Live it Again by Geoff North Read Free Book Online

mincemeat pies. Dad had always given her hell for baking in
the middle of summer . ‘Hot enough without you heatin’ the goddamned house up
anymore.’ That meant he probably wasn’t home. He was a part-time farmer and
a full-time carpenter. He would be out on the road now, at some construction
site in some other town.
    Hugh stepped up into a small hallway and
admired the family pictures along one wall. He entered the kitchen and saw his
mother. She was bent over the sink, scrubbing baking trays and washing
measuring cups. The sight was too much for him to bear. He sank to his knees
and moaned.
    Gordo and Heather ignored him, their faces
stuffed with pastry. His mother stopped what she was doing and turned toward
him. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
    Hugh hadn’t heard her speak in years. She
was still alive in 2011, but after his father had died, a big part of her must
have gone off with him. The doctors said it was dementia, senility settling in
early. She would be diagnosed in the late nineties with advanced Alzheimer’s,
and besides the occasional sigh of grief or bark of discomfort, Hugh would
never hear Marion Nance speak again. He rarely visited at the personal care
home in Whendel, he’d always been a momma’s boy, hated having to see her like
that. This was how he remembered her.
    She called me sweetheart.
    She’d always called him that. Hugh called
his own daughters that when he was feeling exceptionally loveable.
    His mother wiped her hands on a dry tea
towel and came over to him. She placed an arm around his shoulders and kissed
the top of his head. “Did you have a rough day?”
    “Nah,” Hugh struggled for words. After all
the pain he’d suffered watching her deteriorate, the years of sadness and
longing evaporated. This wonderful woman was whole again, in his life again. He
suddenly felt small and shy. “I’m just hungry.”
    “Go wash up and I’ll have a plate ready
when you get back.” She gave his shoulder a final squeeze and went back to her
work. Hugh watched for a few more minutes as she dried the last of the bowls
and went for the bag of flour to start another batch of whatever it was she was
making. If he could live all eternity in one moment, this would be it.
    “Go on,” she said, “wash up or I’ll make
you wait until supper.”
    Hugh grinned at her lovingly and headed for
the bathroom. He passed a grey cat in the hallway and paused, trying to recall
which one it was. There had been dozens of cats growing up on the farm. He bent
over to stroke its fur, the green eyes became hostile slits, and it hissed,
baring sharp, little teeth.
    “Fred…I remember you now, you vicious
prick.” Hugh straightened back up and regarded the animal with contempt. “Just
you wait, Freddy-Boy. You’re gonna crawl up into a combine this fall or next,
and it’ll be lights out kitty.”
    As Hugh washed his hands he considered the
things he could make different this time. He could fink on Mrs. McDonald, but
he wouldn’t. He could try and prevent her husband’s death, and he probably
would.
    Plenty of time for that.
    It was the same with Billy Parton; he had
five years before the farm accident claimed his friend’s life. Should he make
sure Fred-the Fucked Up-cat stays in the house the day of the combine mishap?
    No, some history doesn’t need to be
changed.
    And what about Benjamin Nance? His first
son had died accidently in 1992. This time round he would be there to stop the
eighteen-month-old from tumbling down the basement stairs. Little kids are
tougher than they appear, the autopsy reported he’d survived the fall; it was
striking his head against the metal pail of rusty nails and screws on the last
step that had done him in. It would be three years before they tried for
another baby.
    Hugh had eighteen years to live over before
that fateful day. Seven years before he met Cathy, seven and a half years
before he lost his virginity.
    I’ll work on that one.
    Eight years before he’d