Clouds

Nate Allen

Description

What Grant Smith loses at seven is much more than his father. He loses his faith, his happinesshis identity. The years turn him into a man without reason. At eighteen he is just as lost as when he was a child. All he wants is happiness. One day it is found in a cemetery in the form of a girl named Chelsea. She is damaged much like him. They fall in love.Grant is a man haunted by things he has always avoided. Despite a new sense of happiness he cant escape the darkness that was born within him. It manifests in the form of a father now transformed by his own demons.In a dream he frenetically claims happiness. But, the father with a monster attached mocks him for it. The truth he doesnt want to face is that he is not happy. Or if he is, he fears it is only temporary.And it isThe war that started after 9/11 branches off into others; the president who promised change is reelected; a once bright future has become something bleak. The Draft is put back into effect.On a day when two explosions paint the sky in Baghdad, Grant unleashes his darkness. Every choice has a consequence. His is unimaginable.His fathers death left him a man without reason. The war leaves him a man changed for the worse. He knows of his darkness. He let it free. And now it threatens to take away everything he loves

Informations

• Publié par: Inspiring Voices
• Date de parution: 22 février 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781462400478
• Langue: English

Extrait

CLOUDS
 
 
NATE ALLEN
 


 
 
Copyright © 2012 Nate Allen
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Inspiring Voices books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:
 
Inspiring Voices
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.inspiringvoices.com
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
 
ISBN: 978-1-4624-0047-8 (e)
 
 
 
 
Printed in the United States of America
 
Inspiring Voices rev. date: 01/25/2012
Contents
CHAPTER 1  
CHAPTER 2  
CHAPTER 3  
CHAPTER 4  
CHAPTER 5  
CHAPTER 6  
CHAPTER 7  
CHAPTER 8  
CHAPTER 9  
CHAPTER 10  
CHAPTER 11  
CHAPTER 12  
CHAPTER 13  
CHAPTER 14  
CHAPTER 15  
CHAPTER 16  
CHAPTER 17  
CHAPTER 18  
 
 
 
 
Dad. Although gone, you will never be forgotten.
 
Mom. You have been my biggest support. And I will never forget that. But it’s only one of the countless reasons you are such a blessing in my life.
 
Deryk. Everyone needs that tell-it-like-it-is type. You most definitely are that person in my life. And I truly believe CLOUDS is something I’m very proud of because of it.
 
Seth. An honorable mention for my little brother, because you have supported me. And that’s all that really matters.
 


CHAPTER 1  
It was August 15th of 2000. Grant Smith was seven, and content. It was raining in sheets of iron outside. His mother stood in the kitchen, washing dishes from the dinner she had just served. Hannah Smith sat in her womb, barely a seedling yet.
Grant Smith sat in front of the TV, coloring in a coloring book, and humming. Life was good. His dad would be coming home soon, bringing hugs and kisses: love wrapped in a bundle of masculinity.
“Grant?” his mother called from the kitchen.
“Yeah.” he replied, continuing to color.
“Do you want to help me bake some cookies for when dad gets home?”
“Sure. Let me just finish coloring.”
“Okay, I’ll get the chocolate chips out and ready.”
“Okay.” Grant continued to hum, occasionally brushing his staticky brown shag of hair from his eyes. After another few minutes of coloring—relatively—in between the lines, he closed the book and smiled a crooked-toothed smile. “I’m ready now!” He got up, turned off the TV, and ran out to the kitchen. His mother was cracking eggs with one hand, while grabbing the flour with the other.
“What should I do?” asked Grant.
“You can stir in the chocolate chips, and lick the batter off of the spoon.”
“Okay!” Grant was excited. He hadn’t seen his dad in three weeks, though he had spoken to him over the phone only a few nights before. They had exchanged I love you and definite plans for when he returned.
The batter was now ready. All it needed were chocolate chips. Grant got up on a step stool, grabbed the bag from his mom, and poured them into a big bowl. Grant grinned and gazed into their creation. His daddy would love them! He was sure of it.
Though a stormy day, the atmosphere around him couldn’t have been brighter. Grant looked up to find a mother smitten with life, awaiting the return of her dearly beloved husband and friend. Her green eyes glistened.
“When’s daddy coming home?” Grant asked.
“We should be hearing from him anytime.” she replied as she brushed her light brown hair from her face, and sucked a glop of batter from her finger. “He might be home in time to read you a story, and tuck you in. But, if not tonight, tomorrow.” she rubbed the top of his head, and then turned toward the counter. Grant walked away, rolling his eyes impatiently. It was already late into the day. When would his dad call? He had waited long enough. Grant wanted to hear the door open. He wanted to be scooped up by his six foot father, pinch the edge of his trucker cap, and smell semi-truck exhaust lacing his flannel shirt.
Without speaking another word, Grant got up on the couch, nestled in, and closed his eyes. He slept until being awoken by a frantic mother’s scream:
“What?!” The plate in her hand dropped, and crashed against the floor. Grant opened his eyes, wiped them clean, and then stumbled out to the kitchen.
“What’s wrong mom?” he yawned.
“Grant.” her eyes were a bright red, and her hair was matted with cookie dough. “Ga-go get your coat and poncho.” she was noticeably distraught.
“Why?” he said softly.
“‘Because I said so!” she yelled, grabbing the bowl of cookie batter, and throwing it against the wall. “Go!”
“Why did you ruin the cookies?!” Grant now screamed. “Those were for Dad!”
“Don’t scream at me! Go get your rain boots and poncho!”
“No!” he was hurt. “Not until you tell me why you threw daddy’s cookies against the wall!”
“Shut up and go upstairs!”
“I hate you!” Grant ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and to his room. The warmth of the bright atmosphere was now cold. Grant knew something had happened, but didn’t know what. “Dad’ll be home soon. He’ll love me. He won’t be mean like mom.” He opened the drawer, and pulled out his blue poncho. Tucked beneath his bed were his black strap-on rain boots. After putting both on over his pajama bottoms, Grant stepped heavily through the hall and down the stairs.
He came back down to the kitchen to find his mom picking up thick shards of glass from the shattered cookie bowl while crying. His heavy presence became light, and Grant walked slowly out to the kitchen, hesitant, but curious.
“I’m ready.” he said sharply, folding his arms, and tensing his pouty lip.
“Come here.” she said, while pulling her pointer finger back, and sniffling. Reluctantly, Grant stepped forward.
“No.” he said quietly, inching farther away.
“I’m not going to bite. I just want someone to hold.” Still reluctant, Grant took a few steps forward, and then ran into her arms. “I’m sorry baby.”
“Wh-why are you mad?” he calmed a quivering bottom lip.
“I’m scared.”
“Why?”
“Daddy’s hurt.” Immediately, Grant’s eyes widened, sinking far into his face. A tear rolled down his cheek.
“What?” he understood, but not to the full extent.
“We have to go see him.” she sniffled once more, and then wiped tears and mucus from her top lip. “He got in a car accident.”
“Where is he?” Grant now stared ahead, feeling a tingle crawl into his body and linger.
“He’s at the hospital outside of town. You know the one where you go and get shots, and check-ups?”
“Uh-huh.” he nodded quietly, thinking about the last time he talked to him on the phone.
Grant’s mom picked him up and rubbed his back as she opened the door between the kitchen and pantry. “Mommy’s got ya,” she comforted him, now walking down three steps and over to her black SUV. She buckled Grant in his seat, and then got behind the wheel. She started the car while wiping her eyes dry.
With the push of a button the garage door opened. She put it in reverse, and backed out. Grant sat in the back seat, blankly staring out the window. The town of Miles wasn’t large. It was a small, irrelevant town in Minnesota. At this moment in time, it was nothing but a town for a worried wife, and a quiet seven year old to pass through in an SUV.
Wide eyed but calm, she drove through Miles. Grant’s mom feared Hannah would be born into the world without a father. She feared she would be just like the widow down the block: a single mother of two. All Grant could think about though was if he would ever again hear his father read him a story before bedtime, or kiss his forehead with his prickly cheeks.
The ride was one of realization. Grant couldn’t help but feel sad about the loss of a happier time. His seven year old mind was a sponge that soaked up everything. He had always understood more than most of the kids his age. He understood the possibilities, but decided to wave them away like a cloud of mosquitoes on a hot day. His conscience was there in the car with him on that rainy August night. Though, hope still was sitting next to him, in the form of biblical teachings. He had to believe that the God his folks had fed him along with baby food and cereal was real.
It was all he had: a belief in something good, a man who could heal the sick, and bring sight back to the blind. Even though it had been fed to him since he could remember, Grant only thought of them as bedtime stories. Ironically enough, God had been fed to him by the very person he now prayed for. Yet, some food doesn’t please. Grant was finicky. They tried to feed him faith, only to find it spit up later on. He didn’t like the taste.
“Please save daddy.” he whispered, while folding his hands. “I love him—thank you.” At this moment, Grant still believed in God.
“Grant?” his mother said silently, while clenching the steering wheel, and crying a tear.
“Yeah?” he replied softly.
“Know wa-