The Ice Harvest by Scott Phillips Read Free Book Online Page B

Charlie.
    “That’s Charlie, Bert. Spence and Melissa’s real father.”
    The old man pointed at Sarabeth’s fuming husband. “I thought he was Charlie.”
    “That’s Tony. Now be quiet.”
    Spencer stood up so suddenly he knocked his chair backward and had to grip the edge of the table in order to keep from losing his own balance. “Tony’s my dad! I don’t even know this guy!” Charlie was genuinely surprised at how big the little bastard was getting. When had he seen him last? Surely it hadn’t been more than a couple of months. “You didn’t even send us presents this year.” Shit, Charlie thought, he’s right. How did I let that happen?
    Melissa looked up at Charlie. “I don’t like Tony,” she chirped. She sounded insincere, but it felt good hearing her say it.
    “I think maybe it’d be better if you left now. Perhaps you could give Peter another ride. I think Betsy and the children will be spending the night here.”
    “I don’t need a ride home, you bitch,” Pete said, but he was beaten and he knew it.
    “Good-bye, Charlie.” Dottie smiled at him and sat back down.
    “Well, thanks for the wine.” He knocked the nearly full glass back and drained it.
    Melissa tugged at his arm. “Guess what? I was in this play, A Christmas Carol, and it was about this guy Bob Cratchit.”
    “So what,” Spencer yelled across the table. “You were only Tiny Tim’s sister, and you didn’t even have any lines.” Melissa stuck her tongue out at her brother. “And he didn’t even come watch!” Spencer flipped Charlie the bird and ran from the room, adding himself in passing with a solid, well-aimed belly shot to the list of family members who’d hit Pete for Christmas.
    “He would’ve come if Mom let me send him an invitation!” Melissa yelled after him. Sarabeth’s husband followed Spencer’s departure with an approving, barely suppressed smirk, and Charlie was suddenly aware of his bulk. He had a lot of fat on him, but he also had big, solid, hammy hands, and Charlie had no doubt that the man could beat the living piss out of him anytime he chose to. Wondering how long it would take before Tony found himself skipping Thanksgiving and Christmas, Charlie gave Melissa a little hug and left the room.
    Pete was subdued as they moved through the living room to the front door. The triumphal rout he’d expected hadn’t happened, and Charlie suspected that in the long run the silent treatment would prove an effective means of subduing Pete as long as he still chose, and was allowed, to be around.
    As he pushed the front door open Melissa popped out of the dining room and raced to the door. “Will you come see me this week?”
    “Sure I will, honey,” Charlie said, and she turned and ran back to the table.
    They crunched through the snow across the lawn toward the car. Charlie turned and looked back and thought he caught Sarabeth standing in a second-story bedroom window looking down at him, but it might have been her sister. She pulled the curtains shut before he could be sure.

8
    I t was five minutes before Pete spoke a word.
    “Dottie is a bitch.” He said it slowly, with wonder, like a sudden revelation. “Shit. We forgot to fill the flask.”
    “You want to go home?” They were headed west, and Charlie wanted to get Pete home before he went back to the Sweet Cage with Renata’s surprise.
    “I’m gonna save the rest of Trina’s coke for later, but I think we need to stop for one more drink. Just one more and then it’ll be time to lay down my head and dream of sugarplums and jolly old elves and all that shit.” He laid his head against the side window and closed his eyes. “I’m not sleeping. Shake me when we get someplace that’s open.”
    A few minutes later Charlie pulled off the access road alongside the old state highway and into the parking lot of Terwilliger’s Social Club and Grille. Pete stirred, coughing, and looked around. “Where we at?”
    “Terwilliger’s.”