Read Online The Blonde of the Joke by Bennett Madison - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bennett Madison
Ads: Link
dude.”
“Oh, that was ages ago, thank God,” Liz said. “Ambrose. That guy was a real creep. Anyway, I do think he’s doing better. Him coming home is, like, a good sign, I’m pretty sure. But really, you can’t try to speculate; you’ll be wrong every time. We won’t know for sure until he’s back for Christmas, I guess.”
I did a double take. “He’s coming home for Christmas?”
“Uh, duh!” Liz said. “Where have you been?” Then she jerked her head and looked around the overrun store, distracted. Clothes were strewn on the floor and jumbled in huge messy piles on top of the tables. There didn’t seem to be a single folded garment in the entire place. “God, this place is a dump,” she said. “Back to work, I guess.”
“You work here?” Francie asked.
Liz rolled her eyes. “I’m the assistant manager. Maybe you should just kill me now.” Then she walked off to fold some clothes and called over her shoulder to me. “I’m sure I’ll see you when he’s back in town. I missed you!”
“We need to get out of here, like, now,” Francie muttered. She shot a suspicious look at Liz Jordan’s back and took my hand, marching me out of the store, back into the mall, where we were swallowed up by the crowd. We stood alone in the center of the atrium while people streamed around us.
“What the fuck!” Francie said. “You didn’t tell me you have a brother! Do you seriously have a brother?”
“He’s not like a regular brother,” I said.
“Clearly.” Francie snorted. “I mean, really, for fuck’s sake! How do you have a brother and not even mention it? Anything else you’re not telling me?”
“He’s dying,” I said. “Like, any day now.”
Francie stared at me. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“That’s so shitty,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s really shitty.”
“Well,” Francie decided, “if he’s coming home for Christmas, we need to get him presents.” Francie was always so practical like that.
My older brother was dying. No one had ever told me that he was dying; I’d been forced to figure it out on my own. I didn’t know exactly what his problem was except that it didn’t seem like a normal disease or anything like that. It seemed like something almost mystical. A problem that only the Holy Grail might be able to solve. Not that I believed in things like that.
I mean, I only believed in them a little. I wasn’t sure exactly what I believed in anymore. But I believed in Francie. I believed in my motorcycle jacket. And I believed that when it comes to things like the Holy Grail, people are usually willing to bend their beliefs.
“What would he want?” Francie wondered aloud. She worried the middle of her forehead with an index finger. “Is he into video games?” she asked hopefully.
“Not that I know of,” I said.
“Hmm,” Francie said. She knitted her brows together, just slightly disgruntled. “I thought that video games were what brothers liked. Well, we’ll think of something.”
Francie would think of something. Francie always had the answers. I had questions. The question I wanted to ask but didn’t was this one: How do you rebuild a boy? I figured that if anyone could tell me, it was Francie.
We went to J.Crew and stole Jesse a pair of plaid footy pajamas—“So cute,” according to Francie—and then moved on to Hollister, for a long-sleeve T that said H OLLISTER on it, and finally back to Crate & Barrel, where I took a Marimekko platter with a kind of paisley print, still for him.
Francie approved. “Everyone loves platters,” she pronounced. “They always come in handy. You have to let me sign the card.”
“Sure,” I said.
“A present that is stolen means more. It shows you’re really willing to take a risk for someone else.”
“I thought people liked it when you spent money on them,” I said.
“Yeah, but that’s different. When you steal something for someone, you put yourself on the line. And
“Oh, that was ages ago, thank God,” Liz said. “Ambrose. That guy was a real creep. Anyway, I do think he’s doing better. Him coming home is, like, a good sign, I’m pretty sure. But really, you can’t try to speculate; you’ll be wrong every time. We won’t know for sure until he’s back for Christmas, I guess.”
I did a double take. “He’s coming home for Christmas?”
“Uh, duh!” Liz said. “Where have you been?” Then she jerked her head and looked around the overrun store, distracted. Clothes were strewn on the floor and jumbled in huge messy piles on top of the tables. There didn’t seem to be a single folded garment in the entire place. “God, this place is a dump,” she said. “Back to work, I guess.”
“You work here?” Francie asked.
Liz rolled her eyes. “I’m the assistant manager. Maybe you should just kill me now.” Then she walked off to fold some clothes and called over her shoulder to me. “I’m sure I’ll see you when he’s back in town. I missed you!”
“We need to get out of here, like, now,” Francie muttered. She shot a suspicious look at Liz Jordan’s back and took my hand, marching me out of the store, back into the mall, where we were swallowed up by the crowd. We stood alone in the center of the atrium while people streamed around us.
“What the fuck!” Francie said. “You didn’t tell me you have a brother! Do you seriously have a brother?”
“He’s not like a regular brother,” I said.
“Clearly.” Francie snorted. “I mean, really, for fuck’s sake! How do you have a brother and not even mention it? Anything else you’re not telling me?”
“He’s dying,” I said. “Like, any day now.”
Francie stared at me. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“That’s so shitty,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s really shitty.”
“Well,” Francie decided, “if he’s coming home for Christmas, we need to get him presents.” Francie was always so practical like that.
My older brother was dying. No one had ever told me that he was dying; I’d been forced to figure it out on my own. I didn’t know exactly what his problem was except that it didn’t seem like a normal disease or anything like that. It seemed like something almost mystical. A problem that only the Holy Grail might be able to solve. Not that I believed in things like that.
I mean, I only believed in them a little. I wasn’t sure exactly what I believed in anymore. But I believed in Francie. I believed in my motorcycle jacket. And I believed that when it comes to things like the Holy Grail, people are usually willing to bend their beliefs.
“What would he want?” Francie wondered aloud. She worried the middle of her forehead with an index finger. “Is he into video games?” she asked hopefully.
“Not that I know of,” I said.
“Hmm,” Francie said. She knitted her brows together, just slightly disgruntled. “I thought that video games were what brothers liked. Well, we’ll think of something.”
Francie would think of something. Francie always had the answers. I had questions. The question I wanted to ask but didn’t was this one: How do you rebuild a boy? I figured that if anyone could tell me, it was Francie.
We went to J.Crew and stole Jesse a pair of plaid footy pajamas—“So cute,” according to Francie—and then moved on to Hollister, for a long-sleeve T that said H OLLISTER on it, and finally back to Crate & Barrel, where I took a Marimekko platter with a kind of paisley print, still for him.
Francie approved. “Everyone loves platters,” she pronounced. “They always come in handy. You have to let me sign the card.”
“Sure,” I said.
“A present that is stolen means more. It shows you’re really willing to take a risk for someone else.”
“I thought people liked it when you spent money on them,” I said.
“Yeah, but that’s different. When you steal something for someone, you put yourself on the line. And
Similar Books
