Read Online Live to Tell by Wendy Corsi Staub - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wendy Corsi Staub
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the fridge.
But everyone needs to treat themselves sometimes, right?
Right .
And sitting around in a wet swimsuit has never killed anyone, has it?
Neither—as far as she knows—has a divorce.
“If you’ll clean up the salad scraps,” she tells Lucy, “I’ll go find something for Sadie to wear.”
Her daughter eyes the cutting board, littered with vegetable peels, onionskins, and celery strings. “Okay, but we really should compost this stuff, Mom. We all have to do our part to save the planet, you know?”
Yeah, well, we’ll worry about the planet tomorrow , Lauren wants to tell her. Tonight, let’s just focus on saving ourselves.
She can hear Ryan, still on the phone with Nick, as she leaves the kitchen.
“Yeah, and Mom let me have a couple of guys over to watch the Yankees–Red Sox last night,” he’s saying, “and she made us those brownies I love…yeah, with the chocolate chunks… I know they aren’t, but they’re good… Yeah, well, whatever. I have to go, Dad. Wait, here, talk to Sadie first.”
Maybe, Lauren thinks with a faint smile as she unfastens the doggy gate at the foot of the stairway and heads up to Sadie’s room for her clothes, the tide is turning at last.
Smiling so hard his face hurts, Garvey Quinn wishes the old lady would release her death grip on his hand. But she’s been grasping it for what feels like five or ten minutes, going on and on about her health problems and her family’s health problems and her neighbors’ health problems, and how she suspects there’s a secret toxic waste dump somewhere around here.
Garvey isn’t so sure she’s wrong. This industrial western New York town is maybe an hour’s drive from the notorious Love Canal, and look what happened there.
“Even my cousin’s dog has cancer now,” the woman informs him with more anger than sorrow.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Barbara Ann.”
He sees a glint of pleasure in her weathered face as she registers that he remembers her name. Yes, and he only heard it once, when she first came up to him, introduced herself, grabbed his hand, and refused to let go.
Barbara Ann. Of course he remembers. In the grand scheme of things, remembering names is one of the simplest tasks on his daily agenda. He has all kinds of little tricks for doing so.
Barbara Ann—that’s an easy one.
Ba-ba-ba…ba-ba-bara Ann .
Garvey was a Beach Boys fan back in his college days, when all his friends were listening to so-called alternative music. Image-conscious even way back then. Typical conservative Quinn behavior.
“Nobody’s listening to me!” Barbara Ann rails. “I talked to my doctor and I wrote to the mayor. I even called Eyewitness News . You know what?”
“No, what?”
“I got to talk to an assistant reporter, and she said she’d send someone down to check things out, and do you know what?”
“No, what?” he asks again.
“She never did.”
“Is that right.”
She vigorously nods her scarf-covered, chemo-ravaged head. “Nobody ever does what they say they’re going to do. And that’s the biggest problem with the world these days.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
Garvey studiously keeps his gaze fastened on her lashless eyes beneath a brow-less forehead, fighting the urge to look beyond her toward the closed businesses lining Main Street. Amid plate-glass windows covered with brown paper and “For Lease” signs, all that remains open are an OTB, a rent-to-own center, a tanning salon, and a chicken wing joint.
There are plenty of problems in Barbara Ann’s world these days. Of that, Garvey Quinn is certain.
But there are problems in his own world as well—including a potential crisis that churns his stomach if he allows himself to consider it.
“That’s why we need you to win this nomination.” Barbara Ann squeezes his hand harder. “You have good old-fashioned values and you stand behind your word. You care about the people. You care about our health. Really,
But everyone needs to treat themselves sometimes, right?
Right .
And sitting around in a wet swimsuit has never killed anyone, has it?
Neither—as far as she knows—has a divorce.
“If you’ll clean up the salad scraps,” she tells Lucy, “I’ll go find something for Sadie to wear.”
Her daughter eyes the cutting board, littered with vegetable peels, onionskins, and celery strings. “Okay, but we really should compost this stuff, Mom. We all have to do our part to save the planet, you know?”
Yeah, well, we’ll worry about the planet tomorrow , Lauren wants to tell her. Tonight, let’s just focus on saving ourselves.
She can hear Ryan, still on the phone with Nick, as she leaves the kitchen.
“Yeah, and Mom let me have a couple of guys over to watch the Yankees–Red Sox last night,” he’s saying, “and she made us those brownies I love…yeah, with the chocolate chunks… I know they aren’t, but they’re good… Yeah, well, whatever. I have to go, Dad. Wait, here, talk to Sadie first.”
Maybe, Lauren thinks with a faint smile as she unfastens the doggy gate at the foot of the stairway and heads up to Sadie’s room for her clothes, the tide is turning at last.
Smiling so hard his face hurts, Garvey Quinn wishes the old lady would release her death grip on his hand. But she’s been grasping it for what feels like five or ten minutes, going on and on about her health problems and her family’s health problems and her neighbors’ health problems, and how she suspects there’s a secret toxic waste dump somewhere around here.
Garvey isn’t so sure she’s wrong. This industrial western New York town is maybe an hour’s drive from the notorious Love Canal, and look what happened there.
“Even my cousin’s dog has cancer now,” the woman informs him with more anger than sorrow.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Barbara Ann.”
He sees a glint of pleasure in her weathered face as she registers that he remembers her name. Yes, and he only heard it once, when she first came up to him, introduced herself, grabbed his hand, and refused to let go.
Barbara Ann. Of course he remembers. In the grand scheme of things, remembering names is one of the simplest tasks on his daily agenda. He has all kinds of little tricks for doing so.
Barbara Ann—that’s an easy one.
Ba-ba-ba…ba-ba-bara Ann .
Garvey was a Beach Boys fan back in his college days, when all his friends were listening to so-called alternative music. Image-conscious even way back then. Typical conservative Quinn behavior.
“Nobody’s listening to me!” Barbara Ann rails. “I talked to my doctor and I wrote to the mayor. I even called Eyewitness News . You know what?”
“No, what?”
“I got to talk to an assistant reporter, and she said she’d send someone down to check things out, and do you know what?”
“No, what?” he asks again.
“She never did.”
“Is that right.”
She vigorously nods her scarf-covered, chemo-ravaged head. “Nobody ever does what they say they’re going to do. And that’s the biggest problem with the world these days.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
Garvey studiously keeps his gaze fastened on her lashless eyes beneath a brow-less forehead, fighting the urge to look beyond her toward the closed businesses lining Main Street. Amid plate-glass windows covered with brown paper and “For Lease” signs, all that remains open are an OTB, a rent-to-own center, a tanning salon, and a chicken wing joint.
There are plenty of problems in Barbara Ann’s world these days. Of that, Garvey Quinn is certain.
But there are problems in his own world as well—including a potential crisis that churns his stomach if he allows himself to consider it.
“That’s why we need you to win this nomination.” Barbara Ann squeezes his hand harder. “You have good old-fashioned values and you stand behind your word. You care about the people. You care about our health. Really,
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