Read Online Goodnight June: A Novel by Sarah Jio - Free Book Online

The alley is dim now that the sun has set, but I have the distinct feeling that I am not alone. “Hello?” I say in a shaky voice. But my call is met with silence until a cat cries in the distance.
    I scan the shadowy corners behind the Dumpster: no one. Quickly, I pick up another log and carry the wobbly stack inside the shop, pausing to lock the door before setting the wood on the hearth. On the mantel, I find matches. Atop a stack of old newspapers blares a headline from January 7, 1963: MAGNUSON FAMILY DONATES $1 MILLION FOR N EW ART MUSEUM . I save the front page, wad up the brittle newsprint, and tuck it beneath a log in the fireplace, then light a match and watch as the fire takes on a life of its own, spreading to the log. I listen as it hisses and crackles, and then I make the connection.
    The Poky Little Puppy
! Of course. Ruby mentioned the book in her last letter. If I can find it, will there be more letters tucked away inside its pages?
    I rush to the bookshelves again and search for the book I remember reading as a girl. “Five little puppies dug a hole under the fence and went for a walk in the wide, wide, world.” I smile to myself. I went for a walk in the wide, wide world, and got a bit lost along the way. After an hour, I’ve almost given up on the search, but then in the firelight, I see the glimmer of a Little Golden Book spine on a high shelf across the room. And somehow, I just know.
    I wheel the ladder over to the shelf, thinking of how as a child I loved climbing on that ladder and pushing myself from one side of the wall to the other. When Ruby went upstairs for any reason, my sister and I would take turns pushing each other, and when our aunt returned she’d pretend to be oblivious to our antics, even though the wheels rattled loudly enough to make that impossible.
    I reach for the spot on the shelf, and there it is,
The Poky Little Puppy
. One copy. And sure enough, there’s a bulge inside its pages. I open the stiff spine and reach for the two envelopes inside.
    By the fire again, I lift the flap of the first envelope, from Margaret to Ruby.
    February 22, 1946
    My dearest Ruby,
    I can’t tell you how cheering it was to receive your letter. It cast a ray of light on my week, which has been otherwise atrocious. Where to start?
    While I had invited my sister, Roberta, over for lunch in good faith that we were trying to forge ahead with our relationship, she used the hour as a time to lecture me about my “lifestyle.” Why don’t I get married, she asked. Why don’t I start a family? Why don’t I stop associating with all these artists and bohemians? But what she was really getting at was, why don’t I be more like her? Well, I don’t want to be like her, and I told her so. As you can imagine, my words were not well received. She reached for her coat and bag and stormed out of the apartment. I feel bad, of course. I do not want our relationship to come to this, and yet I long for the day that we can accept one another for who we are, she in her world of pressed and proper domesticity, and I in my unconventional one. I suspect this is how you feel about Lucille. Perhaps one day we’ll all be able to forgive, accept, and move forward with the kind of love we all shared as girls. This is my hope, anyway.
    One of the illustrators we work with here at the publishing house had complained of being lonely, so what did I think to do? I bought him a puppy. A blue terrier. Apparently he had little experience with canines, because the nitwit left the pup in his apartment and the poor thing urinated all over the paintings for a new picture book. There are also paw prints, in all the primary colors, scattered about the room, and muddled on the paintings. He’s going to have to scrap the canvases and start over, and of course, he blames me.
    Well, at least that’s all behind us. And I won’t be bringing gifts to illustrators anytime soon.
    If Roberta’s visit wasn’t enough, Mother also came by