Read Online Little Red Lies by Julie Johnston - Free Book Online Page B

tea towels, hem to hem, with mathematical precision, trying not to look at him as he talks.
    “And then we devoured it, just pulled off gobs of meat with our filthy grease-soaked hands.”
    I’m making gagging sounds.
    Mother says, “Obviously, there was nothing wrong with your appetite back then. You probably got food poisoning. That’s what the problem is.”
    Jamie brushes toast crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand and sips at his now-cold coffee. “My only problem is, I need a job. Also, I need to go away for a bit. There are a few people I should visit. My buddy Leeson’s widow, for one. She lives in Toronto. And I’d like to go back to the Coopers’, except that I don’t have anything to talk about besides the war. That’s the problem—I have only one thing on my mind. I need a job more than anything, that’s what I need.”
    I take the paper from him and study the want ads. “ ‘Farm laborer wanted,’ it says here. Maybe you could work for Granny.”
    “Now, there’s an idea!” He takes the paper back.
    “I don’t think you have any idea how hard farmwork is,” Mother says. “Ask your father. Ask Granny. She worked that farm right along with your grandfather. She used to say she helped the Allies win the Great War by keeping them fed. ‘Napoleon was right,’ I’ve heard her say, ‘an army marches on its stomach.’ ”
    “So what if it’s hard work? I’m just growing soft, hanging around here. I need to get back in shape.”
    Mother nods sadly.
    “Sorry for being so difficult,” he says.
    She pulls the plug on the iron and leaves it on its end to cool. Coming over to stand near him, she pushes hair back from his forehead. I watch him clench his jaw as if it’s all he can do to keep from jerking away.
    “I guess it must be pretty hard to adjust to civilian life again,” she says.
    “I’m working on it.”
    Jamie doesn’t object to me going along for the ride in Dad’s car out to Granny’s farm. He’s going to see if she’ll hire him for the spring and summer. We roll down our windows to feel the breeze on our faces. At full volume, we sing, “ ‘How’ ya gonna keep ’em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Paree?’ ” We have to hum the rest because we don’t know all the words. But who cares?
    “I’ll have to get a car of my own, if my plans work out.”
    “Can you afford one?”
    “Sure, a little secondhand coupe, if I can find one. I have my army pay. I wasn’t a big spender overseas.”
    “Granny will pay you,” I say.
    “I don’t want her to pay me. I’ll work for room and board.”
    “You mean, you would actually move out there?”
    “Of course.”
    “No! You’re not allowed. We need you at home.”
    He laughs. “Not half as much as I need to get away.”
    That takes a little of the joy out of my day, and I sulkas we drive up the lane, rutted from a spring rain, and park beside Granny’s truck. Bounder, the old farm dog, lies in the sun, soaking up the warmth. He barely raises his head but wags his tail enthusiastically when I give him a good tummy rub. Jamie bends over to pat him and staggers a little when he stands up, as if the effort makes him dizzy.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. Why does everybody keep assuming there’s something wrong with me?”
    He knocks on the kitchen door and opens it. “Hi, Granny,” he shouts. A muffled shout answers from below the floor. He opens the cellar door to see Granny on her way up the ladder-like steps, with a bowl of last fall’s apples.
    “Well, this is a nice surprise,” she says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
    “I’m looking for work.”
    Granny raises her eyebrows at me. “Have those parents of yours put you out to work, too?”
    “Why would they do that when they can use me for slave labor at home?”
    “True enough,” Granny says. “And what about you, young buster, what kind of work do you have in mind? Not farmwork, surely.”
    “Why not?”
    She eyes him with