Read Online Beneath the Night Tree by Nicole Baart - Free Book Online Page B

dysfunction and baggage that the rest of us seemed doomed to inherit. But how could I stop that from happening? Especially now, as I was about to drop a bomb on my unsuspecting family?
    When I finally descended the steps, clad in a pair of cargo shorts and another of my cheapo T-shirts, I found Grandma in the kitchen with a picnic basket on the table.
    “Grab a knife,” she said, indicating the bag of raisin buns on the counter. “They need to be cut and buttered.”
    There was a Tupperware container in front of her, and she was peeling carrots with a paring knife, quartering them, and dropping them inside. I peeked into the basket and spied a bunch of freshly washed grapes, a sleeve of Simon’s favorite wheat crackers, and the last of the cupcakes we had made a few days ago.
    “We’re going on a picnic,” Grandma told me unnecessarily. “I think it would do us all good to get out of the house.”
    I nodded and took a bread knife from the butcher block. The bakery put eight buns in a package and I sliced them all, spreading both sides with real butter and putting a square of cheddar cheese in the middle. By the time we got wherever we were going, the sandwiches would be the tiniest bit warm, the cheese soft, the butter on the verge of melting. I could close my eyes and imagine how they would taste. It reminded me of my childhood.
    “Where’re we going?” Simon asked, coming into the kitchen and inspecting the contents of the picnic basket.
    “The Black Hills, the Rocky Mountains, the beach . . . ,” I muttered, wishing that one of those dream destinations was exactly where we were headed.
    “Somewhere a little closer to home.” Grandma popped the plastic top on her container of carrots and deposited it in the basket beside the grapes.
    “Thought so.” Simon gave me what I considered a dirty look.
    “Ooh! A picnic!” Daniel thundered into the kitchen and climbed on a chair so he could examine the provisions for our spontaneous outing. “Can I have a cupcake now?”
    “No,” I exclaimed at the exact moment that Grandma said, “No.”
    She caught my eye and a knowing smile passed between us. It was nice to be reminded that we were a team, no matter how unconventional.
    “I think we’re ready to go,” Grandma announced, taking the bag of buns from my outstretched hand and adding it to the growing pile of food. She closed the picnic basket and handed it to Simon. “We need a strong man to do the honors. Julia, if you’d grab some bottles of water from the fridge, I believe we’re set.”
    “A picnic, a picnic!” Daniel shouted as we trailed out of the house single file. He took the lead, careening over the lawn toward the car, but when he threw open the door to the backseat and started to hop inside, Grandma stopped him.
    “We’re not taking the car, sweetie!”
    “But we can’t walk to the park!”
    “We’re not going to the park.”
    “Where are we going?” He seemed completely mystified, but Grandma just marched past him wearing a secret smile.
    “Come on,” I said, motioning for him to come. “Might as well follow the lady.”
    Grandma led us to the east edge of our property, past the old chicken coop, the stable that had once held half a dozen horses, and up the hill where a sagging barn stood like a proud, elderly gentleman still clinging to his dignity. I had spent hours playing in the hayloft when I was a kid, but now the outbuildings were all in a sad state of disrepair. I felt bad banning the boys from the rotting ladders, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of one of them falling through the decaying floor.
    “Tell me about when you were little,” Daniel asked as we approached the barn.
    There was only one story that he wanted to hear, and though I regretted ever voicing my ridiculous—and dangerous—childhood tale, I repeated it in an effort to calm my nerves.
    “When I was a girl,” I began, “I wanted to be a tightrope walker.”
    “In the circus,” he cut in.
    I