Read Online After the Fog by Kathleen Shoop - Free Book Online Page A

knelt on the floor and rammed three hatboxes to the side. Her breath short, she crawled deeper into the closet, groping along the wall where the side met the back and popped open a hidden door. Her chest heaved as she focused on the orderly rows and stacks of non-perishable goods. Everything was there in the exact order that she left it.
    This stash of foodstuffs was as important as saving money, she thought. And hidden here, no one would find it. She ran her fingers over the cans of beans, soup, spam—anything that would keep. She would have everything they needed to survive if needed and she wouldn’t share a bit of it with lazy Sara Clara.
    That woman could starve and wither like an autumn leaf. She crossed herself at the thought. Please God help me, she thought. She felt her focus scatter. Everything and everyone should have been in its place, yet it wasn’t.
    She crossed herself. Please God; help me get through this day. She had always tried to be a good Catholic. Well, ever since Sister John Ann showed her how much she needed to be. She tried. She did everything she could to follow the rules.
    Rose squeezed her eyes shut, still running her fingers around the tops of the cans. She wanted her doubts to vanish. But, despite the constant confession of her sins, the penance of Hail Marys and novenas, she was still angry with God. But, too afraid to discount his power. She knew she was wrong to be angry with Him, so she proceeded in life as though she were not.
    * * *
    Johnny stood near his mother’s clothes closet, bent over, hands on his knees, trying to see what exactly she was doing. Her feet, the splotchy, blackened bottoms of her slippers swerved and jerked as she messed with something in the back where he couldn’t see. He’d caught her in the same position a couple of times. Once, he snuck in while she worked and fished around, sure she stashed Christmas gifts there but found nothing. Johnny felt his mother kept a part of her hidden from the family; no one knew her as well as she knew them and this closet was part of what made him think that.
    The sound of metal clanging and paper crumpling drew him closer. “Mum?”
    Rose gasped; feet suddenly still, one foot slightly raised in the air, the other toe, jammed into the matted carpet. And then she was moving again. She backed out, shoving things around as she did.
    Rose stood and pulled her robe tight around her.
    Johnny’s eyes darted from Rose to the closet and back again. He was nervous, but tried to exude confidence. He knew his mother responded positively to mutual strength more than she did to weakness.
    “I need to talk to you.” Johnny saw a crescent of greasy soot on her shoulder. He flicked it with his finger, smearing it.
    Rose pushed Johnny’s hand away and brushed at the soot, smudging it more. Johnny knew that would infuriate her, but she seemed more jumpy than angry, shuffling him away from the closet, kicking it shut with her foot.
    “G-go, on.” Her words came out in a stutter for the first time in Johnny’s life.
    Again, he glanced over Rose’s shoulder at the closet. He made a mental note to poke around in there later.
    “Get on to school,” she said. “You’ve got plenty of school work to do and you need to have the grades like the fellas from the class of—”
    “Mum, please. I’m not like those fellas from forty-four and forty-five. I love playing football with the fellas for sure, but I am not looking to break my neck in college.”
    He couldn’t get the right words out. He searched for a sign in his mother’s expression that she would be open to what he had to say. He reminded himself to be confident, to simply push the words into the world.
    He took Rose’s hand and squeezed it to get her full attention. “I want to play music.”
    Rose clenched her jaw and pulled her hand away. “What the hell’s in the water today? Is this some sort of ‘jag Rose day’ I’m not aware of? Music is a direct route to the mill.