Although I’d thought about it many a time, I made it through half of the summer without killing No-Account. So has Aunt Nolie for that matter. Her and that dead-beat husband of hers seem be back to some kind of normal — which for them  means the typical bed grunting.

I see No-Account out the window. He’s brought Dad home from another hot springs pool that was supposed to help with his arthritis.

No-Account walks through the door. He’s supporting a man under his arm that looks nothing like my dad. Looks like he weighs no more than a baby bird. Ninety pounds is what they say he is now. Skinny as a rail, not worth a grain of salt. Definitely  not strong enough to lift a hand on me — barely strong enough to lift a word.

Excerpt from the novel, No Hill for a Stepper by C. Dennis-Willingham.

painting by Edvard Munch – image credit

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