The Compound by S.A. Bodeen Read Free Book Online

loser, demanding and scheming toward Gram, verbally abusive toward Mom. Gram finally kicked him out, even though it left her strapped for money once again. Mom came out of it quiet and sensitive, but she was not without resources. She had inherited her father’s talent for music.
    I loved to listen to her, especially moments like this, when she didn’t know she had an audience. Somehow she seemed freer, more at ease. A way she never seemed around my dad.
    She set her bow aside for a moment to switch sheet music.
    I ducked down in case she turned around. She started again. Debussy. The music gave me goose bumps.
    Even if she had been completely void of talent, she still would have taken away people’s breath with her looks. I saw it in their eyes, whenever she came to one of my school events. Oh, at first the teachers and the other parents were always disappointed when my dad didn’t show up, but I think Mom ended up being more interesting to them.
    Her father’s Irish and Scottish background had combined with Gram’s ancestry, leaving Mom with dark hair, deep green eyes, and slightly Polynesian features. She’d walk in the room in her expensive clothes. Classic, elegant, never flashy, but still she’d stand out. I was proud that I had the prettiest mom.
    Funny, we had all inherited Mom’s looks. Except Eddy and I had brown eyes like Gram. Even though Lexie was adopted, she had the same dark hair as Mom. None of us looked like my dad with his fair features. At least the four of us didn’t.
    As for the ones in the yellow room, I couldn’t say. I’d never seen them.
    Trying not to make any noise as I stood up, I left withoutrevealing my presence. In the carpeted section of the Compound, there was only one room left: the chapel.
    For as long as I could remember, Dad had been adamant about our churchgoing. During my childhood, unless we were dying or close to it, our butts were in a Methodist pew every Sunday. I knew more Bible verses than any kid had a right to. And I’m sure the church loved getting my father’s tithes. The minister certainly seemed pleased to see us arrive every Sunday.
    Even in the Compound we remembered the Sabbath day and kept it holy. For the first several years, each Sunday, as well as every Christmas Eve, Dad delivered a brief sermon. We sang a few hymns as Lexie accompanied us on the organ, then Mom read some Bible verses. Those terse moments of religion were sufficient enough to feel that God was with us in the Compound. We never had any reason to doubt that He was. And then, with no explanation, Dad quit holding chapel services just like he quit working out. So I hadn’t been in there for a while.
    The chapel had four rows of carved wooden pews facing a small altar with a wooden pulpit. A large gold cross hung on the wall behind the pulpit, and an organ sat off to one side. Heavy purple curtains framed the setting, and except for the small size, it looked much like the church we attended in Seattle.
    It felt strange being in there alone. The room was so hushed and empty.
    I stepped onto the pulpit. I’d never been up there before. Dad’s Bible was on top and I opened it. A sheet of bluelined paper fell out. In Dad’s handwriting was a list of several items regarding banking and stocks. The title was composed of two words:
TELL PHIL
    Tell Phil ? Why would Dad have a note to his accountant sitting in his Bible? The date was a few months ago, but the year must have been wrong. It was old, of course. Had to be. Guess he needed to be reminded of the old world as much as we did. Or maybe he’d done it on purpose, written a note to his accountant like he did in the old world a dozen times a day. Maybe he needed to pretend in order to feel a little normal once in a while, just like I did.
    I put the note back where I found it.
    A cursory search of the rest of the room revealed nothing. Not that I knew what I was looking for. I left.
    At the end of the carpeted section of the Compound stood a