Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) Nathan Hystad (the reading list book .txt) 📖

and lettuce all in one transaction. I’d always hated this kind of place. I tried to picture my dad shopping somewhere like this, but couldn’t imagine it.

I kept my head down, careful not to run into anymore familiar faces, and I managed to escape with a bottle of wine, a fresh-baked loaf, and coloring books for the kids. Were they too old for that? I hoped not.

Beverly’s house was a place I’d never forget, since it was our childhood home, willed to her by Mom. I had no animosity about the inheritance, but I couldn’t believe she’d actually chosen to uproot her family and move into it.

The sun had set by the time I approached her place, and I paused at the two-way stop signs, contemplating turning around. Instead, I flipped the blinker on and went right, driving the last few blocks faster than I should have so I didn’t change my mind.

The streetlights were the old kind, with outdated low-pressure sodium lamps, casting an orange glow across the tar-patched street. Massive trees overhung the road, blocking out the night sky, and I parked in front of the house instead of using the driveway. I watched through the living room window, seeing Beverly and Fred inside, bustling around the dining room table. The kids sat on the couch, the lights of the TV flickering over their blank stares.

With a deep breath, I lifted my paper bag and small suitcase, and strode up the cobblestone sidewalk centering the yard. I remembered Dad putting those in himself. I’d been too young to help much, but I’d stayed with him the entire weekend while he labored, sweating in the summer sun.

His best friend Clay had come for the second day. Uncle Clay. I hadn’t thought about him in years.

“You going to come in or admire the pavement for a few more minutes?” Beverly asked from the front door. A golden retriever ran through her legs, barking once before circling me.

I petted Roger while he sniffed the grocery bag. “Hey, sis. Good to see you.”

The kids hardly looked up as I set my bags on the old hardwood floors, but Fred entered, wiping his hands on a stained apron before shaking my hand.

“Something smells wonderful,” I told them, and Beverly’s eyes lit up at the compliment.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” she said softly, hugging me. “Come on, kids, say hello to your Uncle Rex.”

Carson was five, and he sauntered toward me, eyeing me suspiciously. I hadn’t visited since the funeral, and I didn’t blame them for being cautious. I was practically a stranger. “Hey, fella. I brought coloring books.”

“Thank you,” Edith said, coming in for a hesitant embrace. I patted her back and handed her the goods. She was seven and was a spitting image of Beverly at that age.

The two ran off, returning to the couch, discarding the books on the coffee table. Beverly shrugged and motioned for me to follow her inside. “I made up Carson’s room for you.”

My old room. This was too strange. The house didn’t feel the same, yet nothing had changed but the people inside it. The walls were still a tired beige, the cabinets sturdy but worn.

“I know what you’re thinking. We’re going to do some work on it, but…”

“It’s too soon,” I said, and she nodded.

“You always could read my mind. How have you been?” she asked. “Didn’t you take a trip this summer?”

“I did.”

Fred opened the oven, and I spied a ham inside. “Where did you go? A relaxing tropical vacation?”

I glanced at Beverly, and her face grew long. “Don’t tell me you’re still doing that.”

“Doing what?” Fred asked, setting the roasting pan on two cork boards.

“Jeez, Rex. You want to end up like Dad did? What the hell are you doing?” Beverly asked, her teeth clenched together. I hadn’t seen her this angry since we were kids.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Fred asked, stepping between us.

“He thinks he can track down Dad. Stupid me actually believed he’d grow out of it. You’re dreaming, Rex. He’s gone, and there’s no bringing him home.” Beverly’s shoulders stooped.

“I’m not trying to bring anyone back from the dead. I just want to know what he was after. Why would he abandon his family? We were kids!” I said it too loudly and leaned against the sink cabinet. “Look at us. Two minutes together and we’re already fighting. Maybe this was a mistake.”

Fred frowned. “Nonsense. You’re family, and there’s no shame in wanting answers.”

“Great, take his side,” Beverly said.

“Side? He’s a grown man… an archaeologist by trade. One needs an inquisitive mind to do something like that. I don’t blame you one bit for being curious about your father. Did you tell him about the box we found?” Fred asked.

My skin flushed as he spoke. “Box?”

“I should have told you to forget about that, Fred. Now he’s going to obsess over it until he leaves.”

I barely heard Beverly’s words. “Where it is?” I asked.

“Can we discuss this later? Dinner is ready.”

I glanced at my sister, seeing the girl I used to spend so much time with as a kid. She was still in there somewhere, buried behind twenty years of life, two childbirths, and a job she hated. I let it go. She was right. Whatever box of Dad’s stuff they’d uncovered wasn’t as important as me visiting with my family.

I walked over to her, pulling her into a real hug, one without pretention or obligation. I held Beverly, her arms wrapping tightly around me, and we laughed at the same time. I kissed the top of her head and let go. “I love you, Bev.”

“You know I’m only mad because I love you too,” she admitted.

I pulled the wine from the brown bag. It was the best I could scrounge up at the chain store, and Fred passed me a bottle opener. Soon we were all sitting around the table, the food plated, the wine poured, our hands washed. Beverly had some casual easy listening playing, and it