Grist Mill Road by Christopher J. Yates Read Free Book Online

rub of it, The Shack in the 1PP stack, Hannah loves it, she lives it, she breathes it.
    So that leaving it behind is bittersweet every night—a news day low on blood is a good day for the city, it’s true, but red streets at night, tabloids’ delight. And today? Just a light shade of blush, a good thing, probably, for her anniversarial mood. Is that a word, anniversarial ? Possibly not, probably she’s confused it with adversarial, and then she thinks to take the stairs, only a single flight down, not the elevator, because enough cops already, she will see more on the way out anyway, and she does, Officer Kohn (Jets, Mets, Nets, hates hockey, two daughters).
    Four and twelve, Brian? she says. Four and twelve ? Unbelievable.
    Yeah, well, we stank up the whole season. But what can I do? When you’re a Jet you’re a Jet, right? Thanks for reminding me, Hannah.
    Would I do that to you, Brian? No, I meant your daughters, four and twelve, right?
    Oh, I see, playing smart, Hannah, huh? You know, we could do with some of that, maybe you could coach the Jets instead of Mangenius—dumbest nickname I ever heard. The girls? Seven and nine. Gang Green? I’d take seven and nine in a heartbeat.
    Come on, dream big, Brian, turn that frown upside down—nine and seven! You know, nine and seven could sneak you into the playoffs next season.
    Right, dream big, sure. Look, I love my kids, Hannah, but I’d sell both their sweet little souls for nine and seven. You have a great weekend now.
    You too, Brian. Maybe take up watching hockey instead. And give Jasmine and Kaylee big hugs and kisses from me.
    Out into the night, the day’s snow no more than a haze in the plaza lights now, and incoming Daniel Ochoa (Knicks, Yanks, fianc é e) and Marty Russell (Devils, Springsteen, seven boys).
    Still don’t have my invite, Officer Ochoa.
    Still don’t have a wedding date, New York Mail .
    What gives, Danny? Marty’s sons will have seven brides for seven brothers before you make an honest woman of Isabel. (Hannah’s phone starts to ring.)
    She has like twelve thousand cousins. And they all eat, you know? I’ll be saving up till Judgment Day.
    Now Marty wants in. Hannah, why leaving so early? Come on, Friday night’s just getting started.
    Maybe I was born to run, Marty.
    They wave her away like a bad smell, but laughing, as she picks up the phone, Jen’s number on the screen, best friends from the first day of kindergarten, and she answers, Hey, Jen, you got snow up there?
    Snow? No. I called to say happy anniversary, Hannah.
    Hannah hangs back from saying anything more for a moment, her marriage to Patrick still one of the sore points between her and Jen, not that Jen openly disapproves, would never voice disapproval, but Jen hadn’t understood why, and four years ago, Hannah had felt hurt by nothing worse than a pause after she told Jen the news of her engagement, and then they hadn’t spoken in almost a year, all because of a pause not much longer than this one ballooning now … Thanks, Jen, she says. Four years already, I can’t believe it.
    You have plans?
    Patch. He’s cooking something special.
    Lucky you.
    (Another call coming through.) Yep, lucky me. (Hannah looksto see who it is, the news editor.) Oh shoot, I have to take this other call from … Sorry, it’s work, Jen. Let’s talk over the weekend. Tell the girls arrrrr from their Aunt Hannah.
    I will. You have a good night, Han. Love you. Say hi to Patrick.
    Hannah hangs up the call and pauses a moment before taking the next, noticing the sound of helicopters in the distance, a sense of fourteen floors behind her beginning to hum, sirens winding up everywhere, and she knows she should let the call from her news editor drop to voice mail, she can say she was stuck underground, delays on the subway, and that’s what she absolutely should do, their fourth anniversary, because if she