Read Online Dark Doorways by Kristin Jones - Free Book Online Page A

daughter, in a Ph.D. program and on fellowship. I’m so proud .”
    Pride. She was finally proud
of me.
    “Mom, why didn’t you tell me
Swanson was my father?”
    She turned back to her slow
cooker, pretending that it needed tending, as if I did not understand how these
things worked.
    Still facing away from
me– because who wants to look someone in the eye for a sperm donor
conversation?– she was able to talk while stirring. “I think just a bit
more garlic.”
    “Mom.”
    “Sarah, I don’t know. I think
I just didn’t want him giving you special treatment or anything.”
    “But you knew the whole time?
All those times you drove by his house? Your dream house ?
You knew it was my biological father who lived there?”
    “I didn’t find out until you
were already away at college. That was just a coincidence.” Mom finally turned
back toward me, reaching for my hand, trying to calm me like mothers do.
    “That’s an awfully big
coincidence. Your dream house just happened to be my father’s house?” I was
gesturing widely with my right arm, the arm she wasn’t holding.
    “It wasn’t really my dream
house, Sarah.”
    “What? You would go on and on
about it! You imagined how they decorated, where they’d put the Christmas
tree–”
    “Sarah,” she interrupted. Two
hands massaged my own, but it wasn’t calming. “That house was my safety. I went
there to protect us, to escape.”
    “From what?”
    Mom’s hands began to slip
away from mine just as her silhouette dissolved in front of me.
    “Mom! What were you running
away from?”
    She was gone. The tortilla
soup was gone. Her soft jasmine scent was gone. It all drifted away from me
elegantly, as if my heart wasn’t ripping out of my chest.
    “Mom!” I found myself
shouting, hoping to transport her back. I found myself talking into thin air,
hoping some small part of her might hear me. “There’s so much more I wanted to
say.”
    I drifted in and out of
consciousness, still wondering which was the dream and which was reality. There
was a haze as I blinked my eyes open, a struggle to get everything back into
focus. I still wasn’t sure where I was. It certainly wasn’t our boxcar with a
view of the river.
    It was Eliza’s vile face that
greeted me.
    “Sarah, you’re joining us
again. And how is your mom’s tortilla soup?”
     
    ***
     
    The map hid itself in my back
right pocket, unable to endure Eliza’s presence. So there I sat in a room with
no light, folded up into a corner and staring at a gorgonized Michael. Whether
he had actually been turned to stone or not was difficult to tell in the
darkness; his silence was not a good sign. The ropes tying my wrists to some
pipe behind me were meant to prevent movement, but I was sure I had lost all
strength to move anyway.
    “Comfortable?” Her voice shot
across the room, piercing me like a bullet. Without being able to see her, I
could only imagine that she was sitting contentedly with that nefarious smile
directed at me.
    “Eliza,” I began. The words
came out with more effort than I thought I would need. The boat was taking
everything, watching me wither away. “Why?”
    “So Será wants to know why
she’s here.”
    “It’s Sarah .”
    Her cackle fell on my ears
too harshly, making me wince like a trapped animal. It was odd, really, why it
was that moment that I pictured PETA freeing animals and wondered if their
services extended to human life.
    “Or were you asking why I
invited you into that house, why Parker lives in your mom’s house, why your
mother was terrified of dark doorways?”
    “Leave my mom out of this.”
    The cackle returned, echoing
off the walls as I tried to tuck my head into my body more.
    “Schadenfreude.”
    “Excuse me?” she responded,
sounding surprised for the first time since I’d met her.
    “You’re evil. Vile. You enjoy
seeing others’ misery.”
    “Now wait right there, Missy.
I’m doing a service here. This boat doesn’t take anyone