Read Online From the Kitchen of Half Truth by Maria Goodin - Free Book Online Page B

the nearest item, which happens to be a dishrag, and then just stand there wide-eyed and terrified.
    â€œWh-what do you want?” I shriek, warding him off with the soggy dishrag as if it’s a crucifix and he’s a vampire.
    He freezes, one hand still on the back door handle, a startled expression on his unshaven face. My eyes dart up and down his body, scanning for a knife or even a gun. I take in the worn jeans and frayed T-shirt, the dirt on his hands. His hair is messy, long wisps falling into his eyes, and he has a streak of grime on his chin. He can’t be any older than me, maybe even a few months younger, and within five seconds I have concluded that he is living rough, certainly a drug addict, and that he is no doubt here to steal my mother’s belongings and sell them for cocaine. I take in his strong, sinewy arms and quickly conclude that although he is not much taller than me, he is clearly much stronger and therefore I don’t stand a chance.
    â€œIf you come any closer I’ll scream this house down!”
    He takes a step forward.
    I shake my dishrag frantically at him.
    â€œI swear, if you come any closer I’ll…I’ll…”
    â€œWash me?”
    His face relaxes and he looks vaguely amused, eyeing me up and down with interest. I pull the collar of my blouse tight around my neck. My knees, still weak from this morning, start trembling again.
    â€œWh-what do you want?”
    â€œJust a glass of water,” he says calmly.
    My mind flits back through episodes of Crimewatch , scanning for information on con artists who ask lone women for a glass of water and then murder them. I know the moment I turn my back he’ll be upon me, his dirty hands grabbing at me as he pushes me down on the floor. Or maybe he’ll just pull a knife from his pocket and slit my throat before running off with my mother’s DVD player.
    â€œGet out of my house!” I scream, flinging the dishcloth at him with gusto, suddenly furious. It hits him straight in the face with a wet smack.
    â€œHey! I surrender.”
    He holds his hands in the air, the dishcloth dangling from one of them.
    â€œI’m just the gardener.”
    I shake my head angrily.
    â€œNo, you’re not! My mother doesn’t have a gardener!”
    I pull a knife from the drying rack. The smirk on the man’s face is quickly replaced by panic.
    â€œAre you crazy? She hired me this morning!”
    â€œMy mother would never hire a gardener!”
    â€œThen I guess I must have been dreaming!”
    Just then I hear the front door slam.
    â€œHello?” calls my mother.
    Suddenly my mind goes into overdrive. Should I scream at her to run? Tell her to call the police? Make a bid for freedom, grabbing my mother on the way and bundling her out the front door? I monitor the young man anxiously, watching to see if he’ll turn and run or make a move to attack. Then again, I think, taking in his mud-encrusted work boots, what if…
    â€œAh, you two have met, then,” chirps my mother, plonking a bag of shopping on the kitchen table. Her breathing is heavy and labored. She rests her hands on her hips and waits to catch her breath.
    â€œMy goodness, I’m getting unfit!” she says with a laugh. “Maybe I should start going to the gym.”
    She looks from me to the young man and back again, taking in the knife in my trembling, outstretched hand.
    â€œMeg, what on earth are you doing?”
    â€œMother, who is this man?” I demand sharply, already aware that I have made a horrific mistake.
    â€œHe’s the gardener, of course. Who else would he be?”
    She takes the knife from me and casually throws it into a drawer.
    â€œHe knocked this morning looking for work, and I thought I could probably do with a hand. He’s already made ever such a good start.”
    â€œBut you said you didn’t want a gardener!” I shout, incredulous and acutely