Read Online Cornerstone by Misty Provencher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Misty Provencher
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expect a man but see a tall woman instead, with a happy apple of a face. She is thin and firm and curvy all at once. Her muddy blond hair throws me off, but her eyes are unmistakable. They are the sky without clouds, a well of Caribbean water without the sandy bottom. Those are Garrett’s eyes. My mom has somehow found the right house.
“Mrs. Reese?” My mom puts her left hand to her temple, rubbing, as if her head is aching so bad it will split apart. She is still clutching her purse, like a bloated dachshund, in the crook of her other arm. We look pathetic.
The woman tracks my mom’s hand with a confused brow, as if my mom might be nuts. Standing on the Reese’s front porch, I cower, embarrassed that we are here instead of at the police station. The woman nods for my mother to continue as the little girl from the side light steps forward and grips onto her mother’s leg.
“I am Alo Evangeline Maxwell.” my mom says. My ears snag on the word: uh LOW , a weird title my mom has never used, but a word I swear I’ve heard before. I don’t dwell long on it because I am annoyed by the useless introductions. The only thing we should be doing right now is getting people into the woods to look for Garrett.
“Garrett ran into the woods behind the school track!” I squeal from behind my mother. The replicas of Garrett’s eyes, set above his mother’s round cheeks, flick to me. I spill the facts, flagging my cast in the air to further illustrate what I’m jabbering at break neck speed. “The man that hit me with a shovel was watching us while we were running the track and Garrett went after him!”
I expect this woman to gasp, to step away from the door or to slam it on us, to run to her phone and dial the cops. But she doesn’t do any of this. The little girl, who is still clinging to her mother’s leg, looks up with her baby-soft mouth dragging open, waiting for her mother’s next reaction. Mrs. Reese’s eyes flip back to my mother as she steps aside from her own threshold.
“Come in. Come in.” she motions with a hurried tone. Despite the sound of a basketball game being played off the walls in another room, my mother goes in and I follow, a panic bubbling inside me because no one is doing what they should. Mrs. Reese does a quick scan of her front lawn before she closes the door, as if she doesn’t want her neighbors to see how she lets in any crazies that happen to appear on her doorstep.
Once we are inside, the little girl unglues herself from her mother’s leg and goes running down the short staircase that leads into the lower level, shrieking, “There’s ladies here! Sean, Brandon, Maaaaaarkyyyyy! Garrett’s in the woods!”
Mrs. Reese turns and steps back two feet to call up the ascending staircase, “Basil! Basil, come down! Garrett needs help!”
“Help with what?” A man that must be Mr. Reese comes out from one of the rooms and down the stairs, slipping off reading glasses. He’s as tall as his wife and equally athletic. He is dark and handsomely Latino, and definitely responsible for having given Garrett everything from the midnight-colored hair to the underwear-model good looks. My mom sucks in a breath beside me and I nudge her hard with my elbow. I am nearly jumping out of my skin while she checks out Garrett’s dad, holding myself back from screaming, Do something !
“Who’s it, Mom?” A carbon copy of Garrett emerges from the lower level stairs. At first I am startled, thinking it is Garrett, but the boy from downstairs has a completely different gait, slightly bowlegged. As he comes up through the shadows of the lower level, I can see that he is also slightly older and a little shorter, but otherwise would be as close as Garrett could get to having a twin.
All at once, the foyer floods with the entire Reese family. The carbon copy, along with two younger boys, come in with the little girl in tow. I can’t stand it any longer.
“SOMEBODY HAS TO CALL THE COPS!” I
“Mrs. Reese?” My mom puts her left hand to her temple, rubbing, as if her head is aching so bad it will split apart. She is still clutching her purse, like a bloated dachshund, in the crook of her other arm. We look pathetic.
The woman tracks my mom’s hand with a confused brow, as if my mom might be nuts. Standing on the Reese’s front porch, I cower, embarrassed that we are here instead of at the police station. The woman nods for my mother to continue as the little girl from the side light steps forward and grips onto her mother’s leg.
“I am Alo Evangeline Maxwell.” my mom says. My ears snag on the word: uh LOW , a weird title my mom has never used, but a word I swear I’ve heard before. I don’t dwell long on it because I am annoyed by the useless introductions. The only thing we should be doing right now is getting people into the woods to look for Garrett.
“Garrett ran into the woods behind the school track!” I squeal from behind my mother. The replicas of Garrett’s eyes, set above his mother’s round cheeks, flick to me. I spill the facts, flagging my cast in the air to further illustrate what I’m jabbering at break neck speed. “The man that hit me with a shovel was watching us while we were running the track and Garrett went after him!”
I expect this woman to gasp, to step away from the door or to slam it on us, to run to her phone and dial the cops. But she doesn’t do any of this. The little girl, who is still clinging to her mother’s leg, looks up with her baby-soft mouth dragging open, waiting for her mother’s next reaction. Mrs. Reese’s eyes flip back to my mother as she steps aside from her own threshold.
“Come in. Come in.” she motions with a hurried tone. Despite the sound of a basketball game being played off the walls in another room, my mother goes in and I follow, a panic bubbling inside me because no one is doing what they should. Mrs. Reese does a quick scan of her front lawn before she closes the door, as if she doesn’t want her neighbors to see how she lets in any crazies that happen to appear on her doorstep.
Once we are inside, the little girl unglues herself from her mother’s leg and goes running down the short staircase that leads into the lower level, shrieking, “There’s ladies here! Sean, Brandon, Maaaaaarkyyyyy! Garrett’s in the woods!”
Mrs. Reese turns and steps back two feet to call up the ascending staircase, “Basil! Basil, come down! Garrett needs help!”
“Help with what?” A man that must be Mr. Reese comes out from one of the rooms and down the stairs, slipping off reading glasses. He’s as tall as his wife and equally athletic. He is dark and handsomely Latino, and definitely responsible for having given Garrett everything from the midnight-colored hair to the underwear-model good looks. My mom sucks in a breath beside me and I nudge her hard with my elbow. I am nearly jumping out of my skin while she checks out Garrett’s dad, holding myself back from screaming, Do something !
“Who’s it, Mom?” A carbon copy of Garrett emerges from the lower level stairs. At first I am startled, thinking it is Garrett, but the boy from downstairs has a completely different gait, slightly bowlegged. As he comes up through the shadows of the lower level, I can see that he is also slightly older and a little shorter, but otherwise would be as close as Garrett could get to having a twin.
All at once, the foyer floods with the entire Reese family. The carbon copy, along with two younger boys, come in with the little girl in tow. I can’t stand it any longer.
“SOMEBODY HAS TO CALL THE COPS!” I
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