Free Bad Games 2 - Vengeful Games by Jeff Menapace Page B

go), but damned expensive. And yet he still bought it. Because he could. Patrick had had done well for himself thus far. So had Amy. Their combined income gave their family a comfortable life in a suburb that flaunted fine sushi and martinis with clever names.
    And yet when they stepped out of their lavish suburb for journeys elsewhere, there wasn’t the slightest hint of unease. Both Patrick and Amy were raised in small blue collar towns throughout the state of Pennsylvania, and despite the amicable friendships formed back in that lavish suburb, which often involved outings at restaurants plentiful with sanctimonious patrons, assuredly there to be seen as opposed to dine, it was not uncommon for Amy and Patrick to go it alone in a quest to seek out less-stifling accommodations—a place that served a steak that wasn’t the size of a nickel, a place where you couldn’t give two shits about what you looked like, who you saw, and who saw you. Somewhere you could get drunk in public and receive been there! giggles from fellow patrons instead of rolled eyes and disgusted clucks of the tongue.
    The Lamberts did not resent their luxuries back in Valley Forge; they had worked hard for them. The surrounding school districts were excellent too. Amy and Patrick were comfortable in both worlds; it was why they were soul mates. Their marriage wasn’t one that saw Patrick sitting on the sofa watching the game, farting and drinking beer while Amy pined to go out to extravagant restaurants and social events. She happily joined him on that sofa. Drank beer and farted with him.
    And there were plenty of times when too many nights of sloth tugged at their social needs, and they would happily get dressed up and do the town. The fancy town—the type of town they often resented. It was all about moderation. One type of evening would help them appreciate the other, and vice versa.
    So it was no chore to be nestled here in a cozy blue collar neighborhood just outside of Harrisburg. Patrick knew the booze would be poured down his neck the moment he entered, and Amy knew a part of him—despite his flimsy objections earlier—looked forward to it. She would likely let her hair down and have a few too. They all would. Except for Amy’s mother of course.
    Mrs. Audrey Corcoran did not drink—that was her husband’s job. If there was one bit of resentment Amy had concerning her old stomping grounds, it was that the intangibles seemed to remain as traditional as the tangibles. Although never voiced, it was still presumed that the husband was the head of the house, and the wife, while not exactly on her hands and knees scrubbing floors with a pregnant belly, did not hide the fact that her primary purpose was to serve her husband. The husband made the money, the wife took care of him. That’s just how it was. Amy didn’t necessarily approve, and things were certainly not the same for her and Patrick, but she accepted it. She had no choice. Besides, her father was a good husband. A good father. Rough and stern at times, but good. He could scream and holler like hell, and his fuse could be just as short as the next man’s (especially after a few), but Amy could never recall him laying anything but a tongue-lashing on her mother, and the odd spank on the butt to her and her brother growing up.
    Carrie and Caleb liked Grandma and Grandpa Corcoran. Not as much as Grandma and Grandpa Lambert, but this had nothing to do with personalities; it was simply a matter of location. The elder Lamberts lived in Conshohocken—a fifteen minute drive from Valley Forge. Harrisburg was an hour and a half away. The kids saw Grandma and Grandpa Lambert more often. Nearly once a week. It was why the elder Lamberts were called to pick the children up after the incident at Crescent Lake. Despite the cabin belonging to the Corcorans, comfort was the order of the day after such a tragedy, and Patrick and Amy had both decided on the spot that it would be better if Grandma