Read Online And the Dark Sacred Night by Julia Glass - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julia Glass
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go?”
“Kit, you are almost an adult. But not yet. This decision is mine.”
“Why not Jasper’s, too? I’ll bet Jasper doesn’t want us to move.”
“He doesn’t. You’re right. But this has to do with me.” Hastily, she added, “And you. With us.”
“I’m not talking more about it till he gets back,” said Kit.
His mother regarded him as if he had slapped her, as if her pain were physical. Kit felt himself grow harder, not softer. He willed himself to stop shaking. “So if Jasper’s not my father, then tell me who is. Tell me once and for all who is. Or who was. Or could have been. What
ever
.”
She closed her eyes and stood. She took her empty glass to the sink. Without turning around, she said, “You’re right. Let’s wait for Jasper to return. You need time to absorb this. I should have made this decision a lot sooner. That’s my fault. I understand your anger.”
No, she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. Kit left the kitchen quickly. He took the stairs two at a time, all three flights leading to his room. He wished he were wearing boots, not sneakers, so his footsteps would sound vehemently through the echo chamber of the house, proxy to his protest. He lay on his bed, listening to his mother move pots and pans around, turn the water on and off, open and close the fridge. He heard the crinkling of foil, the percussive assault of a knife on a cutting board. She did not put music on, the way she normally would have.
When she called him to come down and eat, he ignored her. He heard her start to climb the stairs, hesitate, descend. He lay there, hungry, angry, determined to listen for one thing only: Jasper’s return.
Jasper returned at nine; the numbers on Kit’s alarm clock glowed in the dark. He rose and rushed out his door, down the many stairs, as if afraid that Jasper might go out again, this time for good.
His mother and stepfather stood in the kitchen, facing each other across the table. “I’m not moving,” Kit said to Jasper. “Am I?” He refused to look at his mother.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said. “I know how upset you are …”
“He’s not the only one,” said Jasper.
Kit’s mother started to cry. “I have tried. God knows I have tried.”
“Tried what?” said Jasper. “To have your dandy cake and eat it, too? None of us gets it easy, Daphne. Not me, not you. Not even good old Kit here.”
“This isn’t talk for him to hear.”
“Why the heck ever not?” said Jasper. “He’s no tender edelweiss. He’s not your precious baby, not anymore, no ma’am.” Jasper turned to the stove and ladled soup into a bowl. He set it on the table, loudly. He looked at Kit, his gaze stern. “That’s for me. You want some, too?”
Kit nodded. “Thanks.”
As Kit’s mother stood to the side and watched, the boy and the older man sat down to share a late dinner. After a few spoonfuls of soup, Jasper looked up and said to her, “He stays. If he wants. Absolutely. Up to him is what I say. And I am—legally, by the way—his father. Guardian, what have you. And guard him I will, from this nonsense if nothing else.”
This time, she was the one to leave the room abruptly, flee up thestairs. Later, from his crow’s nest, Kit heard her crying. He could tell that she had retired to the empty room once shared by Rory and Kyle.
But she did move, the following Sunday. She hired one of her seniors to drive a small truck in tandem with her car; Kit recognized the boy from a band performance he and Jasper had watched the previous spring. Every morning before the move, Kit could see that she’d been crying the night before. But he said little to her, nothing to appease her or mislead her into thinking he would join in her betrayal of Jasper. That’s how he saw it.
He said nothing of consequence to Jasper, either. The night after his mother drove off (her cello case propped in the front passenger space, the child who would never have refused to go, even if it had a voice
“Kit, you are almost an adult. But not yet. This decision is mine.”
“Why not Jasper’s, too? I’ll bet Jasper doesn’t want us to move.”
“He doesn’t. You’re right. But this has to do with me.” Hastily, she added, “And you. With us.”
“I’m not talking more about it till he gets back,” said Kit.
His mother regarded him as if he had slapped her, as if her pain were physical. Kit felt himself grow harder, not softer. He willed himself to stop shaking. “So if Jasper’s not my father, then tell me who is. Tell me once and for all who is. Or who was. Or could have been. What
ever
.”
She closed her eyes and stood. She took her empty glass to the sink. Without turning around, she said, “You’re right. Let’s wait for Jasper to return. You need time to absorb this. I should have made this decision a lot sooner. That’s my fault. I understand your anger.”
No, she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. Kit left the kitchen quickly. He took the stairs two at a time, all three flights leading to his room. He wished he were wearing boots, not sneakers, so his footsteps would sound vehemently through the echo chamber of the house, proxy to his protest. He lay on his bed, listening to his mother move pots and pans around, turn the water on and off, open and close the fridge. He heard the crinkling of foil, the percussive assault of a knife on a cutting board. She did not put music on, the way she normally would have.
When she called him to come down and eat, he ignored her. He heard her start to climb the stairs, hesitate, descend. He lay there, hungry, angry, determined to listen for one thing only: Jasper’s return.
Jasper returned at nine; the numbers on Kit’s alarm clock glowed in the dark. He rose and rushed out his door, down the many stairs, as if afraid that Jasper might go out again, this time for good.
His mother and stepfather stood in the kitchen, facing each other across the table. “I’m not moving,” Kit said to Jasper. “Am I?” He refused to look at his mother.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said. “I know how upset you are …”
“He’s not the only one,” said Jasper.
Kit’s mother started to cry. “I have tried. God knows I have tried.”
“Tried what?” said Jasper. “To have your dandy cake and eat it, too? None of us gets it easy, Daphne. Not me, not you. Not even good old Kit here.”
“This isn’t talk for him to hear.”
“Why the heck ever not?” said Jasper. “He’s no tender edelweiss. He’s not your precious baby, not anymore, no ma’am.” Jasper turned to the stove and ladled soup into a bowl. He set it on the table, loudly. He looked at Kit, his gaze stern. “That’s for me. You want some, too?”
Kit nodded. “Thanks.”
As Kit’s mother stood to the side and watched, the boy and the older man sat down to share a late dinner. After a few spoonfuls of soup, Jasper looked up and said to her, “He stays. If he wants. Absolutely. Up to him is what I say. And I am—legally, by the way—his father. Guardian, what have you. And guard him I will, from this nonsense if nothing else.”
This time, she was the one to leave the room abruptly, flee up thestairs. Later, from his crow’s nest, Kit heard her crying. He could tell that she had retired to the empty room once shared by Rory and Kyle.
But she did move, the following Sunday. She hired one of her seniors to drive a small truck in tandem with her car; Kit recognized the boy from a band performance he and Jasper had watched the previous spring. Every morning before the move, Kit could see that she’d been crying the night before. But he said little to her, nothing to appease her or mislead her into thinking he would join in her betrayal of Jasper. That’s how he saw it.
He said nothing of consequence to Jasper, either. The night after his mother drove off (her cello case propped in the front passenger space, the child who would never have refused to go, even if it had a voice
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