Hush

 

Hush

Jay Lang

http://bookswelove.net/lang-jay/

 

Hush

An Excerpt 

Pulling over to the side of the road, I turn off the engine and grab my phone from the seat. With my heart racing as fast as my mind, I quickly redial her. The automated message comes on immediately.

I feel the panic rising. I place the phone in the cubby and look at my watch. It’s 10:45pm. The last ferry leaves in fifteen minutes. I’m too far away from the terminal, but I’ve got to try. 

Tall trees reach high up to the small strip of night sky. My foot is heavy on the pedal, the truck fighting to stay on the winding road.

 

Chapter Two

 

The soft chatter of people I barely know reduces to white noise as I make my way in the direction of the red mahogany casket. I take a seat at the front, next to Mom, and I put a hand on hers. Denny is sitting on her other side, concentrating on his phone. He briefly looks up at me, showing his indifference, and then resumes texting.

“You look nice, Ma.”

She forces a grin while keeping her eyes forward. She’s pale and looks lost. Her cream skirt and matching blazer hang loosely from her body. The last two weeks in hospital have taken a toll on her already spindly frame. Besides the bandage on her forehead, the only other reminder of what happened is a small black brace on her right knee.

A lady wearing a flowered dress and a cardigan walks across the stage and sits at the organ.

When she starts to play, the chatter in the room dissipates. Mrs. Rumble, who is sitting on the bench behind us, taps my shoulder and offers her condolences.

The next hour of the pastor’s sermon is painful, not because I feel sad, but because of the guilt I have for not feeling anything at all. My father was a son of a bitch and I was his greatest regret. As I was a child full of promise in the beginning, he would bounce me on his knee and help me with my homework. In his mind, I would be a doctor or a lawyer, not a salmon hatchery worker and definitely not a lesbian. Hence my banishment at twenty-two to our summer cottage on Gabriola—far away from the West Vancouver palace I grew up in, and far away from his disappointed eyes.

When the service ends, the pastor and Denny walk down the aisle to the exit then wait to thank people for coming. What a crock of shit. Most of these people hated my father. The only respect they had for him was fear-based. He was a shrewd businessman and if you weren’t for him, you were against him. Undoubtedly, there are a few people in this room that were on the wrong end of his wrath.