Vision by Lisa Amowitz Read Free Book Online Page B

head.”
    “I lied. I just—I’ve been having these weird headaches and dizzy spells, Mr. Cooper. But I can’t go to the hospital. I have work tonight.”
    “This doesn’t sound good, Bobby. It could be stress. Or maybe—”
    “Please, just take me home. I’ll figure it out. I can get checked up at the VA.”
    “You promise you will?”
    “Promise.”
    Finally, after an eternity, Bobby felt the lurch of the Jeep as it climbed the steep driveway to his house. He sat up slowly and risked opening his eyes, relieved to find that his vision was mostly cleared. The headache had begun to recede.
    Still wobbly, Bobby was out of the car before Mr. Cooper could undo his shoulder strap. But the teacher came around to his side and studied him, his face furrowed with concern.
    “Let me help you inside.”
    “No, Mr. Cooper, I’m fine. And thanks for getting me home, but it’s better I face my dad alone.”

CHAPTER
6
    B obby waited until Mr. Cooper drove off before climbing the stairs. His body felt creaky, every movement jarring his tender skull.
    Dad sat in the wheelchair, waiting. “What the fuck is going on with you?”
    Bobby hurried past him to his room and flopped facedown on his bed, but Dad wheeled in after him. “You sick? Or are you faking?”
    Ignoring him, Bobby mashed his face against his pillow, blocking out everything. He just wanted to melt into the bed and cease to be.
    Dad wouldn’t let up. “Kid,” he said, his voice halting, “sorry for being such a prick.”
    Listening to the whir of the old wheelchair’s tires on the worn carpet as Dad turned around and rolled out of the room, Bobby waited a beat before following him into the living room. He glanced at the clock. Noon. He had until four when the school bus brought Aaron back home. And until six-thirty when he had to be at work. The thought of facing Gabe wasn’t helping his fragile state. Plus, he still hadn’t gone back to retrieve the boat. “Dad, I’m sorry about last night. I lost my head.”
    Dad stared up at him, his expression shifting like fast-moving clouds.
    “Passing out at school ain’t normal. And yesterday you didn’t catch any fish. You always catch fish.”
    Bobby paused. “Nothing’s wrong. Just tired, I guess.” “If you say so. You know, if there’s something you’re not telling me, I’ll find out eventually.”
    “There’s nothing, Dad.”
    Dad nodded. “Yup. Whatever’s going on will come to light if I bide my time.”
    Bobby shrugged and headed back to his bed. He still felt strange and lightheaded.
    “Bobby,” Dad said, “you wanna jam? It’s not often you’re home with time to kill.”
    He felt like crap, but the slight quaver in Dad’s voice made him pause. Before Dad came home disabled, they’d always played together. They still did, on the rare occasions Dad was up to it, but mostly he claimed that playing aggravated the constant pain in his upper back.
    “Sure, Dad. Okay.”
    He fetched Dad’s battered guitar and his own, and sat opposite him on the couch. Dad remained in his wheelchair. It took a while to get the old thing in tune, but soon they were strumming away on “Saint James Infirmary,” a feverish light in Dad’s eyes. They switched it up to Bruce Springsteen and “Born to Run,” then to the Rolling Stones’ “Paint it Black.”
    The rich, raw tones of Dad’s voice wove around him, then climbed crazily higher. Bleak as his life was, Dad’s soul still lived in his music. It was, Bobby realized, the only way they could ever really speak to each other.
    After three songs, Sam Pendell had had enough. “Wish I had the strength to go on longer, kiddo.”
    “It’s okay, Dad.”
    Dad’s eyes were slipping closed. Bobby glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was only one fifteen, and he was feeling much better. A plan dropped into his mind, as clear and pure as a moonbeam. And there was plenty of time to do it before Aaron got home at four.

    The sky frowned over Graxton, the