Read Online The Farewell Season by Ann Herrick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ann Herrick
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for nothing."
"'Touché,' said the humble student who's lucky when he makes the plain old everyday Honor Roll."
This time Glynnie's mouth eased into a full smile.
We checked out the tent set up for the art show, the platforms for dancing and the barrels of flowers and mini-windmills standing everywhere.
"It looks like a postcard of a Scandinavian village," Glynnie said.
"You should see it with everyone in costume and all the booths set up."
"I'll do it," Glynnie said, "no matter how out-of-place I'll look surrounded by the grade-school set."
"You'll see everyone, not just grade-school kids," I said. "A lot of the guys pretend it's a bore, but they show up. They'll claim it's better than doing nothing, but it's fun. It's something we've all grown up with. Missing out on the fair would be like missing out on your own birthday."
Suddenly I realized the aches and pains of practice were catching up with me. "Okay if we sit down?"
"Sure," Glynnie said.
We found a bench and sat there. We didn't say anything, but it was a comfortable silence. The flowers in the park bent gently in a light breeze. The blades on the mini-windmills turned ever so slowly.
I saw myself at the age of seven, staring longingly at the Swedish Dala Horse. I remembered wishing I was only five, so I could climb up onto its painted back without feeling embarrassed. I thought that at the ripe old age of seven I was too grown up for that.
Then Dad picked me up and swung me onto the back of the Dala Horse. "Let me take your picture up there," he said. Thrilled to have an excuse to sit on that horse, I happily posed for Dad.
Suddenly, the pain of Dad's death hit me with so much force it felt as if it happened yesterday. I bit my lip. It had been four months. I shouldn't let it get to me.
I almost jumped when Glynnie reached over and laced her fingers through mine. I'd forgotten she was even there. Her long slender fingers were warm and surprisingly strong as they gripped mine. It was as if she'd thrown me a rope. For a moment, I held on tight.
Then I started feeling the fresh bumps and bruises from practice. "I'm really wiped out," I said, withdrawing my hand from Glynnie's. "I'd better go home and hit the sack."
Glynnie nodded.
We stood, and she said, "I didn't realize it was so dark already."
I looked around, surprised to see the long shadows, and the deep pinks and purples closing down on the western sky. As we walked back to Glynnie's house, dusk filled the distant Coast Range with a rosy mist. When we got to Glynnie's, I walked her to the front door.
"See you tomorrow, Eric? To finish the interview."
"Yeah … sure," I said. It'd been okay, spending the evening with her. She seemed to know when to back off from getting too personal. I felt kind of … I don't know, safe with her. Kind of comfortable, like being with Rolf. "See ya tomorrow."
As the last lights of dusk disappeared and the dark of night began, I thought about last year's games and wondered if I should review them. But when I got home, Mom was alone in the living room watching TV. She clicked it off when I came in, and patted the sofa cushion next to her. Her brow had that familiar wrinkle of worry. "Hi, Eric. Sit down and tell me about prac—"
I waved her off. "Sorry, Mom. I'm beat. I'm going to bed."
A look of forced cheeriness spread across her face. "How about some cake first? There's still plenty—"
"I'm wiped out. Really. Goodnight." I hurried upstairs.
Up in my room, I peeled off my clothes and collapsed into bed. A disgruntled meow indicated I'd bumped into Starburst somewhere in the tangle of bedcovers. "Sorry," I said when her head popped up from behind a fold in the quilt. I heard Kirstin in her room, giggling on the phone. Then it was quiet.
I reached over to turn out the light, when I noticed my sketch pad poking out from a pile of junk on the bottom shelf of the nightstand. It'd been months since I'd thought about drawing. But, tired as I was, I found myself
"'Touché,' said the humble student who's lucky when he makes the plain old everyday Honor Roll."
This time Glynnie's mouth eased into a full smile.
We checked out the tent set up for the art show, the platforms for dancing and the barrels of flowers and mini-windmills standing everywhere.
"It looks like a postcard of a Scandinavian village," Glynnie said.
"You should see it with everyone in costume and all the booths set up."
"I'll do it," Glynnie said, "no matter how out-of-place I'll look surrounded by the grade-school set."
"You'll see everyone, not just grade-school kids," I said. "A lot of the guys pretend it's a bore, but they show up. They'll claim it's better than doing nothing, but it's fun. It's something we've all grown up with. Missing out on the fair would be like missing out on your own birthday."
Suddenly I realized the aches and pains of practice were catching up with me. "Okay if we sit down?"
"Sure," Glynnie said.
We found a bench and sat there. We didn't say anything, but it was a comfortable silence. The flowers in the park bent gently in a light breeze. The blades on the mini-windmills turned ever so slowly.
I saw myself at the age of seven, staring longingly at the Swedish Dala Horse. I remembered wishing I was only five, so I could climb up onto its painted back without feeling embarrassed. I thought that at the ripe old age of seven I was too grown up for that.
Then Dad picked me up and swung me onto the back of the Dala Horse. "Let me take your picture up there," he said. Thrilled to have an excuse to sit on that horse, I happily posed for Dad.
Suddenly, the pain of Dad's death hit me with so much force it felt as if it happened yesterday. I bit my lip. It had been four months. I shouldn't let it get to me.
I almost jumped when Glynnie reached over and laced her fingers through mine. I'd forgotten she was even there. Her long slender fingers were warm and surprisingly strong as they gripped mine. It was as if she'd thrown me a rope. For a moment, I held on tight.
Then I started feeling the fresh bumps and bruises from practice. "I'm really wiped out," I said, withdrawing my hand from Glynnie's. "I'd better go home and hit the sack."
Glynnie nodded.
We stood, and she said, "I didn't realize it was so dark already."
I looked around, surprised to see the long shadows, and the deep pinks and purples closing down on the western sky. As we walked back to Glynnie's house, dusk filled the distant Coast Range with a rosy mist. When we got to Glynnie's, I walked her to the front door.
"See you tomorrow, Eric? To finish the interview."
"Yeah … sure," I said. It'd been okay, spending the evening with her. She seemed to know when to back off from getting too personal. I felt kind of … I don't know, safe with her. Kind of comfortable, like being with Rolf. "See ya tomorrow."
As the last lights of dusk disappeared and the dark of night began, I thought about last year's games and wondered if I should review them. But when I got home, Mom was alone in the living room watching TV. She clicked it off when I came in, and patted the sofa cushion next to her. Her brow had that familiar wrinkle of worry. "Hi, Eric. Sit down and tell me about prac—"
I waved her off. "Sorry, Mom. I'm beat. I'm going to bed."
A look of forced cheeriness spread across her face. "How about some cake first? There's still plenty—"
"I'm wiped out. Really. Goodnight." I hurried upstairs.
Up in my room, I peeled off my clothes and collapsed into bed. A disgruntled meow indicated I'd bumped into Starburst somewhere in the tangle of bedcovers. "Sorry," I said when her head popped up from behind a fold in the quilt. I heard Kirstin in her room, giggling on the phone. Then it was quiet.
I reached over to turn out the light, when I noticed my sketch pad poking out from a pile of junk on the bottom shelf of the nightstand. It'd been months since I'd thought about drawing. But, tired as I was, I found myself
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