Living in Freefall (Living on the Run Book 1) by Ben Patterson Read Free Book Online

irritating thing of
all. During meals, Ericca demonstrated she knew how to behave. Even in heated
arguments, at this table Ericca’s language remained clean.
    Whack! Whack! Whack! “Why does she chooses not to keep
a civil tongue in her mouth the rest of the time. Was doing so really so
difficult?”
    Mara had tried on occasion to get Ericca to bring her table
manners and attitude out into the rest of the ship. Was that really so hard?
Did Mara ask in the wrong way? What? But those conversations always vaulted the
women into headlong clashes. They had so little in common to start with, and Mara
saw the gap between them growing wider each day. She felt helpless to stop it,
not that she really wanted to; she wanted Ericca off the ship. Whack! Whack!
Whack! Diced carrots began to pile up.
    Riley though was a different matter entirely. Mara could talk
to him. Always polite, he was so much more approachable than his sister. He
dressed somewhat like Ericca, though his leathers were more soft browns than
blacks. For him, he looked good , rugged, handsome. Ericca looked like a thug— a
very pretty thug, sure —but a thug nonetheless. Riley was also far more
forthcoming about their past, their upbringing. Often he and Mara would find
some quiet corner of the ship to talk about his life with his sister. There was
no denying Riley loved Ericca. He had good reason. He told Mara about their
growing up as orphans in the mean streets of Praxis, a city on Gimpling.
    “Although we had to scrape for every morsel of food,” he had
said, “Ericca always made sure I got everything I needed—clothes, shelter,
something to eat, the occasional bath—even if Ericca had to skip a meal or two
herself. It’s funny,” he added, “Ericca sees nothing she’s done as heroic. But
she kept me alive, and so she’s my hero all the same.” As far as getting Ericca
to change her behavior, Riley laughed out loud at the mere notion. “Like it or
not, Ericca is who she is,” he had said. “Get used to it.”
    Mara Scooped up the chopped vegetables and dropped them into
the pot of boiling water. She didn’t want to admire the young woman. So Ericca
cared for Riley when times were tough. Dogs provide for their young as well.
Nothing civilized about that. Ericca’s duel personality though? Obviously the
girl had some exposure to culture. Mara wondered why the rest of it didn’t
take. Archer had let it slip once, that to put food on the table, Ericca had
worked in a whorehouse. He insisted she only bussed tables, but Mara didn’t buy
it, not by how Ericca acted anyway. Archer said that after that job, he and Ericca
worked together mucking out stables. That Mara believed.
    Mara dragged a fatty cut of pork onto the butcher block, and
hit it probably with more force that was needed. Whack! Whack! Whack!
    Her daughter, Rachel, was starting to pick up some of Ericca’s
mannerisms and her way of saying certain things, but what irked Mara most was
the way her son Jordon looked at Ericca, how he watched her when she wasn’t
looking. Clearly that girl , as uncivilized as she was, wasn’t good
enough for Mara’s son. Jordon seemed blind to that fact. She didn’t want her
son or her daughter led astray, not by that whore at any rate. She
had doubts she could do anything about any of this no matter what she did.

Chapter Seven
    After everyone sat down to enjoy Mara’s labors of ‘love’ and
unalleviated frustration; the initial conversations—normally jovial—quickly
turned to shop-talk which Mara heard as only so much white noise. To keep her
eyes from glazing over, she considered each person in turn to study how the
crew related to each other. Whenever laughter broke out, Mara seldom understood
why. When arguments arose, she focused more on tone than content. Opinions
could get heated, but she’d only intervene if it got mean.
    When she drew out of her daydream, she noticed Ericca
staring at her. That was understandable. Lost in thought, Mara had,