The Ghost of Ben Hargrove by Heather Brewer Read Free Book Online

it, had noticed me. My dad seemed oblivious to the stares.
    The Lakehouse Grill was small-town chic . . . in that it had panel-covered walls from the seventies, ripped-vinyl booth seats, and enough fake plants to choke a horse. A weird horse that ate fake plants. Probably a horse from small-town Michigan.
    As far as I had seen, it seemed like it was pretty much our only option for eating out unless we wanted to drive thirty minutes to the next town over, so I was hoping they had some fair-to-decent food. When we stepped inside, we were greeted by a woman who was basically every hostess in every small-town café everywhere. She was relatively short and relatively thin, and I could tell by her gravelly voice that she smoked way too many cigarettes when she wasn’t busy directing people where to sit. Around her neck she wore a pair of reading glasses on a chain. A younger, much prettier blond lady was arguing quietly with her. The hostess was losing her cool. “I know, Marjorie, but Spencer’s going through a bad time right now. You just have to be more careful is all. It’ll all be over soon. Now get your buns back in the kitchen.”
    She looked at my dad expectantly. “Two?”
    â€œYes, please.” We followed her into the main dining area, to a booth near the back. As we moved, I could feel eyes on me, wondering just who we were and what we thought we were doing here. Maybe some of these people recognized Dad or something. But from the look on Dad’s face as we moved past the tables, it was clear that he didn’t recognize any of them.
    The hostess handed us menus and told us that Donna would be taking care of us, then she called me “honey,” and, even resistant to her chain-smoking charms as I was, it felt nice. Maybe she could speak to the gas station guys on our behalf and tell them that my dad and I weren’t so bad. Or at least get the patrons to stop staring.
    Dad peered over his menu at me and cleared his throat. “It would be nice if you called your mom when we get back, and let her know we made it okay.”
    It was a nudge. I’d become very familiar with his nudges in the past six months. He’d nudge me to call her, to make a connection, to try to forgive her for the things she couldn’t control. But I wasn’t ready yet. So as usual, I countered his nudge with a lie. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. We’ve got all that unpacking to do.”
    Dad frowned.
    A perky brunette approached our table with a little too much bounce in her step, considering it wasn’t yet ten in the morning. “Good morning, you two. Can I get you started with some drinks?”
    â€œCoffee, please. Cream and sugar?” My dad remained completely oblivious to the stares we were getting. Either he had no idea, or he was trying to make the best of it. Likely, option B. He’d always been a peacekeeper. That’s why it took him so long to get the balls to lock Mom away. Or maybe, in the end, locking her away had been his way of keeping the peace. I wouldn’t know. No one had explained any of it to me. It was like when he’d told me we were moving. Simple, direct, with no room for argument. “Stephen, I’m committing your mother to a mental hospital.”
    My life with Dad was a series of simple statements.
    â€œAnd you?” Donna smiled at me, her pen poised over the small pad of paper in her hand. She struck me as one of those really annoying people who love what it is they do for a living.
    â€œI’ll have a Mountain D—”
    â€œ Everyone! You’re gonna burn. You’re all gonna burn!”
    I whipped my head around to the wild-eyed woman standing just inside the restaurant’s front door. She was wearing a plain gray dress that reached her ankles, with sleeves that stretched all the way to her wrists, despite the fact that it was eighty-eight degrees outside. Around her neck she wore a small silver