The Last Exit to Normal by Michael Harmon Read Free Book Online

balled them into a fist.
“How ’bout it? You thirsty?”
    He looked at the original pile of bricks, which was half gone, then back to the lemonade.
“Sure.”
    At the table, Billy slumped in a chair and glugged. I did, too, and the shade from Miss Mae’s
awning over the stones of the porch felt like a piece of cool paradise. I cupped my swollen hands around the icy glass,
sighing. “Big pile of bricks.”
    He nodded, an ice cube bulging his freckled cheek out. “Yep.”
    “Your dad doesn’t like us.”
    “Nope.”
    “Why?”
    He shrugged, leaning back in the chair and drinking more. “Because yer goin’ to
hell.” He kicked his legs under the chair. “He took me to the potluck last year. It’s
comin’ up again.”
    I had no idea what he was talking about, but knew he didn’t want to talk about us moving in.
Besides, I’d heard the hell thing too many times before, and I didn’t want to get into it with an
eleven-year-old kid. “Was it fun?”
    He nodded. “Yep. Got my face painted.”
    I laughed. “I’ve done that, too.”
    “I won a prize throwing beanbags, too.”
    “Awesome.”
    He nodded. “Yep. Stuffed animal. Still got it. Keep it in the secret place so it don’t get
thrown out.”
    “The secret place?”
    He glanced sideways at me. “Yep.”
    “What’s the secret place?”
    He bobbed his head when he talked. Almost like a cartoon character. “Can’t tell,
wouldn’t be secret no more if I did.”
    I poured more lemonade for us, thanking God for Miss Mae even though she was a monster woman, and
then looked up. Mr. Hinks stood at the fence, staring at us. “Shit.”
    Billy looked at me. Then turned and followed my eyes over his shoulder.
    I watched his face go from animated to stony. He set his glass down carefully, then stood up. I got up,
too. “Wait here, okay?”
    He shifted on his feet. I walked over to Mr. Hinks. “Hello, Mr. Hinks.”
    He looked at me. “You’ve got no call being around my son. You know my
wishes.”
    I cleared my throat. “Miss Mae brought us some lemonade.”
    He looked at my bruised hands, then at Billy. “Come home, Billy.”
    I shook my head as Billy walked over. “He didn’t do anything, Mr. Hinks. I was the one
who talked to him yesterday, not him, and when I found out he got in trouble, I decided to help with the bricks.
That’s all. He didn’t even want me to help him, but I didn’t think it was fair.”
    “Don’t you tell me what’s fair and what’s not.” He turned to
Billy. “You had lunch?”
    Billy shook his head.
    “Get on in, then. I’ll be fixin’ sandwiches in a minute.”
    As Billy ran past, Mr. Hinks cuffed him on the shoulder, pushing him toward the door. Billy almost lost
his footing, his arms and legs sprawling wildly before he regained his balance. I looked at Mr. Hinks. “I told you
it was me.”
    Mr. Hinks looked at me, then adjusted his baseball cap. “You mind your business.” Then
he turned and began walking to his back door.
    I watched him go, an icy feeling running through me. “I was just talking to him, sir.
That’s all. He didn’t want to talk to me. He told me he couldn’t, just like you
said.”
    Mr. Hinks called over his shoulder for me to mind my business again; then the door closed and I was left
with the sun beating down on my head and my blisters stinging like a sonofabitch.
    I looked at the remaining bricks, knowing Billy would have to finish moving them and knowing, too, that
the crawling in my stomach didn’t have to do with being hungry anymore. I hopped the fence and started
loading bricks. Screw him.
    Ten minutes later, Mr. Hinks came out with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. He didn’t say
anything, just stood on the porch, chewing away at his lunch. I righted myself from the pile and we stared at each other
for a moment, challenging each other with our stares before I bent to my work again. He could pound sand for all I
cared, and if he wanted to push me