Read Online The Last Days of Summer by Vanessa Ronan - Free Book Online
Authors: Vanessa Ronan
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Bulging eyes met his. ‘Tell me about Miss Saunders.’
Dark hair. And dark eyes. And a smile just for him. A smile no other man could have. Jasper paused. A door creaked open, just a crack. He lowered his eyes. Thought
about prairie grass running through open fingers. Her lying down in it, bluebonnets and daisies crushed beneath her hair. Carefully he shut down the memory. Met the therapist’s gaze. ‘Do you meet with all the men coming in ’n’ out of this place?’
‘Yes.’
Jasper nods. ‘ ’N’ you evaluate ’em?’
‘That’s right, yes.’
‘All of ’em?’
‘Most of them, yes. It’s a standard procedure, Mr Curtis. We need to be sure that the convicts released pose no threat to themselves or others.’
Jasper nodded slowly, as though thinking. He shifted his weight in his chair. Met the therapist’s gaze with cold, hard eyes. ‘Who evaluates you?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Who’s to say there ain’t a bit of a “menace to society” inside you too, Doc?’ Jasper laughed then, low and deep and long. ‘You know, I think I see it, that menace, lurkin’ deep in there. It’s in your eyes, you see. The way you squint. You can tell a lot from a man’s eyes, Doc, and fact is you don’t seem so different to me than the folks I shared cells with.’
Bug Eyes shifted in his chair. Swallowed. ‘We are here to talk about you, Mr Curtis, not me.’
‘And what do you decide exactly?’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘I mean, what difference does this make? I’m already due release. Board’s granted that. Time’s nearly up now. I’ve served. So I guess what I’m askin’, Doc, is how does what I say here matter?’
‘Everything we say matters, Mr Curtis, don’t you agree?’
‘No, that’s not what I mean, Doc, ’n’ you know it. Don’t sidestep the question now, you hear?’ Defiant eyes met defiant eyes, all trace of laughter drained from Jasper’s voice. ‘What I want to know is: can anything I say here keep me locked up?’
The doctor shifted his weight from left to right. Back again. Looked uncomfortable squished in that tiny chair behind the massive desk. Sweat still beaded on his brow before rolling down his forehead to be wiped away only to form again. Clock a ticking bomb. Bug Eyes cleared his throat. Fidgeted with his pencil. Put it down. Picked it up. Chewed on the eraser.
‘No.’
‘So I’m a free man?’
‘Do you want to be free?’ Pencil calmed, raised, ready to be back in action, busy on the page.
Jasper smiled. ‘Every man seeks freedom, Doc.’
‘You’ve been avoiding my question, Mr Curtis. About Miss Saunders. Does it bother you to talk about her?’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Do you regret your actions?’
‘You mean my crime?’ A smile played on Jasper’s lips but did not settle there.
‘Yes. I mean your crime.’
Jasper shifted in his chair, his hands clasped and folded in his lap before him. His cuticles, grown long, covered the half-moons on his nails. He stretched his legs out long, feet flexed before him. Thought about sunlight and open fields and showers not shared. Thought about long
dark lashes. And tan lines. And remembered the taste of Mama’s peach cobbler hot on his tongue. At length he lifted his gaze. ‘That bitch got what she deserved.’
The pencil stopped scratching. ‘No regrets?’
‘Plenty.’
The road to town feels longer than Jasper remembers. Can’t quite guess how many miles still to go, though there was a time, not really so very long ago, when, without thinking, he would already have known. He had left Lizzie in Mama’s old chair in the parlour, bent over someone’s lace tablecloth, mending. Open window beside her, but scarcely a breeze blowing in. Doe Eyes at her feet, lying on her belly, flipping the pages of a fashion magazine. Feet kicked up behind her. Blonde hair slipped loose from her ponytail falling down onto her face. Lizzie didn’t look up as Jasper slipped out of the door, but
Dark hair. And dark eyes. And a smile just for him. A smile no other man could have. Jasper paused. A door creaked open, just a crack. He lowered his eyes. Thought
about prairie grass running through open fingers. Her lying down in it, bluebonnets and daisies crushed beneath her hair. Carefully he shut down the memory. Met the therapist’s gaze. ‘Do you meet with all the men coming in ’n’ out of this place?’
‘Yes.’
Jasper nods. ‘ ’N’ you evaluate ’em?’
‘That’s right, yes.’
‘All of ’em?’
‘Most of them, yes. It’s a standard procedure, Mr Curtis. We need to be sure that the convicts released pose no threat to themselves or others.’
Jasper nodded slowly, as though thinking. He shifted his weight in his chair. Met the therapist’s gaze with cold, hard eyes. ‘Who evaluates you?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Who’s to say there ain’t a bit of a “menace to society” inside you too, Doc?’ Jasper laughed then, low and deep and long. ‘You know, I think I see it, that menace, lurkin’ deep in there. It’s in your eyes, you see. The way you squint. You can tell a lot from a man’s eyes, Doc, and fact is you don’t seem so different to me than the folks I shared cells with.’
Bug Eyes shifted in his chair. Swallowed. ‘We are here to talk about you, Mr Curtis, not me.’
‘And what do you decide exactly?’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘I mean, what difference does this make? I’m already due release. Board’s granted that. Time’s nearly up now. I’ve served. So I guess what I’m askin’, Doc, is how does what I say here matter?’
‘Everything we say matters, Mr Curtis, don’t you agree?’
‘No, that’s not what I mean, Doc, ’n’ you know it. Don’t sidestep the question now, you hear?’ Defiant eyes met defiant eyes, all trace of laughter drained from Jasper’s voice. ‘What I want to know is: can anything I say here keep me locked up?’
The doctor shifted his weight from left to right. Back again. Looked uncomfortable squished in that tiny chair behind the massive desk. Sweat still beaded on his brow before rolling down his forehead to be wiped away only to form again. Clock a ticking bomb. Bug Eyes cleared his throat. Fidgeted with his pencil. Put it down. Picked it up. Chewed on the eraser.
‘No.’
‘So I’m a free man?’
‘Do you want to be free?’ Pencil calmed, raised, ready to be back in action, busy on the page.
Jasper smiled. ‘Every man seeks freedom, Doc.’
‘You’ve been avoiding my question, Mr Curtis. About Miss Saunders. Does it bother you to talk about her?’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Do you regret your actions?’
‘You mean my crime?’ A smile played on Jasper’s lips but did not settle there.
‘Yes. I mean your crime.’
Jasper shifted in his chair, his hands clasped and folded in his lap before him. His cuticles, grown long, covered the half-moons on his nails. He stretched his legs out long, feet flexed before him. Thought about sunlight and open fields and showers not shared. Thought about long
dark lashes. And tan lines. And remembered the taste of Mama’s peach cobbler hot on his tongue. At length he lifted his gaze. ‘That bitch got what she deserved.’
The pencil stopped scratching. ‘No regrets?’
‘Plenty.’
The road to town feels longer than Jasper remembers. Can’t quite guess how many miles still to go, though there was a time, not really so very long ago, when, without thinking, he would already have known. He had left Lizzie in Mama’s old chair in the parlour, bent over someone’s lace tablecloth, mending. Open window beside her, but scarcely a breeze blowing in. Doe Eyes at her feet, lying on her belly, flipping the pages of a fashion magazine. Feet kicked up behind her. Blonde hair slipped loose from her ponytail falling down onto her face. Lizzie didn’t look up as Jasper slipped out of the door, but
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