Read Online In the After by Demitria Lunetta - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Demitria Lunetta
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desperately. Her forehead wrinkles with concern, and her eyes are already welling up.
My jaw tightens. This behavior just proves that she isnât ready to face the outside again.
Amberâs nose scrunches and her lip trembles. I look away from her, ashamed of myself. Itâs not fair to leave her on her own when she is just getting used to being part of our family.
Okay, fine , I sign and she immediately brightens. I take the note from her and find a pen. But you have to watch us and do exactly as I tell you , I scrawl across the back.
Yes , she quickly agrees, relieved.
I hand her a backpack and give her some socks. She walks around the house barefoot, but she isnât used to walking on pavement scattered with twigs and stones that could damage her feet. The socks will offer a little cushion without added noise.
Is it safe? Baby asks as we open the door and head toward the gate.
Weâll take a short trip, something easy for Amber .
We only go a block. There is a big house on the corner that Iâve avoided exploring, since I knew the people who lived there. They had children, a little boy and a girl about Babyâs age. I hope their daughterâs clothes will fit Baby, otherwise weâll have to take a much longer walk to the stores downtown. We have to plan ahead for that one, and Amber definitely canât come. She isnât ready for a silent, eight-mile hike.
The door to the house is locked, so we walk around to the side yard. Their back door, sliding glass, is smashed to pieces. A shredded blue curtain moves with the breeze. I turn to Amber and Baby and point out the glass shards. Baby follows with Amber close behind.
The living room smells of mildew. The open doorway has allowed the rain to damage the walls and floor, leaving black mold on the carpet that has crept halfway up the nearest wall. The paint has peeled in long strips. Even so, you can still tell that the former occupants were well-off. The living room is furnished nicely, intricate wood chairs and a plush cream couch, now on its side and spotted with dirt.
Baby, you check the kitchen , I tell her. Iâll take Amber with me to look upstairs .
Baby nods once, all business. I smile sadly. At that age I complained about cleaning my room and thought my parents were mean when they made me clear the table after dinner. I sometimes wonder what kind of child Baby would be if none of this had happened. Would she be that weird kid in the corner of the playground who never spoke to anyone, or would she be the daredevil on the jungle gym?
Where Amber go? Amber asks. She is looking around uncertainly. Her eyes rest on a dark spot on the carpet. Even though the blotch is several years old, there is no mistaking the black-red stain. Someone has died there. Amber stares at the unpleasant splotch, her forehead wrinkled. I realize I should have warned her about what to expect.
I wave my hand to get Amberâs attention. Her gaze lingers on the spot of blood for another moment, then she focuses on me, eyes glassy.
Itâs okay , I tell her. I grab her hand and lead her across the living room. We need to find the daughterâs room and grab some clothes for Baby while she searches for canned food. I donât want to take longer than necessary.
We find the staircase past the dining room. I test the stairs first, making sure the water damage doesnât extend to the wood. I donât want to fall through and hurt myself since there isnât anything I can do if I break a bone.
The stairs are solid, though a couple sag. Two squeak loudly. I make a mental note of which ones, so I can avoid them on the way back down. I motion for Amber to follow. Her face is pale, her lips pressed firmly together. Sheâs still shaken from the gore on the carpet and imagining what took place there.
I take her hand again and lead her slowly up the staircase. The wall is lined with family photos. One is pushed sideways, a picture of the
My jaw tightens. This behavior just proves that she isnât ready to face the outside again.
Amberâs nose scrunches and her lip trembles. I look away from her, ashamed of myself. Itâs not fair to leave her on her own when she is just getting used to being part of our family.
Okay, fine , I sign and she immediately brightens. I take the note from her and find a pen. But you have to watch us and do exactly as I tell you , I scrawl across the back.
Yes , she quickly agrees, relieved.
I hand her a backpack and give her some socks. She walks around the house barefoot, but she isnât used to walking on pavement scattered with twigs and stones that could damage her feet. The socks will offer a little cushion without added noise.
Is it safe? Baby asks as we open the door and head toward the gate.
Weâll take a short trip, something easy for Amber .
We only go a block. There is a big house on the corner that Iâve avoided exploring, since I knew the people who lived there. They had children, a little boy and a girl about Babyâs age. I hope their daughterâs clothes will fit Baby, otherwise weâll have to take a much longer walk to the stores downtown. We have to plan ahead for that one, and Amber definitely canât come. She isnât ready for a silent, eight-mile hike.
The door to the house is locked, so we walk around to the side yard. Their back door, sliding glass, is smashed to pieces. A shredded blue curtain moves with the breeze. I turn to Amber and Baby and point out the glass shards. Baby follows with Amber close behind.
The living room smells of mildew. The open doorway has allowed the rain to damage the walls and floor, leaving black mold on the carpet that has crept halfway up the nearest wall. The paint has peeled in long strips. Even so, you can still tell that the former occupants were well-off. The living room is furnished nicely, intricate wood chairs and a plush cream couch, now on its side and spotted with dirt.
Baby, you check the kitchen , I tell her. Iâll take Amber with me to look upstairs .
Baby nods once, all business. I smile sadly. At that age I complained about cleaning my room and thought my parents were mean when they made me clear the table after dinner. I sometimes wonder what kind of child Baby would be if none of this had happened. Would she be that weird kid in the corner of the playground who never spoke to anyone, or would she be the daredevil on the jungle gym?
Where Amber go? Amber asks. She is looking around uncertainly. Her eyes rest on a dark spot on the carpet. Even though the blotch is several years old, there is no mistaking the black-red stain. Someone has died there. Amber stares at the unpleasant splotch, her forehead wrinkled. I realize I should have warned her about what to expect.
I wave my hand to get Amberâs attention. Her gaze lingers on the spot of blood for another moment, then she focuses on me, eyes glassy.
Itâs okay , I tell her. I grab her hand and lead her across the living room. We need to find the daughterâs room and grab some clothes for Baby while she searches for canned food. I donât want to take longer than necessary.
We find the staircase past the dining room. I test the stairs first, making sure the water damage doesnât extend to the wood. I donât want to fall through and hurt myself since there isnât anything I can do if I break a bone.
The stairs are solid, though a couple sag. Two squeak loudly. I make a mental note of which ones, so I can avoid them on the way back down. I motion for Amber to follow. Her face is pale, her lips pressed firmly together. Sheâs still shaken from the gore on the carpet and imagining what took place there.
I take her hand again and lead her slowly up the staircase. The wall is lined with family photos. One is pushed sideways, a picture of the
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