Read Online Forecast by Janette Turner Hospital - Free Book Online
Authors: Janette Turner Hospital
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Slave Mart itself, washed clean. And the waters receded and the islands rose back out of the sea as it was in the beginning. Now and ever shall be. And we better get you back inside the house or your grandmama going to have a fit.â
3. Point of No Return
âMarsyas, for Godâs sake, get home while you can. Steven, your motherâs on the phone. She wants to talk to you.â
âAnd who is going to board up your windows, Miz Leah, if I donât do it?â Marsyas wants to know.
âIt might have been more sensible,â Leah points out, âto have spent less time on the damned crepe myrtles. And whoâs going to board your own windows?â
âGrandsons, Miz Leah. Teenagers now. You are forgetting. Those boys already bought enough sheets of plyââ
âItâs getting too dark now anyway. If we donât get evacuation orders by morning, you can do it then, but for heavenâs sake, go. Just help me get this door closed first. You push from outside.â
She feels the heft of Marsyas against the wood. She slides the bolt home. Francesca hurls imprecations, flaunting herself on the screen porch. In the hush that follows the closing of the door, Leah hears Steven say: âBut I donât want to. I want to stay with Grandma.â
Leah watches the way her grandson concentrates, frowning, his whole body engaged in the listening. She would like to bolt plywood sheets around the delicate outer edges of his days. She would like to wrap him in silk.
âBut it wonât,â he says. âMarsyas told me. And theyâll vacuate us if it gets ⦠But Mommy â¦!â
There is a longish silence. Steven is pouting, biting his lip.
âHi, Daddy,â he says, his voice flat. There is another silence. âYes,â Steven says, dully. âYes, I am a little bit scared, but Daddy â¦â
Leah watches him trying to explain. She can feel his thoughts on her nerve ends. I like it , he is thinking. When Iâm with Grandma and Marsyas, Iâm not frightened when Iâm frightened. Itâs something else and I like it.
âItâs like ⦠itâs like â¦â he says, groping for words that the wind keeps snatching, âitâs like going very high on the swingâ
âYes, butâ
âYes, Grandmaâs here, but Daddyâ
âYes.
âDaddy wants to talk to you,â he says, extending the receiver.
Leah watches her grandson press his face against the windowpane. She watches the way his arms lift and sway. Sign language, she thinks. He believes he can talk to the trees.
Steven shivers and hugs himself.
âIâm sorry, what â¦? Oh. Yes,â Leah says, contrite. âOf course, if thatâs what you think is best. It just didnât occur to me youâd be so worried.
âYes, but you seeâ
âSo many of them miss us, you know,â she explains. âThey swing south at the eleventh hour, or they swing north-east and never make landfall at all.
âNo, no, itâs just ⦠thereâs been no evacuation order yet, but of course Iâll ⦠Oh, sheâs alreadyâ? That settles it then. Steven, can you hand me a pen?â
His grandmother copies down a number. âWe can make it, I think,â she says. âIâll just grab an overnight bag for him and send the rest of his stuff up later.â
She hangs up. She shows Steven the scrap of paper. âYour motherâs booked your flight home. This is the reservation number for your ticket,â she tells him. âWeâve got to be at the airport in an hour.â
âBut I donât want to go,â Steven says.
âYour parents are worried sick. Theyâve been watching the weather reports. Run and get some clothes. Iâll call the airport to find out if your flight is on time.â
Steven stops at the turning of the stair. Through the small casement window on the landing
3. Point of No Return
âMarsyas, for Godâs sake, get home while you can. Steven, your motherâs on the phone. She wants to talk to you.â
âAnd who is going to board up your windows, Miz Leah, if I donât do it?â Marsyas wants to know.
âIt might have been more sensible,â Leah points out, âto have spent less time on the damned crepe myrtles. And whoâs going to board your own windows?â
âGrandsons, Miz Leah. Teenagers now. You are forgetting. Those boys already bought enough sheets of plyââ
âItâs getting too dark now anyway. If we donât get evacuation orders by morning, you can do it then, but for heavenâs sake, go. Just help me get this door closed first. You push from outside.â
She feels the heft of Marsyas against the wood. She slides the bolt home. Francesca hurls imprecations, flaunting herself on the screen porch. In the hush that follows the closing of the door, Leah hears Steven say: âBut I donât want to. I want to stay with Grandma.â
Leah watches the way her grandson concentrates, frowning, his whole body engaged in the listening. She would like to bolt plywood sheets around the delicate outer edges of his days. She would like to wrap him in silk.
âBut it wonât,â he says. âMarsyas told me. And theyâll vacuate us if it gets ⦠But Mommy â¦!â
There is a longish silence. Steven is pouting, biting his lip.
âHi, Daddy,â he says, his voice flat. There is another silence. âYes,â Steven says, dully. âYes, I am a little bit scared, but Daddy â¦â
Leah watches him trying to explain. She can feel his thoughts on her nerve ends. I like it , he is thinking. When Iâm with Grandma and Marsyas, Iâm not frightened when Iâm frightened. Itâs something else and I like it.
âItâs like ⦠itâs like â¦â he says, groping for words that the wind keeps snatching, âitâs like going very high on the swingâ
âYes, butâ
âYes, Grandmaâs here, but Daddyâ
âYes.
âDaddy wants to talk to you,â he says, extending the receiver.
Leah watches her grandson press his face against the windowpane. She watches the way his arms lift and sway. Sign language, she thinks. He believes he can talk to the trees.
Steven shivers and hugs himself.
âIâm sorry, what â¦? Oh. Yes,â Leah says, contrite. âOf course, if thatâs what you think is best. It just didnât occur to me youâd be so worried.
âYes, but you seeâ
âSo many of them miss us, you know,â she explains. âThey swing south at the eleventh hour, or they swing north-east and never make landfall at all.
âNo, no, itâs just ⦠thereâs been no evacuation order yet, but of course Iâll ⦠Oh, sheâs alreadyâ? That settles it then. Steven, can you hand me a pen?â
His grandmother copies down a number. âWe can make it, I think,â she says. âIâll just grab an overnight bag for him and send the rest of his stuff up later.â
She hangs up. She shows Steven the scrap of paper. âYour motherâs booked your flight home. This is the reservation number for your ticket,â she tells him. âWeâve got to be at the airport in an hour.â
âBut I donât want to go,â Steven says.
âYour parents are worried sick. Theyâve been watching the weather reports. Run and get some clothes. Iâll call the airport to find out if your flight is on time.â
Steven stops at the turning of the stair. Through the small casement window on the landing
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