Read Online The Otherworldlies by Jennifer Anne Kogler - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Anne Kogler
Ads: Link
recently struck up a conversation about Doug Flutie’s historic extra-point dropkick against the Dolphins while Mr. Summers was on a walk and Eddie was mowing the McAllister front lawn. Since then, they had had similar discussions when they saw each other around the neighborhood. The eldest McAllister child was lonesome for anybody who was the least bit knowledgeable about sports.
“I know it’s late and I’m probably intruding, but if I could watch the second half of the Lakers game here, I would really appreciate it,” Mr. Summers said, speaking loudly, hoping the occupants of the kitchen could hear him. Fern detected something eerie in Mr. Summer’s voice—something that made her feel as if there were a trail of fire ants climbing down her backbone.
“I’d love some company.” Eddie invited him into the living room. He had a habit of saying yes to people even when he lacked the jurisdiction to do so.
Sam’s face twisted into a glower. He didn’t like Mr. Summers one bit. Any son would feel the same way after catching a man leering at his mother through her kitchen window, and Sam had spotted Mr. Summers doing this several times in the past few weeks with his gaze fixed on Mrs. McAllister, in her daisy-print apron, leaning over the sink and humming to herself while she rinsed dishes.
Now this stranger stood in their living room. It wasn’t long before the rest of the family, still cleaning up the remains of dinner, had gathered in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Mrs. McAllister stepped forward.
“Eddie, are you going to introduce us to your guest?” Mrs. McAllister smiled widely. Fern could spot it immediately. Her mother was using her “manners” again—something she was always hounding Fern to acquire in the immediate future.
“How rude of me not to come in and introduce myself,” Mr. Summers said, striding toward the trio of McAllisters gathered in the doorway. He was tall and thin, almost like a cardboard cutout of a real man. His dimples made him look much younger than he probably was. Still, he was handsome for someone older. Fern took into account his salt and pepper hair and pegged him as forty-eight—a few years older than her mother. Mary Lou was first in the greeting line. As Mr. Summers took Mrs. McAllister’s hand, he bent his head and pressed his lips firmly against the back of it.
“Mrs. McAllister, I presume,” Mr. Summers said. Fern thought he sounded like he was imitating Professor Plum from Clue . He continued, “I’m so sorry I’ve invited myself into your beautiful home. I’m afraid that much like your son, I’m a hopeless Lakers fan. And my cable has gone out. Wallace Summers, by the way,”
“Well, Wallace, you’re welcome anytime,” Mrs. McAllister said, staring at Mr. Summers’s soft brown eyes. “I’m Eddie’s mother, Mary Lou. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Fern was horrified. Her mother was blushing. It was the same color Sam had turned last week when she told him that she had overheard Sally White talking about “cute Sam McAllister.”
Mr. Summers smiled back. The two stared at each other. Grown men, up to this point, had never played a significant roll in the McAllister household—Mrs. McAllister wanted it that way. But now that her children were older, it looked as if Mrs. McAllister was on the verge of breaking her own rules.
Fern looked at her twin brother. Sam’s face moved like a revolving sprinkler head between his mother and the stranger in the living room. His eye caught Fern’s. Sam put his index finger down his throat and made an audible gagging sound.
“Are you okay, son?” Mr. Summers had caught the end of Sam’s display of disgust and failed to acknowledge that Sam was mocking him.
“I’m fine,” Sam said. “But I’m not your son.” His voice was full of contempt.
“Sam,” Mrs. McAllister said, “where are your manners? It’s a figure of speech. There’s no need to take things so
“I know it’s late and I’m probably intruding, but if I could watch the second half of the Lakers game here, I would really appreciate it,” Mr. Summers said, speaking loudly, hoping the occupants of the kitchen could hear him. Fern detected something eerie in Mr. Summer’s voice—something that made her feel as if there were a trail of fire ants climbing down her backbone.
“I’d love some company.” Eddie invited him into the living room. He had a habit of saying yes to people even when he lacked the jurisdiction to do so.
Sam’s face twisted into a glower. He didn’t like Mr. Summers one bit. Any son would feel the same way after catching a man leering at his mother through her kitchen window, and Sam had spotted Mr. Summers doing this several times in the past few weeks with his gaze fixed on Mrs. McAllister, in her daisy-print apron, leaning over the sink and humming to herself while she rinsed dishes.
Now this stranger stood in their living room. It wasn’t long before the rest of the family, still cleaning up the remains of dinner, had gathered in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Mrs. McAllister stepped forward.
“Eddie, are you going to introduce us to your guest?” Mrs. McAllister smiled widely. Fern could spot it immediately. Her mother was using her “manners” again—something she was always hounding Fern to acquire in the immediate future.
“How rude of me not to come in and introduce myself,” Mr. Summers said, striding toward the trio of McAllisters gathered in the doorway. He was tall and thin, almost like a cardboard cutout of a real man. His dimples made him look much younger than he probably was. Still, he was handsome for someone older. Fern took into account his salt and pepper hair and pegged him as forty-eight—a few years older than her mother. Mary Lou was first in the greeting line. As Mr. Summers took Mrs. McAllister’s hand, he bent his head and pressed his lips firmly against the back of it.
“Mrs. McAllister, I presume,” Mr. Summers said. Fern thought he sounded like he was imitating Professor Plum from Clue . He continued, “I’m so sorry I’ve invited myself into your beautiful home. I’m afraid that much like your son, I’m a hopeless Lakers fan. And my cable has gone out. Wallace Summers, by the way,”
“Well, Wallace, you’re welcome anytime,” Mrs. McAllister said, staring at Mr. Summers’s soft brown eyes. “I’m Eddie’s mother, Mary Lou. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Fern was horrified. Her mother was blushing. It was the same color Sam had turned last week when she told him that she had overheard Sally White talking about “cute Sam McAllister.”
Mr. Summers smiled back. The two stared at each other. Grown men, up to this point, had never played a significant roll in the McAllister household—Mrs. McAllister wanted it that way. But now that her children were older, it looked as if Mrs. McAllister was on the verge of breaking her own rules.
Fern looked at her twin brother. Sam’s face moved like a revolving sprinkler head between his mother and the stranger in the living room. His eye caught Fern’s. Sam put his index finger down his throat and made an audible gagging sound.
“Are you okay, son?” Mr. Summers had caught the end of Sam’s display of disgust and failed to acknowledge that Sam was mocking him.
“I’m fine,” Sam said. “But I’m not your son.” His voice was full of contempt.
“Sam,” Mrs. McAllister said, “where are your manners? It’s a figure of speech. There’s no need to take things so
Similar Books
