The Singing River by R.K. Ryals Read Free Book Online Page A

“So that’s how it is?” he asked.
    I avoided Marissa’s gaze, keeping my eyes locked on Roman’s. This wasn’t between our stepmother and him, it was between us.
    “You’re going,” I repeated.
    Roman’s fist met the mahogany again, his glass goblet falling to the area rug beneath the table. His face was strained, full of thoughts he wanted to say but knew wouldn’t make a difference.
    “I can’t,” he finally uttered. He pushed his chair back forcefully. “I just can’t.”
    He backed up, knocking the seat over as he went, his face wild. I started to follow him, but Marissa’s hand went to my wrist, stopping me.
    “Just get him there.” She whispered it, her eyes on Roman as he flew to the stairs.
    Uncle Marley cleared his throat. “Maybe he shouldn’t ...”
    Marissa and I both glared at him.
    “This is a family matter, Marley,” Marissa said, her voice tight. “And you are a part of this family. Your help would be greatly appreciated.”
    Marley exhaled, his face flushed and flustered. Marissa might be young to be a step-in mom, but she had the gumption for it. She’d never been able to have kids of her own, and she took her role as our stepmother seriously. For the first time since supper began, I grinned.
    “Watch it, Uncle Marley, she throws glass.”
    He huffed, “Well, I never!”
    He began mumbling, but his chatter was lost in my thoughts, my eyes going to the stairs. The Braydens were relentless. My father was a prime example of this, and I’d inherited the gene. I’d get my brother to the river.

 
     
    Chapter 9
     
    Haven
     
    “It’s too damn early to be up,” Mom grumbled.
    I threw a Ziploc bag containing a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo into a Walmart bag full of clothes. It wasn’t much stuff, but I didn’t need much.
    Grinning at Mom, I tapped her chipped, black coffee mug. “Then go back to bed.”
    She peered at me over the steaming cup, her droopy eyes just above the annoyed visage of Grumpy from Disney’s Snow White. I’d given her the cup when I was ten, having used all of my allowance to buy it for Mother’s Day. It was the same year my father left. The mug hadn’t endured a fortunate life, having been dropped on several occasions. The handle broke off a year ago, but Mom refused to throw it away. I still found her supergluing it on occasion, cradling it as if it were a newborn.  
    “I’m seeing you off,” Mom insisted.
    I walked to the door, the bag dangling from my fingertips, Mom on my heels.
    “Really, Mom, I can walk. It’s not far to the fork.”
    Thanks to Mom’s tendency to reveal information in pieces rather than as a whole, I’d recently discovered the man I was traveling with was a blue blood. While I had nothing against old wealth, it made me wary.
    Mom grabbed her car keys. “I’ll drive you.”
    I clung to the doorknob. “No, really Mom ...”
    Mom’s green eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Haven Ambrose, are you ashamed of me?”
    My cheeks burned, my gaze traveling over her poofed, dyed blonde hair, her outdated clothes, and open-toed sandals. I was as outdated as she was. It wasn’t her.
    “I’m not ashamed of you, I’m ashamed of the car,” I muttered.
    Mom laughed and pushed me out the door, her keys rattling.   “She’s part of the family.”
    I shuddered. “No, she’s a temperamental, evil stepsister you have forced into my life.”
    Mangy Beast met us on the porch and snuffled at my Walmart bag.
    “She adds character,” Mom insisted.
    I chuckled, pushing the dog out of the way as I hopped down the stairs. “Says the woman who was cursing at her just two days ago. I think your eye doctor prescribed rose-colored glasses.”
    “Better rose-colored than black,” Mom pointed out.
    She ushered me into the passenger seat, my legs sticking to the cracked green leather even at seven o’clock in the morning. I had a love/hate relationship with Spot the Cadillac. It started when I was twelve and Mom bought the car