Read The Disinherited for Free Online Page B

known and transparent to this man who happened to be his father. He was conscious that he was sitting very still, preserving the feeling of warmth against his skin, the details of her body that had stayed so close to him. This time too they had gone outside afterwards, stood away from the building and watched the snow falling slowly in its light. He rested the glass on his knee, twisting the stem back and forth so that the liquid rode up to the rim of the glass, bored and polite, watching the corners of the room float through the sherry.
    “I spoke to a lawyer,” Richard said. “He told me it would be best if the land for your house was surveyed and put into a separate deed.”
    “What house?” Erik had asked, stupidly, then realized what Richard had meant.
    “You could live here if you wanted,” Richard said, “but I thought it would be better, if you get married, to have a place of your own.” Erik, even when he was with her, had known that what made it possible for them was the knowledge that he would leave. He felt like a fool, peering timidly over the sherry glass at his father. Nothing had ever been said about Erik returning to the farm and each knew exactly what the conflict was. “I have a map here,” Richard said. “You just have to mark on it whatever you want.”
    “I don’t want anything,” Erik said. “You know that.”
    “And what are you going to do?” Richard had asked. “Buy ahouse in the city and keep a cow in your shed?” He looked towards the window that faced Brian’s trailer, as if he was afraid Brian might be outside, eavesdropping. It had been Christmas night; everyone else was asleep. “And what do you think I’ll do with the farm? Turn it into a fishing camp?”
    “It’s your farm,” Erik had said. “And there’s Brian.”
    “You’re my son. I made it for you.” When he said that, Richard’s face turned red, embarrassed that he had had to state the obvious.
    “You made it for yourself.” Erik stood up, to go to bed. Richard stayed in his chair for a moment, fiddling with his glass. Then he too stood up, the glass in his hand. He looked down at it, turned it slowly in his palm, and then threw the glass into the wall. It broke with a sharp crack, showering fragments all over the room.
    “Clean it up,” Richard had said. He turned off the light above his chair and stomped upstairs. Erik left early the next day. Miranda wrote and apologized for Richard, saying that he hadn’t been feeling well. Since then, Erik had come home once a year, at Christmas. He and Richard confined their discussions to the weather and local politics.
    “Funny thing is that your father won’t say anything about what happened. Didn’t even want to go to the hospital.” The car lurched as Pat swerved to avoid a groundhog. “Brian said that when he met your father he looked real strange. Said he was too weak to lift the gate.”
    “How is he?”
    “They say he’ll be home in a couple of weeks. Just needs some rest.” Pat coughed and cleared his throat. “Guess you didn’t hear about the strange lady.”
    “No.”
    “Madame something. She lives in Kingston. Your mother’s been going every week for almost a year, ever since she got the car. The madame reads tea leaves. Your father almost had a fit when he found out. Came over and got drunk, just like he used to. And he said she charges two dollars a visit. Didn’t do him any good though, she still goes, every single week.”

 
T hree
     
    E rik took an orange from the windowsill. It was warm from the sun and he rolled it in his hands. Earlier, he had helped with the chores, picking his way through the barn and the yard, trying to keep his shoes clean. “It’s just cowshit,” Brian had said, pleased to see Erik uncomfortable. Now Brian was sitting at the kitchen table, with Nancy, eating his breakfast, slowly. He had always done that, Erik remembered, just like Richard Thomas, chewed each mouthful slowly and methodically until it