In Times Like These by Nathan Van Coops Read Free Book Online Page A

buy a toothbrush,” Robbie says.
    “I need to buy some pants,” Francesca adds.
    “I need to get something other than cleats to walk around in,” Carson looks down at the dirty softball cleats on his feet.
    “Yeah, me too. ” Blake swats at a bug that’s attempting to land in his scruffy facial hair.
    “We’re going to be out of money in a hurry,” I say. “We’ll have to figure that out soon. For now, lets go down and hang out with Mr. Cameron and see how that goes. Then maybe after, we can walk down to a drug store and pick some things up.”
    The other four agree and Carson leads the way through the door, trying to walk gingerly so as not to scratch the hardwood floor with his plastic cleats.
    “Maybe you should just take them off,” Francesca suggests. Blake and Carson both stop and begin removing their cleats.
    Robbie gets a whiff of a slightly singed foot smell and backs up. “Maybe you should just leave them on.”
    "Oh shut up," Carson retorts. "It's not that bad."
    Dinner with Mr. Cameron is rather subdued. It turns out he made extra helpings of chicken and rice for us, so we help ourselves in spite of our recent meal. We sit around the table and tell him about our lives and doings in 2009. Mr. Cameron listens politely to our conversation and asks questions, but after a few of Carson’s anecdotes about Carson and Robbie getting into trouble together in college, he lapses into silence.
    We likewise concentrate on our chicken for a bit and cast periodic glances at one another. I accidentally drown my asparagus in gravy from the tureen and almost make a joke about it, but stop myself, unsure of how best to break the silence. We help clear the dishes after the meal and Mr. Cameron tells us the location of the nearest drug store. Blake and Carson opt to stay behind rather than don their softball cleats again for the walk. Robbie also decides to stay at the house. Francesca and I promise to do our best to retrieve the items they need for them, and once the dishes are all put away, make our way to the back door. Spartacus follows us.
    "Is it all right if we take Spartacus with us?" Francesca inquires.
    "Oh, of course. You'll be his new best friend," Mr. Cameron replies. "His leash is hanging on a hook on the back steps."
    “Do you happen to have a jacket or a sweater I could borrow?” Francesca asks.
    “Oh yes, I could find something of Abby’s in her closet perhaps, or if you want to use my windbreaker, it’s on the back porch too,” Mr. Cameron replies.
    “That would be fine.” Francesca is elated to find that the jacket is long enough to cover the burn hole in her pants. Spartacus bounds to her with his tail wagging and positions himself at the screen door of the porch. Francesca fastens the leash and Spartacus bolts through the opening in t he door as soon as he can fit. He’s in a state of bliss, sniffing the flowerbed and a garden hose before Francesca and I even make it out the door.
    The walk to the drugstore would’ve only taken a few minutes, but the journey is punctuated by detours through hedges and around a particularly odoriferous set of trashcans. Upon reaching the store, I hold on to Spartacus while Francesca goes inside to grab the items we need. A movie poster for Beverly Hills Cop is hanging in the window, and I’m reading through the cast, when my attention is diverted by three police cruisers racing past with their sirens on.
    As I lean down to calm Spartacus, who is barking at the sirens, a fourth police cruiser pulls into the parking lot. Driving slowly, the officer eyes me briefly before pulling into a position near the entrance. He remains in the squad car and transmits on the radio.
    The police car makes me nervous, though I can’t think of a valid reason why. I casually play with Spartacus, who has decided to chew on his leash to pass the time. In a few minutes Francesca comes out of the store with a bag.
    “I found some cheap flip-flops in a bargain bin for Carson and