The Hand You're Dealt

It had been almost a year since Dad died in that hospital bed from a stroke. He didn't get much exercise and wasn't the kind of father who could teach you sports -- not unless you counted playing cards that way. But he taught me lots of other stuff and was always my real best friend.

Dad's the one who first called me "Huck." It started my sophomore year in high school. I thought I was really something at poker and would challenge him every chance I'd get. I'd clean up against my friends in nickel-and-dime games. But every week Dad would beat me out of my allowance, and I'd have to do double chores to get paid again.

Mom finally threw a fit and laid down the law.

"No more gambling in this house," she ordered. "If you two wanna keep playing, you'll play for fun."

"How the hell is it gambling when it's all my money?" Dad tried to hook her.

But she wouldn't bite.

"No slippin' back into old ways, or else," she warned him.

Dad was the best poker player in Caldwell. He'd won the tournament at Saint Bart's rec center three years running, and that makes you somebody in a town that's been smacked sid ... read full excerpt from: The Hand You're Dealt ebook