Read Online The Last Days of Summer by Vanessa Ronan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vanessa Ronan
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had never shied away from a fight. Jasper stands motionless, feeling an uneasiness creep up inside
him. When he finds his stride again, his footsteps lead back up the road he’s walked already. Back the way the truck just sped, back towards home.
Hands in and out of the warm soapy water. Brought in and out of the faucet’s steady drip in steady bursts of hot and cold. The heat feels soothing on Lizzie’s aching knuckles as she massages them back to life. Too long sewing, but at least the lace is done. Nearly good as new. Mama had arthritis. In her hands. Her thumbs. Her knees. Used to sit out on her rocker on the front porch, rubbing her knees with the palms of her hands as she rocked back and forth, back and forth. For hours. Used to say the movement eased the pain, but when she stood up her walk was as stiff as ever. Lizzie wonders if she’ll be like that one day. If pain runs in her blood. Shakes her head.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Hopes not.
She hears the truck before she sees it. Looks up out of the kitchen window beyond the tall prairie grasses and low-lying shrubs to the road beyond. Rumbling sound of the engine low as thunder and as distant, but uninterrupted and now quickly coming closer, growing louder, faster than any storm. Cobalt blue. Bright, shiny, new. Puts her rusted Chevy parked out front to shame. Lizzie turns the faucet off. Dries her hands on a dish towel. Places it, crumpled, on the counter beside her. Her hand fists around the cool fabric, gripping, squeezing, as it knots inside her palm. To her surprise, she is not shaking.
She knows that truck.
Whole town knows that truck. And it’s the one truck
she hoped never to see. Or at least not yet.
It’s too soon. He’s only just home …
Lizzie knows that Jasper left the house. She didn’t try to stop him. Didn’t tell him, ‘Stay.’ Or ask him if he wanted company or even a lift somewhere. He is not a prisoner in this house. And yet Lizzie couldn’t help but feel uneasy as Jasper quietly walked to the door, as he paused there, hand already outstretched for the screen-door handle. For a moment, not looking up but still fully aware of where he stood, she wondered if he might not come back. It would be easier to leave with no goodbye. A part of her hoped he might never again enter through that door. A part of her worried to let him out of her sight.
When the door shut behind him, she looked up. Watched the empty doorframe for some time, staring through the screen into the nothingness beyond. Mid-afternoon, the sun golden above the golden grass.
But now there is that blue pickup speeding down the road, dust rising in a small brown cloud around it, and all Lizzie can wonder is,
Where is Jasper?
He’s been gone – what? An hour? Two?
Her fear sticks like a lump in her chest. Like the panic that gripped her when Jasper had called all those years ago from the prison cell when Sheriff Adams had first dragged him in for questioning. His one phone call. And he’d called her.
‘I couldn’t bear it.’ That was all he’d said.
And her heart had stopped. Had never beaten the same since. ‘Bear what?’ But on the other side of the telephone were only shallow breaths and hiccuped sobs and then, at length, strange, hollow laughter that was not her
brother’s, and was her brother’s, and then she’d cried until the opposite receiver clicked its silence, only the hollow drone of the dial tone there to question or to comfort.
Lizzie’d known that Jasper come back home might bring its share of trouble. She’d known, but still she’d hoped the past might stay gone.
Now, dish towel crumpled in her fist’s tightening grip, she watches as the truck draws closer. Breath shallow and short. But, to her surprise, it does not slow. And then she knows.
No. Not yet. Not now.
A warning. And the warning chills her, freezes her insides and her heart with dread even as the afternoon heat eases in from the window before her to slide warm and sticky,
him. When he finds his stride again, his footsteps lead back up the road he’s walked already. Back the way the truck just sped, back towards home.
Hands in and out of the warm soapy water. Brought in and out of the faucet’s steady drip in steady bursts of hot and cold. The heat feels soothing on Lizzie’s aching knuckles as she massages them back to life. Too long sewing, but at least the lace is done. Nearly good as new. Mama had arthritis. In her hands. Her thumbs. Her knees. Used to sit out on her rocker on the front porch, rubbing her knees with the palms of her hands as she rocked back and forth, back and forth. For hours. Used to say the movement eased the pain, but when she stood up her walk was as stiff as ever. Lizzie wonders if she’ll be like that one day. If pain runs in her blood. Shakes her head.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Hopes not.
She hears the truck before she sees it. Looks up out of the kitchen window beyond the tall prairie grasses and low-lying shrubs to the road beyond. Rumbling sound of the engine low as thunder and as distant, but uninterrupted and now quickly coming closer, growing louder, faster than any storm. Cobalt blue. Bright, shiny, new. Puts her rusted Chevy parked out front to shame. Lizzie turns the faucet off. Dries her hands on a dish towel. Places it, crumpled, on the counter beside her. Her hand fists around the cool fabric, gripping, squeezing, as it knots inside her palm. To her surprise, she is not shaking.
She knows that truck.
Whole town knows that truck. And it’s the one truck
she hoped never to see. Or at least not yet.
It’s too soon. He’s only just home …
Lizzie knows that Jasper left the house. She didn’t try to stop him. Didn’t tell him, ‘Stay.’ Or ask him if he wanted company or even a lift somewhere. He is not a prisoner in this house. And yet Lizzie couldn’t help but feel uneasy as Jasper quietly walked to the door, as he paused there, hand already outstretched for the screen-door handle. For a moment, not looking up but still fully aware of where he stood, she wondered if he might not come back. It would be easier to leave with no goodbye. A part of her hoped he might never again enter through that door. A part of her worried to let him out of her sight.
When the door shut behind him, she looked up. Watched the empty doorframe for some time, staring through the screen into the nothingness beyond. Mid-afternoon, the sun golden above the golden grass.
But now there is that blue pickup speeding down the road, dust rising in a small brown cloud around it, and all Lizzie can wonder is,
Where is Jasper?
He’s been gone – what? An hour? Two?
Her fear sticks like a lump in her chest. Like the panic that gripped her when Jasper had called all those years ago from the prison cell when Sheriff Adams had first dragged him in for questioning. His one phone call. And he’d called her.
‘I couldn’t bear it.’ That was all he’d said.
And her heart had stopped. Had never beaten the same since. ‘Bear what?’ But on the other side of the telephone were only shallow breaths and hiccuped sobs and then, at length, strange, hollow laughter that was not her
brother’s, and was her brother’s, and then she’d cried until the opposite receiver clicked its silence, only the hollow drone of the dial tone there to question or to comfort.
Lizzie’d known that Jasper come back home might bring its share of trouble. She’d known, but still she’d hoped the past might stay gone.
Now, dish towel crumpled in her fist’s tightening grip, she watches as the truck draws closer. Breath shallow and short. But, to her surprise, it does not slow. And then she knows.
No. Not yet. Not now.
A warning. And the warning chills her, freezes her insides and her heart with dread even as the afternoon heat eases in from the window before her to slide warm and sticky,
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