Read Online And the Dark Sacred Night by Julia Glass - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julia Glass
Ads: Link
remarks on the changing climate became a companionable source of amusement to Kit, commercial breaks in the slog of history papers and cramming for Spanish or algebra tests.
His mother, meanwhile, seemed less amused by Jasper; by everything,really: by Garrison Keillor, by the dogs’ antics in the first snowfall, by sharing songs on the stereo. She began to voice regrets: that she had never made Kit persist with piano beyond a single year’s lessons, that they had never traveled outside the country together, that she had never searched out fellow musicians to form a local chamber group. On the occasional weekday afternoon, she’d call from work to say that she was staying overnight with a friend; she was just too tired to make the drive. When summer arrived, she did not appear to savor its freedoms. As if she were the budding adolescent, the restless, disdainful teenager, she seemed to prefer her own company to either Kit’s or Jasper’s. She hiked alone and read a great deal. She played her cello more often. When Kit told her how glad he was to hear her playing again, she gave him a skeptical, almost cautionary look. “Not a lot else to do around here, honey.”
The second time Kit asked his mother about his phantom father was at the beginning of his senior year in high school, when she told him she would be moving out—and expected him to move with her.
He had stayed late on the second day of classes to attend the first cross-country meeting. It was nearly dinnertime, yet as he approached the house, he saw Jasper heading toward the trail that wound to the top of the hogback. When Kit asked where he was going, he said, “Gotta seize the last long days of summer, seize ’em by the throat.” But he looked grim, as if someone had just seized him by the throat.
In the kitchen, Kit’s mother waited at the table with two glasses of iced tea. She did not ask about his day. She said, almost before the screen slid into place behind him, “Kit, sweetie, I’ve made a big decision. I’m moving back. I can’t make this long-distance thing work anymore. I’m worn to the bone. If it feels like I’m letting you down, I’m sorry.” She spoke swiftly, breathlessly, clearly having rehearsed her lines, fearful of interruption.
Kit hung his pack on its hook and faced her across the table. “But you’ll be back for weekends.”
She looked at him for a moment, as if making up her mind just then. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Don’t think so?”
“No. I won’t be. We won’t be.”
“We?” Had Jasper agreed to move, too?
“Please sit,” she said. Reluctantly, he obeyed her. Immediately, shereached across the table. When he kept his hands in his lap, she withdrew hers.
“Kitten,” she said, “I shouldn’t have let the decision wait so long. I know you’ve started your classes. But you and I are both moving back. You’ll do fine. There’s a place for you on the team, I’ve already made sure of that.” She smiled proudly. “Your times are better than most of the best boys they already have.”
“Moving
out
, you mean,” he said. “Well, I’m not.”
“Sweetie …”
“I’m not! I don’t have to. I don’t.”
The look she leveled at Kit was half threat, half fear. “You’re my son, and I’m your mother.”
“And Jasper’s my dad.” Why wasn’t he part of this conversation? Kit remembered the argument three years before, practically the very same one, at the restaurant. Jasper had made her see sense.
She looked at the stove, as if remembering a pie or a cake that might be done. Kit followed her gaze; the oven wasn’t on. She said, “He’s not your father as much as I’m your mother.”
Kit felt his legs shaking. His voice shook, too, when he said, “Since when is it like some kind of quantitative thing? We’re not talking math.”
“It’s not math,” she said quietly. “It’s … biology. You were born to me, not to Jasper.”
“Did Jasper say I have to
His mother, meanwhile, seemed less amused by Jasper; by everything,really: by Garrison Keillor, by the dogs’ antics in the first snowfall, by sharing songs on the stereo. She began to voice regrets: that she had never made Kit persist with piano beyond a single year’s lessons, that they had never traveled outside the country together, that she had never searched out fellow musicians to form a local chamber group. On the occasional weekday afternoon, she’d call from work to say that she was staying overnight with a friend; she was just too tired to make the drive. When summer arrived, she did not appear to savor its freedoms. As if she were the budding adolescent, the restless, disdainful teenager, she seemed to prefer her own company to either Kit’s or Jasper’s. She hiked alone and read a great deal. She played her cello more often. When Kit told her how glad he was to hear her playing again, she gave him a skeptical, almost cautionary look. “Not a lot else to do around here, honey.”
The second time Kit asked his mother about his phantom father was at the beginning of his senior year in high school, when she told him she would be moving out—and expected him to move with her.
He had stayed late on the second day of classes to attend the first cross-country meeting. It was nearly dinnertime, yet as he approached the house, he saw Jasper heading toward the trail that wound to the top of the hogback. When Kit asked where he was going, he said, “Gotta seize the last long days of summer, seize ’em by the throat.” But he looked grim, as if someone had just seized him by the throat.
In the kitchen, Kit’s mother waited at the table with two glasses of iced tea. She did not ask about his day. She said, almost before the screen slid into place behind him, “Kit, sweetie, I’ve made a big decision. I’m moving back. I can’t make this long-distance thing work anymore. I’m worn to the bone. If it feels like I’m letting you down, I’m sorry.” She spoke swiftly, breathlessly, clearly having rehearsed her lines, fearful of interruption.
Kit hung his pack on its hook and faced her across the table. “But you’ll be back for weekends.”
She looked at him for a moment, as if making up her mind just then. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Don’t think so?”
“No. I won’t be. We won’t be.”
“We?” Had Jasper agreed to move, too?
“Please sit,” she said. Reluctantly, he obeyed her. Immediately, shereached across the table. When he kept his hands in his lap, she withdrew hers.
“Kitten,” she said, “I shouldn’t have let the decision wait so long. I know you’ve started your classes. But you and I are both moving back. You’ll do fine. There’s a place for you on the team, I’ve already made sure of that.” She smiled proudly. “Your times are better than most of the best boys they already have.”
“Moving
out
, you mean,” he said. “Well, I’m not.”
“Sweetie …”
“I’m not! I don’t have to. I don’t.”
The look she leveled at Kit was half threat, half fear. “You’re my son, and I’m your mother.”
“And Jasper’s my dad.” Why wasn’t he part of this conversation? Kit remembered the argument three years before, practically the very same one, at the restaurant. Jasper had made her see sense.
She looked at the stove, as if remembering a pie or a cake that might be done. Kit followed her gaze; the oven wasn’t on. She said, “He’s not your father as much as I’m your mother.”
Kit felt his legs shaking. His voice shook, too, when he said, “Since when is it like some kind of quantitative thing? We’re not talking math.”
“It’s not math,” she said quietly. “It’s … biology. You were born to me, not to Jasper.”
“Did Jasper say I have to
Similar Books
