Read Online Body Language by Michael Craft - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Craft
Tags: Suspense
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Thad’s shoulder.
His head snapped toward me, and for the first time he looked me in the eye. Jerking his shoulder out from under my hand, he skulked out of the hall and wandered back toward the kitchen. I heard him greet Hazel there, and his tone was warm and amiable, as if the scene in the hall had never happened.
His mother apologized to the group. “Thad’s going through a rebellious phase. He even refused to wear his coat today. I hope to God he grows out of it—and fast.”
We all did our best to assure Suzanne that Thad’s behavior was typical, ignoring the minor detail that not one of us had ever raised a child. I made a mental note to take her aside later and attempt to beg out of my guardianship.
Joey kept interrupting our discussion, pestering us about wanting to see the rest of the house.
“Joey, love,” Suzanne said to her brother as if addressing a child, “you spent most of your life here. What could you possibly want to see?”
He stood quietly for a moment in our midst, then explained, “Things look different. There’s been other people living here,” which made me feel like an intruder, an invader of ancestral ground.
Suzanne looked about, gesturing toward the various rooms visible from the hall. “But, Joey. Everything’s been beautifully restored. Professor and Mrs. Tawkin were very careful about that. If you ask me, the place looks even better than when we grew up here.”
Joey stamped a foot. “But it’s not the same! ” At forty-three, a year older than I, he still exhibited the petulant behavior that had marred my boyhood visit, when he threw tantrums at the slightest provocation.
Worse still, I vividly remembered that he had frequently threatened, “I’ll hold my breath till I turn blue and die!” Sometimes he attempted to do this, which threw the whole household into a panic, and, on one occasion, he actually blacked out. Mark, his older brother who was home for Christmas from his first semester of college, had just returned to the house from swimming at the local Y. Ten-year-old Joey was lying unconscious in the upstairs hallway with everyone circling him and yelling. Mark bounded up the stairs, dropping his gym bag as he fell to his knees and gave his younger brother mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I stood there mesmerized by the whole procedure, watching as my older cousin seemed to swallow Joey’s mouth. I was too young to identify the emotion that welled within me, but it was base jealousy—I wished that I had been the one there on the floor, straddled by those khaki pants, my lips being gulped by Mark Quatrain.
Joey now stamped his foot again. “I want to see my room! ”
I said to the others, “We could tour the house—why not?” Joey’s mood immediately brightened, and I suggested to him, “Let’s start down here, in the kitchen. Wouldn’t you like to see Hazel?”
“Sure!”
I told Suzanne, “I’d like you to meet someone, my new managing editor from Milwaukee. He seems like a great guy. Last time I saw him, he was helping Hazel.”
“Lead the way, Mark,” Suzanne told me. “You’re lord of the manor now.”
So the six of us (Suzanne and Joey, Roxanne and Carl, Neil and me) piled into the kitchen, where Hazel had taken a break from her basting in order to feed Thad a sample of her mincemeat pie. The kid must have liked Hazel more than the pie, for he made a polite effort to swallow a few of the ugly brown gobs that he pushed around the plate with his fork.
“Suzie! Joey!” said Hazel as we entered. “Merry Christmas, my darlings.” Joey rushed to hug her, and Suzanne leaned through their embrace to give Hazel a kiss as the woman wiped a nostalgic tear from her cheek, a tribute to Christmases past.
Everyone talked about the delicious smells, gabbed about the menu, offered to help. Suzanne noticed that the Tawkins had updated the kitchen appliances, and Hazel conceded that the changes were a distinct improvement. Roxanne told us,
His head snapped toward me, and for the first time he looked me in the eye. Jerking his shoulder out from under my hand, he skulked out of the hall and wandered back toward the kitchen. I heard him greet Hazel there, and his tone was warm and amiable, as if the scene in the hall had never happened.
His mother apologized to the group. “Thad’s going through a rebellious phase. He even refused to wear his coat today. I hope to God he grows out of it—and fast.”
We all did our best to assure Suzanne that Thad’s behavior was typical, ignoring the minor detail that not one of us had ever raised a child. I made a mental note to take her aside later and attempt to beg out of my guardianship.
Joey kept interrupting our discussion, pestering us about wanting to see the rest of the house.
“Joey, love,” Suzanne said to her brother as if addressing a child, “you spent most of your life here. What could you possibly want to see?”
He stood quietly for a moment in our midst, then explained, “Things look different. There’s been other people living here,” which made me feel like an intruder, an invader of ancestral ground.
Suzanne looked about, gesturing toward the various rooms visible from the hall. “But, Joey. Everything’s been beautifully restored. Professor and Mrs. Tawkin were very careful about that. If you ask me, the place looks even better than when we grew up here.”
Joey stamped a foot. “But it’s not the same! ” At forty-three, a year older than I, he still exhibited the petulant behavior that had marred my boyhood visit, when he threw tantrums at the slightest provocation.
Worse still, I vividly remembered that he had frequently threatened, “I’ll hold my breath till I turn blue and die!” Sometimes he attempted to do this, which threw the whole household into a panic, and, on one occasion, he actually blacked out. Mark, his older brother who was home for Christmas from his first semester of college, had just returned to the house from swimming at the local Y. Ten-year-old Joey was lying unconscious in the upstairs hallway with everyone circling him and yelling. Mark bounded up the stairs, dropping his gym bag as he fell to his knees and gave his younger brother mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I stood there mesmerized by the whole procedure, watching as my older cousin seemed to swallow Joey’s mouth. I was too young to identify the emotion that welled within me, but it was base jealousy—I wished that I had been the one there on the floor, straddled by those khaki pants, my lips being gulped by Mark Quatrain.
Joey now stamped his foot again. “I want to see my room! ”
I said to the others, “We could tour the house—why not?” Joey’s mood immediately brightened, and I suggested to him, “Let’s start down here, in the kitchen. Wouldn’t you like to see Hazel?”
“Sure!”
I told Suzanne, “I’d like you to meet someone, my new managing editor from Milwaukee. He seems like a great guy. Last time I saw him, he was helping Hazel.”
“Lead the way, Mark,” Suzanne told me. “You’re lord of the manor now.”
So the six of us (Suzanne and Joey, Roxanne and Carl, Neil and me) piled into the kitchen, where Hazel had taken a break from her basting in order to feed Thad a sample of her mincemeat pie. The kid must have liked Hazel more than the pie, for he made a polite effort to swallow a few of the ugly brown gobs that he pushed around the plate with his fork.
“Suzie! Joey!” said Hazel as we entered. “Merry Christmas, my darlings.” Joey rushed to hug her, and Suzanne leaned through their embrace to give Hazel a kiss as the woman wiped a nostalgic tear from her cheek, a tribute to Christmases past.
Everyone talked about the delicious smells, gabbed about the menu, offered to help. Suzanne noticed that the Tawkins had updated the kitchen appliances, and Hazel conceded that the changes were a distinct improvement. Roxanne told us,
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