Read Online One More Step by Sheree Fitch - Free Book Online Page A

means you don’t have any memories, bad or good.”
    He says he remembers too well a lot of late night angry noises. Not voices. “Just doorsSheree Fitch slamming and the spin of tires on gravel in the driveway. Mom bawling her eyes out.”
    He’s only ever told me this in the dark when I couldn’t see his face. It means he’s the one who has a history with our father. Weekend visits, Christmas and summer vacations. That’s what I’ve had.
    So now there’s Jean-Paul, another in a line of strange and stranger men my mother’s tried out over the years. Sometimes, I think she sees it as taking a new car out for a test run or something.
    Okay, so there’ve only been three. But that’s three too many. Plus, Chris gets confused. Four year’s difference and he thinks he’s a father figure or something. Like I said, too many fathers. And, oh yeah, I almost forgot. There’s Poppie, my Granddad, too.
    Jean-Paul better not try to do a Dad routine on me, I thought.
    â€œLet’s clean up, boys,” he said just then.
    â€œLet’s not,” I said. He just shrugged and gave me this dorky grin.
    I turned on the TV and watched himand Chris stuff wrapping paper into garbage bags. Mom went to fry up some partridge meat. Same as always. With fried eggs and cranberry muffins. This year, though, she served the orange juice in wineglasses. Fancy shmancy.
    â€œWho are you trying to impress, Mom?” I asked.
    â€œCool, cool.” said Chris quickly. And gave me
the look
.
    It’s the look that means
watch your step buster or you’ll have to answer to me later
.
    Chris and I played Nintendo while they started peeling the vegetables for dinner. It had to be an early dinner because we were leaving for Dad’s place. We had to eat there, too.
    Strange, I thought. This was the first year Mom didn’t complain about how impossible squash is to cut.
    â€œWhy are there never any decent knives in this house?” she always whines whenevershe’s preparing a big meal.
    This year, she wasn’t complaining about a thing. In fact, she was humming.
It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
. Her favorite.

Chapter Two
    Nana and Poppie were coming over for supper. This was a good thing, I figured. Maybe that would mean Mom and Jean-Paul would keep their hands off each other. I saw hickeys on my mother’s neck when she was in her bathrobe. She’s thirty-seven years old, for crying out loud.
    â€œYou better wear your turtleneck for dinner,” I told her.
    She nearly died when she realized what I was talking about. Then she got in a snit.
    â€œMy sexuality is my own affair,” she said. No pun intended, I’m sure. I couldn’t help smirking.
    So let’s not see you groping each other in the kitchen while you’re peeling vegetables, okay? I wanted to say. I didn’t though.
    â€œReady to go?” asked Jean-Paul, coming into the kitchen just then.
    It was time for our traditional drive while the turkey was cooking. We don’t go to church but Mom’s always insisted we should mark this as a sacred day. Her words, not mine.
    For about four years now, ever since we’ve had a car, we’ve been driving out to the same spot. It’s by the ocean. We go for a walk in the woods and end up on a ledge of rocks overlooking the sea. It’s a wicked spot.
    This year though, the weather was miserable. It was snowing, a sort of frozen-spit kind of snow. It didn’t melt when it hit the ground. Chris and I had to shovel for at leasttwenty minutes to clear the driveway.
    â€œWant some help? I have a shovel in the trunk of my car.” Jean-Paul asked.
    I kept my head down.
    â€œSure,” said Chris.
    After about ten minutes, Jean-Paul stopped to rest and lit a cigarette. Real good for the lungs, Bud, I thought. “Are you illiterate or just French?” I asked.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” he asked.
    I grabbed the