The Rockin' Chair by Steven Manchester Read Free Book Online

last words sounded like they were sifted through cotton. He raised the beer to his lips and attempted to extinguish the wildfire that had been set years before.
    Sighing heavily, Elle kissed him on the forehead and then turned to go in. Before the door hit her backside, she looked over her shoulder. “They won’t be around forever Hank,” she said. “I’m telling you right now that you’d better make your peace before it’s too late.”
    Hank spun at the surprise of her tone. Elle never raised her voice and she’d never once spoken a word that could be construed as a threat. “You tryin’ to hurt me?” he asked through pursed lips.
    Their eyes locked briefly and she returned his shaking head to him. “I’m going to bed,” she announced and vanished through the door.
    Hank retrieved the rest of the six-pack from the fridge and returned to the broken-down porch. Taking a seat on the rough planks, he rested his aching back against the house and noticed a faint light glowing in his folks’ bedroom window. Curious as to what the old man was doing up so late, he cracked open another beer and drank half of it down in one gulp. It was going take a few more of those to numb the pain. He’d gone at it for years and still couldn’t tell how many it took. “He needs you …” he groaned in his gruff smoker’s voice. “What a crock! That woman has no idea what she’s sayin’.” He stared at the farmhouse window. “That old man never needed me.” Besides a love of racing pigeons together, they’d never really shared anything positive—at least as far as Hank could recall. Finishing off the beer, he decided that he’d already wasted too much time dwelling on his cold-hearted father. Instead, he concentrated on calling up fonder memories of his children.
    It was funny—the small, seemingly insignificant things a mind remembered: breakfast on Sunday mornings; playing horseshoes until dark; lying in a hammock with the three of them; the animals they brought home to save from the weather; their report cards; the love that went into their hand-made Christmas gifts. The list went on and the memories made were priceless. Hank marveled at how three children who shared the same blood could be so different.
    Georgey loved the land but never had the stomach for the heartlessness that made for a mountain man. Hank had taken him hunting once. Georgey had an eight-point buck in his sights and froze. Even when Hank’s whispers turned to screams, the boy never pulled the trigger. He couldn’t. Years later, Hank caught wind of an accident and had to laugh. Georgey ran over one of the farm’s mutts with his Grampa’s tractor. The dog lost a leg but Georgey was the one who suffered the trauma. He was all torn up over giving that mutt the new name, Three Speed.
    Evan cried a lot. Hank couldn’t stomach it. He was a sweet boy but too sweet for Hank’s liking. At first, he’d take him out whenever he could to toughen him up but Evan proved plenty tough. He had his fair share of fistfights and normally came out on top. Come to think of it, Hank couldn’t once recall the boy whimpering over physical pain. He was just very emotional and there was no changing him. Evan was Evan and he and Hank never clicked. Hank allowed him to find his own way.
    Tara, well, that kid scared Hank out of his wits from the time she was born to the day she flew the coop. With vivid memories of his own youth and the desires that ached to be satisfied, he’d get sick imagining some boy putting his mitts all over her. The world had changed for the worse and boys were less patient. He was always at a loss when it came to Tara. Girls were different—inside and out—so he left Elle to take care of most of it. From where he sat, she did a real solid job. He insisted, though, that Tara finish her schooling. In fact, he