Read Online Juliet in August by Dianne Warren - Free Book Online Page A

‘little belly,’ as you put it.”
    â€œYou’re in denial, Lila. One look and a blind man could tell.” Without realizing he’s doing it, Norval pulls the sheet up to his chin. It has something to do with the idea of his daughter
showing
. “So what about Kyle’s mother?” he asks. “Can’t she lend a hand?”
    â€œMrs. Hoffert is lovely, but this is the bride’s family’s responsibility. You can’t weasel out that way, Norval.”
    Lila’s acting like this wedding is the most important event in the history of the town, Norval thinks, when in fact he sees it, well, not so much as a disaster—nothing is final these days—but as a mistake that will be evident before the guests have eaten their good-luck slivers of wedding cake. He wants to suggest again that the marriage take place cheaply and quietly, and that they spend the money to celebrate in a year’s time if the future looks promising then. When he suggested this the first time, his wife and daughter in unison called him a tightwad and dismissed the idea without consideration.
    Norval sighs audibly, tucking the sheet around his neck as though he’s in a body bag with his head sticking out.
    â€œIn case you hadn’t noticed,” he says, “I too have a job. I too have a list, and a rather long one.” He tries to picture his desk calendar, the one he’s refused to replace with an electronic version, and wonders who will be the first to enter his office at the bank in the morning, playing a sympathy card and asking for more money or more time. And he’s pretty sure he has school board business sometime after lunch, the interview of the only qualified applicant for the job of home economics teacher. Waiting in the wings is the righteous Mrs. Baxter, owner of Norval’s favorite rooster, who has been trying to get her hands on the job for the last ten years even though she doesn’t have a teaching certificate. He can only hope the qualified applicant isn’t covered in tattoos. If she’s at all acceptable, they’ll have to hire her or face the teachers’ union.
    Lila says, “I want you to talk to someone at the church. The foyer absolutely must be redecorated, and I don’t just mean a coat of paint. They’ll listen to you, Norval. You’re an important person in the community and, besides, you’re a man.”
    Important, hah,
Norval thinks to himself. Important, when his job description includes foreclosure on properties that have been in the family for over a hundred years. Tolling the death knell for people like Blaine Dolson—who has found work on the road crew, thank God for that; he has a half dozen kids to support.
    What would happen, Norval wonders, if he just stayed in bed, didn’t go to the bank on Main Street, just pulled the sheets over his head and stayed in bed until noon, and then got up in his pajamas and watched whatever was on TV, whatever appeared on the screen when he hit the power button on the remote—music videos, football or golf, some reality show about redecorating houses or ballroom dancing—and when the day was over he’d go back to bed and sleep with a free conscience. He wonders whether this is possible, if he could ever, at his age, close enough to retirement that the word has entered his vocabulary, quit his job?
    And then he reminds himself that he’s considering just the thing that he fears for his daughter—poverty resulting from a rash act—and he knows that if it gets too bad he’ll apply for a transfer to another town and he’ll start all over with new clients who will trust him, or give him the benefit of the doubt, for a few years at least.
    Lila sits up in bed. “Did you hear that?” she asks.
    â€œThe wind?” Norval asks.
    â€œNot the wind,” she says. “There is no wind. I think it was the front door.”
    Now Norval hears