Sweet Paradise by Gene Desrochers (most read books in the world of all time .txt) 📕

“So, is the rest of the house the same?”

Harold opened the mosquito net covering the bed and plopped down. “Who cares, man?”

Junior examined a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. A quilt lay neatly folded on top. Junior put the quilt on the edge of the bed, revealing a scene of men being hauled away in chains on the lid.

“I never saw this before either. Seems kinda dark for Grandma to have in her bedroom, don’t you think, Uncle Har?”

Harold didn’t respond. He stared up at a ceiling fan, which sported large palm-frond shaped blades.

“I’m hot.” He got up on his knees and pulled the cord. The fan began a lazy arc, and the room cooled. I cracked the window to the right of the ample balcony.

A table with four chairs around it filled the balcony. “Did you guys ever eat meals out here?” I asked.

“Once in a while,” Junior said as he examined the inside of the trunk. “Usually, we’d sit and drink iced tea or tamarind water and play cards. I remember that. Hey, I found something.”

He handed me a photo-copied article. It was entitled, “The Price We Pay.” Below the title, written in black ink and underlined, it said, who does she think she is? As I submerged myself in the words, I heard the distant sound of Harold speaking to Junior. Then, Harold wiggled my shoulder.

“Come on, man, let’s go. I hear them in the driveway. We gotta go.” The mosquito net was already back in perfect position, waiting for Francine to return to her clean bedroom. We scrambled out the door and down the stairs. We hit the living room. I bumped into Junior, who bumped Harold just as Herbie strutted through the front door followed by Hillary.

“What was that?” Herbie said, throwing up his hands. “Why did we go there again?”

“Hon ... ” Hillary stopped and looked at us all as we gaped at them.

I caught a glimpse of the bow leaning against the wall outside. The others seemed tongue-tied, so I jumped in.

“Hi,” I said, waving like an idiot. “I’m, uh, back. Harold invited me over to show me some archery skills. Right, Harry?”

“What’s he doing back here?” Herbie directed the question at Harold.

“I invited him.”

The two siblings stared at me like I was a roach they hadn’t yet decided to squash or spray with Raid.

Junior leapt into the chasm of silence. “Hey, why are y’all back so early?”

Herbie dropped a leather two-toned man-purse on an immaculate ottoman then emitted a huff of disgust. Hillary strutted by in high heels like a flapper on the runway, and shouted into the kitchen.

“Wilma! Wilma! I need something to eat, pronto! Wilma!”

Wilma yelled back, “Thirty minutes! I still be cookin’. You and Mr. Bacon eatin’?”

“No, I need something now!” Hillary said. “I feel faint.”

She melted onto the nearest chaise lounge. It felt like a photographic moment, so I pretended to send a text, and instead snapped a photo of Hillary’s reverie. She had her arm across her forehead, her other arm hanging over the lip of the aqua-colored lounge chair. Even her hair looked eerily similar to a photo of Rita Hayworth I’d once seen in a book. Other than Francine’s bedroom upstairs, this house had me feeling more and more like I had entered the roaring world of Jay Gatsby.

“God, what a fiasco. Honestly, Herbie, why do we indulge these pedantic politicians? They can’t even provide a decent meal at these luncheons.”

“Hmmm. Yes darling, I believe that’s because we need them for our financial interests. If this guy continues to push up wages, we’ll have to raise prices and our sales took ... ” Herbie stopped abruptly. “Let’s talk about this some other time. We have people.”

“I’m not a person,” Junior said with disgust. “I’m your son. I want to find my grandmother. While we’re at it, I want to know more about the business.”

Herbie threw up his hands. “Always with you and the business. Don’t worry, when the time is right, we’ll teach you the business.”

“Why? I’m going to school as you asked. I’m studying engineering so I can make our processes better. Shouldn’t I have some idea if those processes are going to even exist when I graduate?”

Hillary took her hand from her forehead, leaving a red blotch on her lily-white skin. “Must you boys always bicker about this? Can’t we just teach the boy about the business already? What’s the harm, Herbie?”

Herbie glared at me then pursed his lips. “Once again, we should discuss when we are not,” he paused, “entertaining.”

I was desperate to read the article we’d swiped. Maybe it was the reading Wilma had mentioned. Junior and I would need to have our own private conversation. I motioned to Harold that I’d like to go outside and shoot some more.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Herbie spat as we headed to the French doors.

I started to speak, but Harold held up his hand. “Please, allow me. Herbert.” He cleared his throat. “Once again, this is not your house. You do not decide who I can bring or not bring onto the archery range, into this living room, or anywhere else, although I promise to keep my guests out of your boudoir and our chaste sister’s quarters as well. We wouldn’t want anyone stumbling on any bones in the closet, would we?”

“Boys! I’m famished. Herbie, be a dear and bug Wilma to hurry something along. Herbie!” Hillary’s shouting broke the spell of hatred flowing between the brothers. Junior merely stared at the ground, kicking at the corner of the piano. “Junior! Stop kicking at my piano this instant.”

Once on the archery field, Harold made a show of demonstrating proper technique, but instead of talking about archery, he and I discussed the close call and my burning questions. Through the French doors, Junior gesticulated as he presumably renewed his onslaught about his lack of involvement in the family business or