Free Pretty Dark Nothing by Heather L. Reid Page B

it.”
    His dad sat up and took a sip but missed his mouth. Dark liquid twisted its way down his white undershirt, creating a brown amoeba stain as the mug crashed to the floor.
    “Josh, get me a towel. And bring the trashcan.” Aaron bent down, picked up the pieces of mug, and placed them on the coffee table.
    “Get it yourself.” Josh buried his head in his arms, keeping his back turned from the living room.
    “Hey!” Aaron yelled.
    “Aaron, go to the store and get the biggest bunch of pink roses you can find. Pink are your mamma’s favorite. Pink, not red. Hurry, she’ll be home soon.” His dad fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. “No expense is too great for my Katy.” Their wedding album lay open on the floor. His dad looked up at him from a photograph, smiling, sober.
    “Dad, look at me.” Aaron touched his wrist, but his father jerked away, patting his back pocket.
    “I had it a minute ago,” his father mumbled.
    “Dad. Please.” Aaron grabbed his father’s hands and braced himself. “Remember where you are.” Looking into his father’s forlorn eyes, he opened a crack in the barrier. The familiar tingling gathered in the back of his head as their minds touched. Alcohol clouded his father’s emotions. He’d been thinking about their wedding day. With the help of his powers, Aaron saw through his father’s memories. His mother stood before him, young and beautiful, her dark hair piled and twisted on top of her head. Her wedding veil flowed down the back of a lacy train. He felt what his father felt, awe that Katy had said yes. An overwhelming mix of love and desire flooded him as they joined hands to say their vows.
    Aaron held on to this emotion, increasing its intensity and feeding it back to his father, trying to override the underlying grief. His dad jerked his hands away from him and scrambled backward on the couch, his eyes wild.
    “Who are you? Stay away from me! Leave me be!”
    Aaron grabbed his father’s hands again, pushing truth through the alcohol, fear, and confusion. “Dad, she’s not coming home.”
    As if stabbed, his dad sank onto the faded orange couch, deflated. He stared at Aaron, fear and hate etched into the lines of his wrinkled face.
    “You’re not my son.” Aaron’s face burned. He looked at the floor and clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to punch him. It was the alcohol talking, and hitting him wouldn’t even begin to erase the sting his father’s words had left on his heart.
    The front door slammed.
    “Josh!” Aaron yelled after his brother.
    His dad wrapped himself in the blanket, turned away from Aaron, and wept. Aaron’s anger crumbled as he watched his father’s pain engulf him. He stroked his gray hair the way his mother had stroked his until the weeping turned to snores. Then he went upstairs to nurse his own wounds with the strings of his guitar.
    In his room, Aaron lifted his acoustic guitar from its metal stand. He plucked the strings, listening to the tone of each note. Placing his right foot on the edge of his bed, he rested the guitar on his knee to adjust the tuning knobs and strummed. Satisfied with the sound, he paced the length of his small room, working on his newest composition.
    The whirlwind comes
    and there you are
    broken pieces of your life
    again they’re scattered near and far
    and you wonder why you try
    to pick them up again and again
    when the whirlwind comes again and again
    I’ll tell you this la la la la.
    Aaron leaned the guitar against the wall and flopped down on the end of his bed.
    Grabbing a small spiral pad from the bed stand, he flipped to an empty page.
    Whirlwind. Wind, bend, din, end, fin, gin, in, pinned, Quinn. Quinn, Quinn, Quinn. He took the pencil from behind his ear, tapping the eraser in a random rhythm on the page.
    He hadn’t asked for her number, but Teresa had given it to him anyway. “In case you want to check on her,” she had said, winking as she’d saved Quinn’s number in his cell.