The Accident Curse Read online

  The Accident Curse

  By Foster Bridget Cassidy

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2017 Foster Bridget Cassidy

  ISBN 9781634864831

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  To Jeremy, Mom, and Dad.

  * * * *

  The Accident Curse

  By Foster Bridget Cassidy

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 1

  I didn’t often think about my hometown of Accident, Maryland. Since I left nearly ten years ago, I only called Dad on holidays and his birthday. It was easy to let the place slip my mind.

  Until I got a call at three o’clock in the morning from the hospital in Oakland.

  “Your father’s fine,” the voice over the phone assured me. “A fracture in the fibula and tibia from a fall in the woods. We had to set the bones, but the breaks were clean and he should recover without any permanent damage.”

  “I see,” I answered, my heart pounding even though I knew Dad was okay. “Why are you calling me?”

  “Your father will have limited mobility for the next eight weeks. When I found out he was living alone, I suggested he have someone come stay with him.”

  “He asked you to call me?” I asked in disbelief.

  I could tell the doctor was smiling on the other end. “He said you wouldn’t believe him.”

  “He was right.” I lifted a hand to my face and rubbed my eye with a palm. “Eight weeks?”

  “Typically.”

  “How is he getting home if he can’t even drive?”

  “We’ll be discharging him in about an hour. He has a friend here to take him home.”

  “If it’s Fred,” I muttered, “they’ll probably hit a tree on the way there.”

  Damn it.

  And so I found myself packing my bags and waiting in the line for security at Sky Harbor Airport. The emergency flight set me back a thousand dollars. Dad had better appreciate my efforts.

  The trip to Pittsburgh—the closest airport to my hometown—took nearly four hours. Four whole hours to moan and groan about this horrible twist of fate. I was on my way back to Accident, the place I swore I’d never return to.

  I wasn’t the superstitious type, not really. But ever since I was old enough to understand about the namesake of our little town, I began to notice how easy it was for accidents to happen. I saw them appear more and more frequently in my own life: my inability to go a week without breaking at least one dish; getting the chickenpox twice in second grade; even missing the game-winning basketball shot my junior year in high school. And Mom….

  I was cursed. And to break it, I moved away from Accident the second I could.

  Maybe that was another reason I didn’t think about home. It reminded me of how unhappy I’d been, always so focused on what tragedy would strike next.

  I’ve outgrown the curse, I consoled myself. It won’t happen again. Besides, this is only a visit. It’s not like I’m going back there to live.

  The tires touched down on the tarmac with a jolting force, throwing my face into the seat in front of me.

  After we taxied to the terminal, the flight attendant’s voice came over the speakers. “We’ve reached our final destination of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The local time is 4:32 P.M. Those of you with connecting flights, please check in at the desk for information about your next gate location. It’s been a pleasure having you on board and thank you for flying with us.”

  I reluctantly joined the hustle and bustle of people scrambling for the exit. I felt like the only one hesitant to emerge from the metal cocoon. I preferred to stay on the plane; any place was better than where I was headed. But I couldn’t postpone it long. The inevitable would come eventually.

  It took me nearly forty minutes to get my baggage and head to the pickup spot Dad said he’d be waiting at. As soon as I exited the ground floor doors onto the street, the end-of-summer heat hit me. I’d been living in Phoenix since I graduated high school, so I knew a thing or two about hot weather. As much as I’d acclimated to the Phoenix sun, it had weakened me to this goddamned humidity. My pores spouted sweat like a holey garden hose.

  A car honked and I glanced to my right. Fred stood beside his truck, already in the process of opening the door to the Club Cab. Then, he rushed forward and pried my luggage out of my grip with his gnarled hands. I would have pushed him away if it wouldn’t have looked like I was punching a hundred-year-old man. I was surprised he could lift my bag and toss it into the truck’s bed.

  “Mart,” he greeted, returning to me and trying to pull me in for a hug.

  I slipped from his embrace and clapped his shoulder instead. “Hi Fred. Thanks for coming to get me. Dad doing okay?”

  Fred gave up on catching me and walked to the driver’s side door. “He’s fine, but grumpy.”

  I climbed into the cab behind the passenger seat.

  “I’m not grumpy,” Dad said grumpily from the front. “The damn thing hurts.”

  “That’s what happens when you go hunting with yokels, old man,” I scolded.

  “Well, the thing is,” Fred explained, “we were tracking a six pointer when your dad took his tumble.”

  Dad grumbled softly at this point, but I ignored him.

  “As we were trying to get your dad up on his feet—and him cussin’ and carryin’ on the whole while—we spotted a twelve point. Well, we all agreed we had to take the chance.”

  Dad said, “And we were lucky your squealing at the sight of blood didn’t scare it away.”

  “Your leg was bleeding?” I asked. I gritted my teeth. “How long did you wait before getting to the hospital?”

  “I don’t know…three hours? Maybe four?”

  God! They were stupid. All for a buck.

  “At least we got it,” Dad concluded, a trace of smugness lacing his words.


  Fred got the truck on the 376 which took us toward Pittsburgh proper. Fortunately, we could turn onto the 79 and skirt the city instead of crossing over the rivers to downtown. Pittsburgh was a beautiful sight—especially when entering from the Fort Pitt tunnel. Mom had always insisted we take the long way around to appreciate the sight.

  Today, though, I just wanted to get to Dad’s house and mope.

  Dad and Fred fell into an easy conversation. I half listened, my eyes taking in the beautiful green scenery flashing by. So different from Phoenix, with its cacti and dirt. I missed this lush landscape. The desert was beautiful with its starkness, this was beautiful for its vibrancy. I rolled down the window an inch so I could get the fresh, clean scent.

  “So, how’re things?” Dad asked, turning his head to peer at me. I was surprised by the wrinkles on his face, the white streaks in his hair. He’d come out to visit me last Christmas—only nine months ago—but he looked so much older.

  “Fine.” Realizing my answer was less than satisfactory, I pushed on. “I’m doing a lot of training videos currently. New HIPAA laws made all the companies update their policies.”

  “As long as it keeps you busy,” Fred answered.

  “I hope your internet’s up to par, Dad. I may have to fork out some money to get you upgraded.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Dad reassured. “I never have a problem with it.”

  I wrinkled my nose and looked back out the window. “My programs are a lot more sophisticated than what you use.”

  Chapter 2

  Fred pulled up to Dad’s house a little before seven o’clock.

  A flood of memories poured into me as we rode up the dirt driveway. We’d moved into this house when I was two, and I moved out at eighteen. So many years this had been my home; now I thought of it as Dad’s only.

  The trees on the border of the yard were full of leaves and needles, and the bushes had a few wild blackberries left—the deer would have gotten the rest. Next to the shed was a fenced-in area where Dad kept his vegetable garden. A soft breeze stirred the short tufts that denoted radishes beneath the soil.

  A stone cross sat in a neatly trimmed space right at the edge of the woods. From this distance, I could see the fresh flowers laying down in front of the spot.

  A picture of serenity and peace. But dread filled me.

  “Thanks Fred,” Dad said, shaking hands with the old man. “I appreciate you taking the trouble to drive us all over. Come by for dinner later in the week. Marty will cook as a thank you.”

  “Of course,” I agreed. I also gave Fred a handshake, then accepted my luggage from him.

  “Sounds fine, Mart,” Fred answered. “And go easy on your dad.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  I carried my luggage to the front door and sat it down, then went back to the truck to help Dad. The cast went above his knee, covering most of his leg. No wonder he’d need someone here to help. The thing looked awkward as hell. Plus, he had to be on major painkillers. Dad shouldn’t be alone if he was doped out of his mind.

  I’d been brooding about how horrible it was to be back. But now I saw Dad really did need me. A bit of my reluctance fell away.

  “Come on, Pop,” I said, putting my shoulder under his arm for support. “We’ll have to get you crutches.”

  He leaned his weight on me and we started to the front door. “I don’t need ‘em. No reason to be out and about till this cast gets off.”

  “Your insurance is covering the disability?”

  “Yeah, a bit. You know how stingy those things are. But, I’m fine on money, so don’t go worrying.”

  “Okay.”

  The wooden porch leading to the front door was divided into levels. Four, to be exact, and that meant helping Dad climb up the steps to get to each one. How had Fred got him in the house after being discharged from the hospital? Fred, while as selfless as a person could be, was old as dirt. The two of them together was a bad combination. The two of them together with limited mobility was a recipe for disaster.

  A new emotion began to burn inside me: guilt. When I left, I never gave any thought to Dad being on his own. Of course, he was a stubborn, capable man. My presence wouldn’t affect his life in any way. Except, I was looking at it from the wrong angle. As a man, he was fine on his own. But as a father? A widower? I’d abandoned him without a backward glance.

  Dad unlocked the door, which opened into the kitchen. He hobbled inside, using the countertops to support his weight. He collapsed onto one of the barstools beside the island and sighed heavily.

  I grabbed my suitcase, then shut the door and locked it. I flipped on the kitchen lights.

  God! Nothing had changed. Not the curtains. Not the towel hanging from the oven handle. Not the pictures on the fridge, or even the drawing I’d done in fifth grade. It even smelled the same, of wood and fire and fresh-baked apple pie.

  “What do you need, Dad?” I walked to the fridge and pulled open the door. “Water? A pop?”

  “Nothing, Mart. Need to sit a spell.”

  “I’m assuming I get to stay in my old room?”

  The ghost of a smile appeared on Dad’s lips. “Yeah, unless you wanna sleep in the basement.”

  “Might be cooler down there,” I mused, already cursing the fact the house didn’t have AC.

  “Don’t worry about me. Unpack. Shower. Check out my computer.”

  I shook my head. Getting settled was what I wanted to do, but not what I needed to do. I had to talk to him first. We had to reconnect.

  I grabbed two cans of pop from the fridge and walked to the other barstool. I plopped down in the chair and handed Dad a can. We pulled the tabs, and the sound of the fizzing carbonation filled the room.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked.

  “Oh, come on, Mart. Don’t do this to me. I fell while hunting. Happens all the time. I’m not traumatized or emotionally scarred, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I didn’t say you were. But I am concerned about you. What are you going to do for eight weeks while you’re stuck at home? You’re gonna go stir crazy.”

  “I’ve got the hunting channel.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Listen, Mart,” he cut in. “I appreciate you coming here, but I’m honestly fine. I don’t want you to act like I’m an invalid. Now, go get unpacked and I’ll get us something for dinner.”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  I lugged my suitcase down the hallway, passing the spare bedroom and the bathroom. Dad’s room was the last on the left and mine was at the end of the corridor. I peeked inside Dad’s room, not surprised he had his old comforter still on the bed and the old curtains framing the sliding glass door. The only new addition was a television sitting atop the dresser.

  Sighing, I entered my room. How many sleepless nights had I lay there, staring up at the popcorn ceiling? How much doubt had I endured, wondering why I never fit in at school? How much confusion, when I never felt any attraction to the girls around me? This was the worst place in the world to realize you were gay. Macho masculinity made up the core of everyday life: hunting, farm work, suped-up trucks. And I’d done my share of all those things in the past. What made it intolerable was the close-mindedness typically associated with small towns. These hicks were so sure of what was right and what was wrong, there was no gray area.

  Dad didn’t even know I was gay. I’d never worked up the courage to tell him.

  That was a major part of the reason I left. Not all, though. The schools in Phoenix were better, the job opportunities were diverse and paid more, the people a lot more accepting. I had no problem fitting in once I got there, and had a well-established life and a caring circle of friends. I was glad I left. But being grateful I had gotten away didn’t mean I had to avoid this place like the plague. I should have thought of Dad and his loneliness.

  I unzipped my suitcase and pulled out my clothes, laying them flat on the bed. They’d need to be ironed before I wore them anywhere. If I was going anywhere.
With Dad happy to spend his days on the couch, I was happy to spend my time on his computer doing my work. No one to see, nothing to do. The weeks would pass by quick enough.

  After getting all my clothes into their drawers, or hung up in the closet, I went to the bathroom and showered. The water nearly scalded me before I remembered the house had heated water from the wood burner outside. Add another chore to the list of things I’d be doing around the house: chopping wood and stoking the fire.

  When I got out and changed into my pajamas, Dad had dinner all set. We sat down at the island in the kitchen instead of the dining room table. We’d never eaten in there except when we had company over. Company besides Fred, or Dad’s other friends.

  “How soon before you get some of the buck that nearly cost you your leg?”

  “Fred and Al will get it butchered sometime this week. I get a few pounds of it.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. It’s been a long time since I’ve had venison.”

  “We’ll make us a couple of thick steaks. It’ll be good.”

  “What about some jerky?”

  Dad laughed. “I can do jerky too, if you’d like.”

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, I woke up to the sound of Dad cursing in the kitchen.

  I flew from my bed, worried he’d fallen and hurt himself further.

  Instead, he was standing in front of the cupboard, a tin of ground coffee on the floor. He bent at the waist, but the small confines of the kitchen didn’t give him enough room to spread out his leg straight to reach the tin.

  “Dad,” I said in relief. I walked forward and picked up the coffee. “You okay?”

  “I could have gotten it,” he answered.

  “I’m sure you could have but I want my coffee today, not three weeks from now.”

  He smirked a bit. “Smart ass.”

  Dad went to the coffee pot and began making the brew.

  “Want me to fry some eggs?” I asked.

  “If you want.”

  I pulled all the needed ingredients from the fridge and got to work on breakfast.

  “You’ve got work to do this morning?” Dad asked as I sprinkled salt and pepper atop the egg yolks.