Read Online Sparrow Road by Sheila O'Connor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sheila O'Connor
Tags: Ages 10 & Up
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said it made a lump grow in my throat. “And now all that could change.”
“It’ll still be happy, Mama.” I didn’t want Gray James to change my happy life.
“I suppose,” Mama said, like she wasn’t quite so sure. “We just have to see what happens next. What you want to do now that you know.”
“Do?” I said.
“Yes,” Mama said. “You’re old enough to make up your own mind. I shouldn’t be in the middle anymore.”
“Me?” I said again. “Gray James is up to me?”
“Yes,” Mama said. “You and Gray will have to work it out.”
“But how?” I said. Gray James was a stranger.
Suddenly another wave of storm pounded on our cottage, with balls of hail pelting past our windows. Outside looked like a blizzard in July. The whine of the old refrigerator stopped.
“I hope it’s not a sign!” Mama said. Up at the main house, all the lights were out. A wall of darkness everywhere and it wasn’t even night. Mama lit two candles and set them on the table.
If I ever sewed a memory patch, I knew what mine would be—Viktor’s truck and hail and root beer floats and Josie, how hot it was this morning biking through the valley. And behind it all a mystery. Gray James? I’d stitch his name in secret letters, or in little tiny print only I could see.
“But who is he?” I asked. Once, I overheard Grandpa Mac tell Mr. Sheehan that Mama got mixed up with a man who wasn’t worth a dime. A no-good we were better off without. And sometimes after that, I worried he might have been in prison, dangerous, or else Mama would have told me who he was. “I mean, more than just his name? What kind of person is he?”
Mama stiffened. “What do you want to know exactly?”
“I don’t know. Like is he dangerous? Could he hurt us in some way? Hurt me?” I’d held that fear inside for so long it almost hurt to say it.
“Oh no.” Mama brushed my cheek. “Not dangerous. Not in the ways you mean. Most the harm Gray’s done, he’s done to himself.” Mama pressed her lips against my forehead. “In fact, you have his gentle spirit, Raine.”
It felt strange to hear Mama say I came from someone else, someone who wasn’t an O’Rourke. Maybe I’d inherited his black hair and crooked teeth? His big dark eyes? Maybe he was short like me? So little of my looks came down from Grandpa Mac or Mama. Mama cupped my face with her soft hands. “I’ve always seen him in you, Raine. Every day since your beginning. All the things I loved about Gray James live inside you.”
“You loved him, Mama?” If Mama loved him why weren’t they together? Why didn’t she ever say his name? Why didn’t she want him in our life?
“Of course I did,” Mama said. “I loved him for a long, long time.”
21
Mama and I stayed camped out in our cottage, the electricity still down, with peanut butter sandwiches and apples for a snack. Mama told me Gray James was a musician from Missouri. A folk singer famous in some circles for the sad songs that he sang. She said they’d met in Amsterdam when she was singing on the street. “My hippie days.” She shook her head. “Back when I was living on that boat.”
“Before we moved back to Milwaukee to live with Grandpa Mac?”
“Yes,” Mama said.
“Well, if you loved him, why didn’t you get married?”
“Oh, Raine.” Mama blushed, embarrassed. It was a blush that made me worry that Mama was in this love alone. “I don’t want to talk about those things.”
“But did he disappear? I mean, all these years, where was he?”
Mama stared into my eyes, the kind of long look she gave before she told me something serious. “Gray has things he plans to tell you for himself. It’s not for me to say.” She lifted up our dirty plates and walked over to the sink.
“But why?” I said. “And if he wasn’t really dangerous, why didn’t I ever know him before now? Not even his name? Or that he was a singer from Missouri? Things you could’ve told me.”
“I could
“It’ll still be happy, Mama.” I didn’t want Gray James to change my happy life.
“I suppose,” Mama said, like she wasn’t quite so sure. “We just have to see what happens next. What you want to do now that you know.”
“Do?” I said.
“Yes,” Mama said. “You’re old enough to make up your own mind. I shouldn’t be in the middle anymore.”
“Me?” I said again. “Gray James is up to me?”
“Yes,” Mama said. “You and Gray will have to work it out.”
“But how?” I said. Gray James was a stranger.
Suddenly another wave of storm pounded on our cottage, with balls of hail pelting past our windows. Outside looked like a blizzard in July. The whine of the old refrigerator stopped.
“I hope it’s not a sign!” Mama said. Up at the main house, all the lights were out. A wall of darkness everywhere and it wasn’t even night. Mama lit two candles and set them on the table.
If I ever sewed a memory patch, I knew what mine would be—Viktor’s truck and hail and root beer floats and Josie, how hot it was this morning biking through the valley. And behind it all a mystery. Gray James? I’d stitch his name in secret letters, or in little tiny print only I could see.
“But who is he?” I asked. Once, I overheard Grandpa Mac tell Mr. Sheehan that Mama got mixed up with a man who wasn’t worth a dime. A no-good we were better off without. And sometimes after that, I worried he might have been in prison, dangerous, or else Mama would have told me who he was. “I mean, more than just his name? What kind of person is he?”
Mama stiffened. “What do you want to know exactly?”
“I don’t know. Like is he dangerous? Could he hurt us in some way? Hurt me?” I’d held that fear inside for so long it almost hurt to say it.
“Oh no.” Mama brushed my cheek. “Not dangerous. Not in the ways you mean. Most the harm Gray’s done, he’s done to himself.” Mama pressed her lips against my forehead. “In fact, you have his gentle spirit, Raine.”
It felt strange to hear Mama say I came from someone else, someone who wasn’t an O’Rourke. Maybe I’d inherited his black hair and crooked teeth? His big dark eyes? Maybe he was short like me? So little of my looks came down from Grandpa Mac or Mama. Mama cupped my face with her soft hands. “I’ve always seen him in you, Raine. Every day since your beginning. All the things I loved about Gray James live inside you.”
“You loved him, Mama?” If Mama loved him why weren’t they together? Why didn’t she ever say his name? Why didn’t she want him in our life?
“Of course I did,” Mama said. “I loved him for a long, long time.”
21
Mama and I stayed camped out in our cottage, the electricity still down, with peanut butter sandwiches and apples for a snack. Mama told me Gray James was a musician from Missouri. A folk singer famous in some circles for the sad songs that he sang. She said they’d met in Amsterdam when she was singing on the street. “My hippie days.” She shook her head. “Back when I was living on that boat.”
“Before we moved back to Milwaukee to live with Grandpa Mac?”
“Yes,” Mama said.
“Well, if you loved him, why didn’t you get married?”
“Oh, Raine.” Mama blushed, embarrassed. It was a blush that made me worry that Mama was in this love alone. “I don’t want to talk about those things.”
“But did he disappear? I mean, all these years, where was he?”
Mama stared into my eyes, the kind of long look she gave before she told me something serious. “Gray has things he plans to tell you for himself. It’s not for me to say.” She lifted up our dirty plates and walked over to the sink.
“But why?” I said. “And if he wasn’t really dangerous, why didn’t I ever know him before now? Not even his name? Or that he was a singer from Missouri? Things you could’ve told me.”
“I could
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