Getting Rough Read Online Free

I asked.
    She looked ashamed, an apologetic glance at my father preceding her words. “Because we can’t afford all the medication we have to take between us and still be able to keep the bed-and-breakfast running.”
    “Oh my God. Are you kidding me right now?” I asked, flabbergasted. Turning toward my father, I asked, “Did you know anything about this?”
    His face drew up in disgust. “Hell no! Do you think I would’ve let that happen if I did?”
    It hadn’t been my intention to insult my father, but I had. “I’m sorry. Of course I know you wouldn’t.” I whipped my head around and focused my attention where it belonged. “Ma, why didn’t you say something?”
    “Because I didn’t want anyone to know. It’s my fault. This stupid recession has affected the tourism in Stonington and we need to keep the house open because it’s not just a source of income; it’s the roof over our own heads. So I cut some corners. I figured if I took my medicine every other day, it wouldn’t matter so much and I could stretch out the prescriptions until things got better.”
    “Oh, you figured that, did ya?” Da grumbled from his chair. His face was flushed, the top of his ears a ripe tomato red, and I worried that his own blood pressure was peaking at a dangerous level.
    “Should I ask if you’ve been taking your medicine, too, Da?”
    My father brushed off the question with a casual wave of his hand, ignoring me and staring down his wife instead. “You also figured you’d climb up on the ladder, didn’t ya? Look where that landed ya.”
    Ma huffed. “Well, someone had to clean out the gutters.”
    “And I told you I’d do it when I got home, woman.” Da’s face was beginning to tinge red with his insistence.
    “Mmhmm… Just like you fixed the antenna? People aren’t going to want to stay at a bed-and-breakfast that can’t even offer them good reception on the television set.”
    “Why can’t you just admit that you climbed up there because you wanted to be able to watch your stories? That’s exactly the reason you wouldn’t wait. Damn near killed yourself over it.”
    I closed my eyes, knowing what Da said was true, but hoping it wasn’t. “Ma, please tell me that’s not why you did it.” Not that she needed to. She was obsessed with her soap operas. Stonington was one giant, real-life soap opera of its own, sans the cameras, lighting, and sound equipment. And I wouldn’t put it past some of its residents to have some, if not all, of that setup to keep tabs on their neighbors.
    Ma turned toward me, and the bruise to her cheek made me cringe. If anything had happened to her…
    With a sigh of concession she said, “Well, you know… two birds, one stone and all.”
    “Ah, jeez, Ma. I can’t believe you!”
    My exasperated chastisement was cut off when a new voice joined the conversation from the door to the room. “What’s that saying about the pot calling the kettle black?”
    I knew that voice. It was the sort of deep and gravelly with a smoky undertone that couldn’t be faked or replicated, and its calm strength had given me comfort when I’d most needed it throughout my life. I closed my eyes to gather my wits about me before I opened them again and turned toward the sound.
    He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his hands tucked into the front pockets of a pair of faded jeans that knew his body better than he knew it himself. His legs were crossed at the ankles, scuffed logger boots showing the wear and tear of a job that had defined his life. A navy blue button-down was left open to reveal the black T-shirt he wore beneath, clinging to pecs developed by years of lobstering, not time spent in the gym. And the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were etched there by nearly three decades of sun exposure and genuine smiles.
    “Casey…” The last syllable of his name sounded like the air being let out of a tire, only the tire was my lungs, and I was completely