House of Reckoning by John Saul Read Free Book Online Page B

from trembling.
    “Good. Then just don’t touch my stuff. Mom says you can have the bottom drawer in the dresser, but the rest of it’s mine.” Tiffany got off the bed and used her forefinger to draw an imaginary line between the two beds. “Just stay on your side of this line,” she said. She moved to the door and opened it. “And leave my dog alone, too.”
    Then she was gone, slamming the bedroom door behind her.
    Give it time
, the echo of her mother whispered.
Nothing is ever as bad as it seems at first
. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the pain in her leg, Sarah leaned over, braced herself on the dresser with her left hand, and used her right to work the bottom drawer of the dresser open. She peered down into the empty drawer, then over to her full suitcase, and found herself smiling. There wasn’t going to be a problem at all—everything she owned would easily fit in the single drawer, and the suitcase itself would go under the bed. Maybe her mother was right: maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.
    Ten minutes later everything was folded and in the drawer, and Sarah was working the suitcase into the space under the bed when she heard the front door slam and a voice shout out.
    A man’s voice.
    Mitch Garvey was home.
    “Sarah?” she heard Angie call up the stairs. “Come down and meet your new father.”
    My new father? Sarah silently echoed. I already have a father. A father who loves me. “Just a minute,” she called back.
    The man’s voice—an angry voice—roared up from below. “Not in a minute, young lady! Now. Come down right now. Don’t make me stand here waiting for you. Not ever.”
    Moving as quickly as she could, Sarah started for the door, but it seemed to take forever just to limp across the room. Finally, though, she was there, pulling the door open and lurching toward the top of the stairs, where she hung tightly to the banister for a moment, both to steady herself and let the pain in her hip and leg ease slightly before she started down. At the foot of the stairs, two faces were tipped up, two pairs of eyes were looking at her.
    Angie Garvey was smiling that same not-quite-warm smile Sarah had seen earlier.
    Mitch Garvey was scowling, his face red.
    Grasping the handrail, Sarah took the first awkward step down, then another.
    “Jesus Christ,” Mitch Garvey said, his voice grating with anger he didn’t even bother to conceal. “They sent us a damn cripple!”
    Sarah’s fingers trembled under her foster mother’s critical eye as Angie straightened every one of the five forks, centering each on its perfectly folded napkin. “Better,” Angie declared, looking pointedly at Sarah. “Anything worth doing is worth doing right.” She turned to Tiffany, who sat curled up on the chair in the living room, watching TV. “Dinner’s ready. Go get your brother and your father.”
    Tiffany jumped up, ran to the bottom of the stairs and called out,
    “Dad! Zach! Dinnertime!”
    Sarah took an uncertain step back from the table, not knowing which place was hers, while Angie wiped the top of the pepper shaker with the palm of her hand.
    Moments later a teenage boy, a little older than Tiffany, but with the same dark eyes, came down the stairs dressed in a T-shirt and jeans.
    “Sarah, this is your foster brother, Zach,” Angie said.
    “Hey,” Zach said, giving her the barest of glances before he pulled out a chair and sat down.
    “Hi,” Sarah said, her voice weaker than she intended. She cleared her throat.
    Moments later Mitch Garvey took his place at the head of the table, and Tiffany sat next to her brother.
    Sarah pulled out the remaining chair and was about to sit when Angie said, “You may serve now, Sarah.”
    Sarah froze for a second, then realized there was no food on the table. She moved into the kitchen as quickly as she could and brought back bowls of mashed potatoes and string beans, setting them on the table and waiting for some sign of Angie’s approval.
    When