to a stop beside the stone post.
    The gate slowly began to open.
    “Good evening Mr. Bale,” a familiar voice came from the speaker.
    “ Mr. Bale?” Just who the hell are you?” Katelyn asked.
    “Just a friend,” I responded, smiling.
    Katelyn continued to gawk at the front of the home as I drove up the drive toward the fountain. It was almost dark, and it appeared every light in the home was illuminated. The front of the home was not only well lit from the inside, the outside had a considerable amount of landscape and architectural lighting on the surface of the exterior walls. Every irregular surface cast a long shadow upward, creating an illusion of depth and distance.
    As the car came to a stop at beside the fountain, Downes stepped onto the porch.
    “What’s your last name?” I whispered as I reached for the door handle.
    “Excuse me?” she asked.
    “Your last name, what is it?” I asked as I held the door handle and waited to open the door.
    “Uhhm. Moss,” she responded.
    I nodded as I opened the