The Matriarch by Sharon; Hawes Read Free Book Online

now. I’ll leave the kitchen to you, Lester-Lee.”
    The lesson takes place near the exercise ring, and I think we look silly with our identical guns and belts and holsters—like little boys playing. Frank is dead serious, though, as he sets up some cans on a log for targets. He then proceeds to blow them all to hell with rapid, ear-shattering accuracy. He doesn’t seem bothered by the noise at all. By now the old guy is probably losing a bit of his hearing along with a few other abilities. This whole gun bit strikes me as ridiculous.
    “Your gun’s a single-action revolver with this here revolving cylinder.” Frank spins the cylinder. “It takes six cartridges. This gun can bring down anything.”
    He shows me how to load it. “You slide in one hollow point at a time … see? You unload it the same way ’cause the jackets might swell and then stick a little in the chambers.”
    “Why do you use hollow points?”
    “More damage done,” Frank says with a grin. “The shot scatters and expands on impact.”
    “Why do you need so much damage?”
    Frank’s grin fades. He nods toward the targets. “Have a go at those cans, Cassidy.”
    I get off a couple wild shots, surprised at the weight and heft of the gun and the power of the recoil. Frank helps me with my stance and the sighting of the weapon, and after a few minutes I’m pleased to gain at least a modicum of accuracy.
    It continues to irritate me that my uncle keeps dodging the question of why he thinks it’s so important to be armed. And with hollow point cartridges at that. After this lesson, though, I
do
feel good wearing the gun, though it might be just the excuse to play cowboy again.

    Lester takes his time in the kitchen. He loves cleaning the various surfaces, the smooth tile and the shiny terra-cotta vinyl on the floor. He loves to rub lemon oil into the oak tabletop and make it glow.
    Best of all, he loves his hands in hot soapy water as he washes the dishes—it’s a very soothing experience. There’s such comfort in the warmth of water made soft by soap.
    A gentleman, that Cassidy,
he’s thinking.
I really like him. I wish I’d answered his question about the tree. But … shoot, plenty about that tree bothers me.
    As always when troubled, thoughts of his daddy come into his head. Unfortunately, that always leads to memories of Mommy.
    Lester-Lee had been a little over two when he first learned there was something about him that upset Mommy.
    He lay on his stomach, stretched out on the hall floor in front of the door to Mommy and Daddy’s room. It was a warm night, and the smooth planks of the floor felt good against his bare belly. Lester could see through the slightly open door, and the light from the pink lamp shone on Mommy’s fluffy pink slippers as she walked back and forth. The front part of those slippers looked just like little bunny tails. When he raised his head he could see Daddy lying on the big bed in his underwear, his hands making a pillow behind his head.
    Fun stuff, this spying!
    His mind tingled with excitement. Lester knew if Mommy and Daddy heard him, he’d be scolded, which made this adventure all the more exciting. It had taken him a really long time to crawl from his room to their door, because he had to be so quiet. To add a thrill, he pretended he was a soldier crawling through land mines to get away from the enemy.
    Gosh, but Mommy is walking fast. Can’t sleep, I guess. Just like me.
    “Time,” Daddy said, his voice gruff. “Give the kid some time.”
    “Fuck time.”
    Mommy sounded mad, and Lester felt a little …
thing
in his tummy. Like a piece of food—maybe a potato lump—had gone down his throat wrong and was being mad down there in his belly.
    His mommy stopped at the table, her back to Lester-Lee. Then he heard her fuss with her cigarettes, heard the match scrape against the box. He closed his eyes and waited. There it was, that wonderful smell. Smoky wood. Lester loved it when Mommy lit her