Need by Joelle Charbonneau Read Free Book Online Page A

Maybe he just understood that I needed to prove to myself that I could deal with the fear on my own. Until the day he walked out the door to go on that fishing trip and never came back, I thought he loved me. I was wrong about that. Who knows what else I was wrong about? Probably everything.
    I hold my breath and listen to the silence. No creaking floorboards to alert me that my mother is once again hovering outside my brother’s door or is going outside to sneak a smoke. No high-pitched whine of the old TV in my brother’s room that tells me he is wearing headphones to watch some late-night action flick. Everything is quiet, just as it should be.
    I turn off the lights and am burrowed under the blankets when I hear a scraping sound. There it is again. My heart kicks hard in my chest. The sound gets louder. I sit up and try to figure out where it’s coming from. Outdoors.
    Wait. That isn’t a scraping sound. It’s shoveling. Someone is shoveling snow.
    I roll my eyes and think about what Nate would say about my reaction to an industrious neighbor keeping his driveway clear. No doubt he’d call me a bunch of girly names and then do his impression of me shrieking and covering my face. Needless to say, I don’t plan on telling him about this. I live in Wisconsin. You’d think I’d be used to the sounds of snow removal. Especially since I’ve had to do most of it this year. With DJ’s health and Mom’s work schedule, shoveling the driveway has fallen to me. I’ve even put a weather app on my phone so I know when the snow is coming. Maybe that’s why the shoveling startled me. We aren’t supposed to get any snow until the weekend. Not that I’m surprised the app got it wrong, but now I won’t be able to sleep in. After the way Mom shut me out, I want to let her just deal with the snow herself. But I won’t. Not because I’m nice, but because I refuse to sink to her level.
    I put on my glasses, walk to the window, and turn the blinds so I can see how hard the snow is coming down. It’s not. I look down at the backyard below my window and once again hear the sound of a shovel hitting ice and snow. Why would someone be shoveling when there isn’t any new snow?
    I start to go back to bed, then change my mind. There’s no way I’ll sleep. Not while I’m wondering what’s going on. I glance at my mother’s closed bedroom door and am careful not to make a sound as I tiptoe by. There’s no point in freaking Mom out unless there’s really a reason.
    When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I make a beeline for the living room window. The snow is reflecting the moon, and makes the front yard bright enough to see that there’s nothing unusual out there. Shaking my head, I start to turn. That’s when I see something move. A shadow at the edge of the yard by the large tree near the street. Not a shadow. A man, and he’s holding a shovel. The shovel he must have used to dig the hole in the snow at his feet. And when he puts the shovel down and throws something in the hole, I don’t think. I run to the front door, fumble with the locks, and throw it open.
    â€œHey.”
    The guy starts, then reaches down, grabs his shovel, and runs. By the time I pull on my boots and race out into the cold he’s almost all the way down the block. I run onto the street to try to see which way he will go next.
    He looks back at me as he reaches the end of the block. I can’t make out his face. Only that his coat is black and his hat is green and yellow. Then he bolts to the left onto Beloit Street and disappears from view.
    I wrap my arms around myself as the frigid wind whips my hair. I grit my teeth and walk slowly toward the tree and the hole that he dug in the snow. A hole that is shaped like a rectangle. And now that I am closer I can see what he threw inside.
    A rectangular cardboard box with writing on the top.
    Get a clue.