Read Online The Grilling Season by Diane Mott Davidson - Free Book Online
Authors: Diane Mott Davidson
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She’s not mine.” But when I reached out to Tippy, the cat hissed at me.
“Animals always love me,” Tina assured me. “Want me to return her to her rightful owner?”
“Actually,” I said, desperate, “if you’d just be willing to take care of her for a while until we can get her turned over to the Mountain Animal Protective League—”
Tina opened her eyes wide. “Never! I’ll keep her! I have a bunch of cats already. What’s her name?”
“I think the owner called her Tippy.”
Murmuring, Tina reached up and gently removed the cat from her shoulder. Gail Rodine glared. “Sweet baby!” crooned Tina, “I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
“Thanks, Tina,” I said, not waiting for the cat’s reply. “See you next week. At the doll show.” I trotted back to the van, not daring to glance at Gail Rodine. I hopped back into the driver’s seat and cleared my throat. There was no easy way to do this, despite what Marla had said. “Listen, Arch,” I said. “Dad’s in trouble.”
He moved impatiently in the seat next to me. “What?” Behind the thick lenses his eyes grew wary. “Is he okay?”
“Not really. I mean physically he’s okay, but—”
“What do you mean, then? Dad’s in trouble?” Anxiety cracked his voice. I was desperate to comfort him even as my own voice trembled with each revelation.
Dad’s down at the department with Tom
and
Looks like he and his girlfriend had an argument
and
Actually, nobody knows exactly what happened, but Suz Craig is dead.
Arch’s reaction—dumbfounded denial—was followed by panic.
“She’s dead? Suz is dead? Are you sure?”
“Yes. I saw her body lying in a ditch when I drove by her house this morning. And your dad’s under arrest.” I took a deep breath. “He’s been accused of killing her.”
Arch looked out the window. Gail and Tina were seated, conversing, on the porch. The cat was in Tina’s arms. “But … that doesn’t make sense.”
“Hon, I know.”
He was silent, then said: “When will I get to see him?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But, why were you driving by Ms. Craig’s house in the first place?”
“Arch, please. I just wanted to avoid taking you to an empty house.”
He faced me again. His voice rose with confusion. “Whose empty house? Why? What are you talking about?”
“Dad’s! I mean, I thought he might have spent the night at Suz’s place and not be home yet! I … was just trying to see where he was so I could spare you some pain,” I gabbled helplessly. “I didn’t know what I was going to stumble on to.”
“Well, you didn’t spare me any pain,” my son said harshly, and turned away from me to stare out the window again.
As I drove the van back into Aspen Meadow, I did my best to act loving and patient. It didn’t work. Arch had retreated into silence.
Why
did John Richard Korman continue tomess up our lives? That was the question to which there was no answer. My knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel.
At home Arch slammed out of the van ahead of me. Macguire had let Jake into our fenced backyard. The hound howled with delight at our arrival. Anticipating my worry about the neighbors’ complaints, Arch became intent on getting Jake back into the house. I sat in the van contemplating Arch’s short legs and flapping T-shirt and the crisis that confronted us.
My son would talk to me about how he was feeling, I felt sure. Only he would do it in his own time. We always worked things out, I told myself. But I felt a twinge of uncertainty. I slid out of the van and trod carefully across the wooden deck I’d added to the back of the house some years before. Suddenly I stopped and stared at the diagonal slats.
The deck, the doggone deck.
Dizzily, I sank down on a cushioned redwood chair.
The deck had been my idea. My present to John Richard on our fifth anniversary. Oh, Lord, why was I thinking about this now? Because everything was erupting: my life, my family, my mind. The
“Animals always love me,” Tina assured me. “Want me to return her to her rightful owner?”
“Actually,” I said, desperate, “if you’d just be willing to take care of her for a while until we can get her turned over to the Mountain Animal Protective League—”
Tina opened her eyes wide. “Never! I’ll keep her! I have a bunch of cats already. What’s her name?”
“I think the owner called her Tippy.”
Murmuring, Tina reached up and gently removed the cat from her shoulder. Gail Rodine glared. “Sweet baby!” crooned Tina, “I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
“Thanks, Tina,” I said, not waiting for the cat’s reply. “See you next week. At the doll show.” I trotted back to the van, not daring to glance at Gail Rodine. I hopped back into the driver’s seat and cleared my throat. There was no easy way to do this, despite what Marla had said. “Listen, Arch,” I said. “Dad’s in trouble.”
He moved impatiently in the seat next to me. “What?” Behind the thick lenses his eyes grew wary. “Is he okay?”
“Not really. I mean physically he’s okay, but—”
“What do you mean, then? Dad’s in trouble?” Anxiety cracked his voice. I was desperate to comfort him even as my own voice trembled with each revelation.
Dad’s down at the department with Tom
and
Looks like he and his girlfriend had an argument
and
Actually, nobody knows exactly what happened, but Suz Craig is dead.
Arch’s reaction—dumbfounded denial—was followed by panic.
“She’s dead? Suz is dead? Are you sure?”
“Yes. I saw her body lying in a ditch when I drove by her house this morning. And your dad’s under arrest.” I took a deep breath. “He’s been accused of killing her.”
Arch looked out the window. Gail and Tina were seated, conversing, on the porch. The cat was in Tina’s arms. “But … that doesn’t make sense.”
“Hon, I know.”
He was silent, then said: “When will I get to see him?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But, why were you driving by Ms. Craig’s house in the first place?”
“Arch, please. I just wanted to avoid taking you to an empty house.”
He faced me again. His voice rose with confusion. “Whose empty house? Why? What are you talking about?”
“Dad’s! I mean, I thought he might have spent the night at Suz’s place and not be home yet! I … was just trying to see where he was so I could spare you some pain,” I gabbled helplessly. “I didn’t know what I was going to stumble on to.”
“Well, you didn’t spare me any pain,” my son said harshly, and turned away from me to stare out the window again.
As I drove the van back into Aspen Meadow, I did my best to act loving and patient. It didn’t work. Arch had retreated into silence.
Why
did John Richard Korman continue tomess up our lives? That was the question to which there was no answer. My knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel.
At home Arch slammed out of the van ahead of me. Macguire had let Jake into our fenced backyard. The hound howled with delight at our arrival. Anticipating my worry about the neighbors’ complaints, Arch became intent on getting Jake back into the house. I sat in the van contemplating Arch’s short legs and flapping T-shirt and the crisis that confronted us.
My son would talk to me about how he was feeling, I felt sure. Only he would do it in his own time. We always worked things out, I told myself. But I felt a twinge of uncertainty. I slid out of the van and trod carefully across the wooden deck I’d added to the back of the house some years before. Suddenly I stopped and stared at the diagonal slats.
The deck, the doggone deck.
Dizzily, I sank down on a cushioned redwood chair.
The deck had been my idea. My present to John Richard on our fifth anniversary. Oh, Lord, why was I thinking about this now? Because everything was erupting: my life, my family, my mind. The
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