Read Online Desert Crossing by Elise Broach - Free Book Online

“I’ll be in touch later this afternoon.”
    As the sheriff drove away, Kit shielded his eyes with his hand and watched. I thought of the beer cans scattered in the brush somewhere. I wondered if you could see them from the road.
    â€œMan, it’s hot,” Kit said. “Jamie, you want to go out for a while? Get some lunch?”
    Jamie nodded. “Sure, but we don’t have a car.”
    Beth glanced at him, then shrugged. “You can take the truck, I guess.”
    Jamie grinned. “Really? Thanks. Is there a restaurant around here?”
    â€œYeah, about ten miles west, on the left.”
    I climbed the porch stairs, brushing off the soles of my feet. “I have to get my sandals.”
    Kit looked at Jamie, making a face that he thought I couldn’t see, but of course I could. “Uh … why don’t you just hang out here,” he said to me. “We’ll bring you something.”
    My cheeks were hot. I felt stupid. “Okay,” I said quickly. “Get me a turkey sandwich.”
    Jamie seemed not to notice. “Beth? You want anything?”
    She shook her head, tossing Jamie the keys. “Drive carefully.”
    *   *   *
    Inside, Beth went back to painting and I rested my chin on the back of the couch, watching them leave. I could see the two of them laughing in the cab of the truck.
    â€œDo you want a soda?” Beth asked.
    She was trying to be nice. But I was embarrassed that she’d seen how they treated me. “No, I’m okay,” I said.
    I got my sketch pad from the hallway and propped it against my knees, looking at the drawing of the girl. I’d finished her hair and her neck, the shape of her face. I started to work on her eyes.
    â€œYou like to draw?” Beth asked, after a while.
    I nodded.
    â€œWhat kinds of things?”
    I shrugged. “Animals, people. Sometimes places.”
    â€œWhat’s your favorite thing to draw?”
    I thought for a minute. “Faces, I guess.”
    â€œYeah?” Beth set down her brush, wiping her hands on a towel. “Show me something you’ve done.”
    She came toward the couch and I flipped the pages backward, quickly. I didn’t want her to see the girl. I found a picture I’d drawn of my mom reading. “Here,” I said, turning it for her to see.
    She took it from me. I felt nervous suddenly. Everybody always said I was good at drawing: my parents, my art teachers, everybody. It didn’t matter what Beth thought. But it did somehow. I waited.
    â€œIt’s good,” she said. “Technically very good. The shadows, the proportions.”
    I relaxed. “Thanks.”
    â€œWho is it?”
    â€œMy mom.”
    â€œHmmm.” She tilted her head, still looking at the sketch.
    â€œWhat?” I started to take it back.
    â€œNothing. It’s good, but I wouldn’t have known it was your mom.”
    â€œWell, how could you?” I said, settling it back on my knees. “You’ve never met her.”
    Beth picked up her brush and knelt by the sculpture again. “No. But that’s the next step. Drawing what you feel, not just what you see.”
    I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what she meant, but it sounded like she didn’t think I was that great at drawing after all.
    Beth started painting again. “If you draw what you feel,” she said, “anyone who sees that sketch should be able to tell it’s your mom. You know?”
    I stared at the paper. “I guess.”
    I flipped the pages back to the drawing of the girl and started sketching her lips, slightly open, glistening the way they did in the rain. The room was quiet again. The late-afternoon sun warmed my shoulders.
    Jamie and Kit were taking forever. “How far is that restaurant?” I asked.
    Beth pursed her lips, shooting a quick glance out the window. “They’ve been gone awhile, haven’t