Read Online Deathwatch - Final by Lisa Mannetti - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Mannetti
Ads: Link
not?"
She didn't answer, but her face took on a hard look. I saw her hand clench at her side into a tight fist as if she'd instantly made up her mind to say something she didn't really want to--not at all.
"You know good as me why they should go away to school."
She knows about Abby, I thought, feeling my jaw muscles knot.
"I always thought I'd be here to look after my girls." She swallowed hard, and I saw what was left of the corded tendons in her throat tense. "Even if I loved Abby and Ellie--and I did--I had to learn to love them in a different way." She would not look at me, not even so much as to let her good eye wash over my chin. "It was a lesson. They were my penance." She turned her head, gazed blankly at the far wall. "Now, they're yours."
I felt her hand groping for mine.
"Lord, Lord," she whispered and squeezed my knuckles white.
- 15 -
I only saw Regina twice that long summer. And I believe now, Ruth--even during the time she was bedridden--held her back in some way. Or perhaps she was subdued by my sudden mood swing away from lust toward innocence. However it was, that summer—with its days of heat and blossoming and freedom--was in so many ways Abby's first. I saw her pleasure in simple things--catching fireflies, stretching her hand to snatch the highest fat blooming pink rose from the wooden arbor, inveigling me to play statue tag by moonlight--and they brought a delicious tropic heat that stole the agonizing winter from my heart.
"It's hot--even for night," I said. It was August, we were on the porch, a gibbous moon skimmed the treetops.
"I can do a cartwheel," Abby announced. She let go of the crank on the ice cream pail she'd been turning. Her face was flushed with exercise; in the glow from the houselamps I saw the beads of perspiration glimmering on her upper lip. She skipped off the porch, batting absently at a mossy hanging pot filled with wilting petunias.
"You're supposed to be making ice cream," I said, pointing at the ‘freezer.’
"Strawberry." Her pink tongue skated across the line of her lips. "Yum."
"And wasn't it your idea to have an ice cream supper?"
She'd read about them in the newspaper, boys and girls sitting at the long trestle tables under the trees at the Methodist Church or in Deer Gate meadow. Wanted to have one--with lemonade, and the best tablecloth, all of us dressed up--sitting in the yard. I couldn't make her understand it was called a ‘supper,’ but it was really a kind of social where desserts were served; you were supposed to eat something--some kind of dinner at home--first. It was hot, none of us wanted to cook, and ice cream for supper seized her mind. I'd given in, of course.
"You crank, it's nearly solid and hard to turn," Abby said.
I nodded, adding more sugar, dumping in more of the plump red fruit.
"You're not watching my star turn," she said, putting her hands against the crisp, summer stunned grass and churning her legs over her shoulders. Her dress--white muslin with a blue satin sash--belled upside down over her torso. There was a twinkle of pantalettes, the white toes of her stockings. I turned away to crank the ice cream freezer.
"Pantalettes are hot," she said, now sitting cross-legged in the grass. "Can I take off my stockings?" She didn't wait for my answer, but began tugging at the sweat damp silk.
"You're spoiling that child," Ruth whispered at me from the shadows. She was sitting deep inside the cushions of a heavy wicker chair. Gabriel had carried her outside. She was stick thin, a folding tripod of a woman beneath her wraps.
Before I could answer, we heard the faint squeak of wheels: Ellie's chair moving over the threshold, out onto the porch boards. Like her sister, she was wearing white, too.
"Help me, Stuart," Abby called, skittering up the steps. "I want to get Ellie onto the lawn." She began to maneuver the handles on the back of Ellie's chair. I steered and lifted it down the broad shallow stairs, while Abby
She didn't answer, but her face took on a hard look. I saw her hand clench at her side into a tight fist as if she'd instantly made up her mind to say something she didn't really want to--not at all.
"You know good as me why they should go away to school."
She knows about Abby, I thought, feeling my jaw muscles knot.
"I always thought I'd be here to look after my girls." She swallowed hard, and I saw what was left of the corded tendons in her throat tense. "Even if I loved Abby and Ellie--and I did--I had to learn to love them in a different way." She would not look at me, not even so much as to let her good eye wash over my chin. "It was a lesson. They were my penance." She turned her head, gazed blankly at the far wall. "Now, they're yours."
I felt her hand groping for mine.
"Lord, Lord," she whispered and squeezed my knuckles white.
- 15 -
I only saw Regina twice that long summer. And I believe now, Ruth--even during the time she was bedridden--held her back in some way. Or perhaps she was subdued by my sudden mood swing away from lust toward innocence. However it was, that summer—with its days of heat and blossoming and freedom--was in so many ways Abby's first. I saw her pleasure in simple things--catching fireflies, stretching her hand to snatch the highest fat blooming pink rose from the wooden arbor, inveigling me to play statue tag by moonlight--and they brought a delicious tropic heat that stole the agonizing winter from my heart.
"It's hot--even for night," I said. It was August, we were on the porch, a gibbous moon skimmed the treetops.
"I can do a cartwheel," Abby announced. She let go of the crank on the ice cream pail she'd been turning. Her face was flushed with exercise; in the glow from the houselamps I saw the beads of perspiration glimmering on her upper lip. She skipped off the porch, batting absently at a mossy hanging pot filled with wilting petunias.
"You're supposed to be making ice cream," I said, pointing at the ‘freezer.’
"Strawberry." Her pink tongue skated across the line of her lips. "Yum."
"And wasn't it your idea to have an ice cream supper?"
She'd read about them in the newspaper, boys and girls sitting at the long trestle tables under the trees at the Methodist Church or in Deer Gate meadow. Wanted to have one--with lemonade, and the best tablecloth, all of us dressed up--sitting in the yard. I couldn't make her understand it was called a ‘supper,’ but it was really a kind of social where desserts were served; you were supposed to eat something--some kind of dinner at home--first. It was hot, none of us wanted to cook, and ice cream for supper seized her mind. I'd given in, of course.
"You crank, it's nearly solid and hard to turn," Abby said.
I nodded, adding more sugar, dumping in more of the plump red fruit.
"You're not watching my star turn," she said, putting her hands against the crisp, summer stunned grass and churning her legs over her shoulders. Her dress--white muslin with a blue satin sash--belled upside down over her torso. There was a twinkle of pantalettes, the white toes of her stockings. I turned away to crank the ice cream freezer.
"Pantalettes are hot," she said, now sitting cross-legged in the grass. "Can I take off my stockings?" She didn't wait for my answer, but began tugging at the sweat damp silk.
"You're spoiling that child," Ruth whispered at me from the shadows. She was sitting deep inside the cushions of a heavy wicker chair. Gabriel had carried her outside. She was stick thin, a folding tripod of a woman beneath her wraps.
Before I could answer, we heard the faint squeak of wheels: Ellie's chair moving over the threshold, out onto the porch boards. Like her sister, she was wearing white, too.
"Help me, Stuart," Abby called, skittering up the steps. "I want to get Ellie onto the lawn." She began to maneuver the handles on the back of Ellie's chair. I steered and lifted it down the broad shallow stairs, while Abby
Similar Books
