Read Online Be the Death of Me by Rebecca Harris - Free Book Online

nose. “Now time to get up, silly boy, before you sleep the day away.”
    He’s out of the bed in a flash, staring at me with wide, horrified eyes. I smile and sit up. “Or not,” I offer with a shrug. “Either way, have your butt dressed and downstairs in fifteen minutes.”
    His head shakes back and forth, sending messed, chocolate brown bangs falling across his forehead.
    “What do you mean, no?” I ask, trying very hard not to lose my cool.
    “I’m not changing with you here,” he says, a flush of pink coloring his pale cheeks.
    I can’t help my smile at his discomfort. “Let me assure you, Ford, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen and laughed at before. So do us both a favor, and don’t concern yourself with trying to protect the innocence of my eyes.”
    “Billie.” The reprimand comes from Tuck who’s staring at me with a rather disapproving frown.
    “Fine,” I relent. “But you and I both know that if this was like any other assignment and we were still invisible, he wouldn’t have to worry about being seen naked by a girl.” I close my eyes and picture the downstairs kitchen in my mind, finding myself standing in my vision a moment later.
    An older woman, in her sixties or seventies at least, trundles through the front door, humming what sounds like an old gospel hymn, her arms full of brown paper grocery bags. She’s a sturdy looking lady, with wide hips and a cheery, plump face. Her long, gray hair is tied into a single braid that lays neatly against a back hunched slightly with age. She sets the bags on the counter and begins unloading the groceries, darting back and forth from the small, green refrigerator to the cabinets overhead. She pauses and digs to the bottom of one of the bags, resurfacing with the receipt a minute later. Holding it close to her face, she attempts to read the tiny, ink faded print, but gives up after a moment, only to begin patting her pants and shirt pockets in frustration.
    With a tiny, hidden smile I reach forward, and with a gentle flick of my finger, push her rather stylish, cat–eye glasses from the top of her salt and pepper head, down to her nose. The old woman halts her search, obviously startled by the sudden improvement in her vision, but laughs softly to herself, and with a shake of her head, dives back into unpacking the supplies.
    “Morning, Gran!” comes Ford’s enthusiastic call from the top of the stairs, followed quickly by a series of thundering footsteps. He appears, dressed in torn jeans and a forest green t–shirt with the name of some band printed across the front, his hair brushed and smoothed to the best of its natural ability, which is to say, hardly at all.
    Turning back to the now–crowded kitchen, I discover Tuck standing next to me. He smiles and leans lazily against the counter.
    “Morning?” the older woman smiles at her grandson. “More like afternoon. Glad to see you’re finally up. Have you eaten anything, Benedict?”
    “Not yet, Gran,” Ford replies. “I will though, don’t worry.”
    “Don’t tell me not to worry,” she says in a playful tone. “You’re already too skinny. Simon was twice your size when we he was your age, you know.”
    “Didn’t Simon die of a cholesterol–induced heart attack when he was forty?”
    “Watch your tongue,” she slaps the back of his mop top head. “Simon was a fine man, God rest his idiotic soul.”
    I laugh loudly. The sound reverberates around the four of us present, though only Tuck and Ford look my way. “Who’s Simon?” I whisper into my companion’s ear. He bends his ear to my lips.
    “Fay’s second husband,” he answers. “Don’t you ever do your homework?”
    “Right. Second husband,” I say with a nod, skipping over his question. “Now who’s Fay?” He groans, and I knock him one in the arm. “Kidding.”
    “Come on,” Fay says to Ford after emptying the final bag. “Let me fix you some brunch. How do pigs in a blanket sound?”
    “Probably