No Use For A Name by Penelope Wright Read Free Book Online

chirp-chirp sound coming from the vehicle while the taillights flashed.
    "God has been good to us. People can't seem to get enough ice cream." Grady said as he opened my car door for me. I slid into the leather seat and rubbed it appreciatively. I'd never been in a car this nice. Hell, I'd never sat on a sofa this nice.
    "The ice cream shop is yours?"
    "My dad's. He owns the franchise in the mall, plus three others."
    Grady shut my door and walked around the back of the car to his side. He settled into the driver's seat, turned the key in the ignition, and the car's audio blared to life. Grady stabbed at the off button so urgently that he accidentally turned it up louder before he managed to click it off.
    "Susan Boyle?" I said.
    "My dad must have borrowed my car after lunch. He does that sometimes. It's his music, not mine." Grady looked mortified.
    "Um, okay." He looked so embarrassed, I fished around for something to say. "I think my dad likes her too."
    That seemed to take the edge off, god knows why. "Yeah?" Grady said. "My dad's got her CD on all the time … as you probably noticed." He smiled ruefully. "I was pretty sure my dad was the only male Susan Boyle fan in the entire world. Does your dad listen to her a lot?" Grady put the car in drive and we pulled out of the parking lot.
    I shook my head. "Not anymore." I pictured my dad. It had been one of his rare afternoons at home, and he'd been washing his car on the lawn, singing along softly with the song that had just now come blasting out of Grady's car stereo. The door to our trailer had been open because it was hot outside, and my mom had overheard him. She'd poked her head out the door and told my dad he sounded like a fag. I hadn't heard the song again until now.
    "Tell me about your family," Grady said.
    I certainly wasn't going to tell Grady that little nugget. But all my stories were kind of like that, so I decided to stick to the facts. "I've got three sisters and a brother," I said.
    "Older or younger?"
    "All older. My sisters are all out of school, but my brother is a senior."
    "Who's your brother? I might know him."
    "Joe Anderson."
    "Joey?"
    "Yeah, but he likes to be called Joe," I said. "Do you know him very well?"
    "No, we don't hang out or anything. But he's in my calculus class, and we've had a few other classes together over the years. He's really smart."
    "Is he really?"
    Grady adjusted his grip on the wheel, his hands at ten and two. His long fingers kneaded the soft leather cover. "Yeah. You didn't know?"
    "My family's not that close."
    "Do they give you a hard time because of your faith?"
    It seemed like we were driving really slow. I glanced at the speedometer, then looked out the window at the trees and houses rolling by at exactly thirty miles an hour. Grady certainly knew how to follow the rules. "No. It's nothing like that. We're just different people I guess."
    "Well, I'm glad to hear that. A lot of Christians don't have the support of their families. I'm really lucky to have my dad."
    "What about your mom?"
    "My mom and dad got divorced when I was a baby, and then she died when I was two. I don't remember her, but my dad says she loved me a lot."
    "I'm really sorry." As freaky as I found the whole 'obsessed with Jesus' thing, I had to admit that Grady seemed like a pretty nice guy.
    "It's okay. I know she's smiling down on me from heaven."
    I wanted to agree with him, because it seemed like the nice thing to do, but I was afraid it would sound hollow and fake, since I didn't really believe it myself. So instead of offering him an empty platitude, I just smiled quietly at him. He didn't seem to mind.
    We turned down the driveway of a nondescript church, parked, and walked inside. The interior of the church felt kind of run down, but there was a buzz coming from the big room to the left. What was that called? Where the pews were and everything? I couldn't remember, but I was sure there was a name for that room. The rectory? The pulpit? It