Read Online The Same Sky by Amanda Eyre Ward - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amanda Eyre Ward
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south on Claiborne. When the road ends, keep going. Evian lives in 3rd trailer on right, though might be running around area. Just ask! Good luck! Watch for dogs .
Watch for dogs? Good Lord. I turned off Oltorf, ignoring the clumps of grubby folks who gathered underneaththe trees, waiting to hop on the next train. At least I assumed they were waiting for a train. Maybe they were just sipping beer in the shade. In a Texas heat wave—it was 112 degrees—all bets were off. Whatever you had to do to stay sane was all right by me. Canoeing was our Saturday pastime, but on Sundays, Jake and I filled the tub with icy water and beer and settled in. It was sort of like relaxing in a pool, I told myself, but without the risk of melanoma.
As promised, Claiborne Street ended, and I drove the Bronco along a dirt road into a ramshackle trailer park. Two large dogs ran toward my truck. One, a German shepherd, barked loudly, exposing a red mouth. Terrified, I hit the automatic locks. I pulled into the driveway next to the third trailer on the left, a tilted structure with empty window boxes. The shades were drawn, and an air-conditioning unit hung outside, humming loudly. At least they had AC, I thought. The big dogs watched me for a few minutes, then retreated.
Uneasily I opened my truck door and the heat slammed into me, a burning steamroller. It was strange to think of the beginning of the school year in Colorado, how we’d worn sweaters and jeans. In Austin, the kids wore shorts and flip-flops into December. I gasped for breath, scorching my lungs, and stood, my thighs peeling off the driver’s seat with a revolting sound. I locked the car and plodded torpidly toward Evian’s trailer.
I tapped at the metal door but there was no response. I put my hands on my knees, then stood and pounded a bit harder. The door opened, revealing a short black girl withfrizzy hair spilling out of a high ponytail. She was plump, her tummy pooching out between a midriff-baring tank top and a pair of neon yellow stretch pants. “Hi,” I said. “Are you Evian?” She nodded without smiling. “I’m Alice,” I said. “Alice Conroe? Did Principal Markson tell you I’d be coming by?”
The girl nodded again, not taking her big, sad eyes off my face. Despite the AC unit, Evian’s trailer was hot, and smelled like cigarettes and corn chips. “Is your mom here?” I asked.
“She’s asleep,” said Evian.
“Oh, okay,” I said. Evian’s mother had signed the release forms allowing me to meet with Evian and take her on “afternoon outings,” but I’d figured she’d want to meet me before I spirited her daughter off. “Should we wake her?” I said. “Maybe tell her I’m here?”
Evian shook her head. “It’s fine,” she said in her queer, hoarse voice.
I nodded. The room behind Evian was dim, filled with an overstuffed orange couch and a big TV. Was this where Evian’s little brother had died, bleeding into the brown shag rug? I shook off the thought. “Okay,” I said. “Well, we can do whatever you’re in the mood for. Bowling, or a movie …?”
Evian shrugged. “I don’t care,” she said, looking down.
“I need some clothes, too,” I said. “We could hit the thrift stores. Or go boot shopping?” As soon as I spoke, I realized how stupid this sounded. Evian likely lived on government cheese and the Bugles I saw spilling out of a bagon the floor. I berated myself: boot shopping! I hadn’t even realized how privileged I was until I’d spoken. Evian wore large sneakers without laces or socks. “I feel like I’d better talk to your mom,” I blurted.
“Okay,” said Evian.
“Can you … can you wake her?”
Evian didn’t move. “She doesn’t like it if you wake her,” she said finally.
“Oh, of course!” I said, my voice as big and cheery as a circus tent.
“I can do whatever I want,” said Evian. “She doesn’t mind.” This was said with tentative pride. The whole scenario was beginning to
Watch for dogs? Good Lord. I turned off Oltorf, ignoring the clumps of grubby folks who gathered underneaththe trees, waiting to hop on the next train. At least I assumed they were waiting for a train. Maybe they were just sipping beer in the shade. In a Texas heat wave—it was 112 degrees—all bets were off. Whatever you had to do to stay sane was all right by me. Canoeing was our Saturday pastime, but on Sundays, Jake and I filled the tub with icy water and beer and settled in. It was sort of like relaxing in a pool, I told myself, but without the risk of melanoma.
As promised, Claiborne Street ended, and I drove the Bronco along a dirt road into a ramshackle trailer park. Two large dogs ran toward my truck. One, a German shepherd, barked loudly, exposing a red mouth. Terrified, I hit the automatic locks. I pulled into the driveway next to the third trailer on the left, a tilted structure with empty window boxes. The shades were drawn, and an air-conditioning unit hung outside, humming loudly. At least they had AC, I thought. The big dogs watched me for a few minutes, then retreated.
Uneasily I opened my truck door and the heat slammed into me, a burning steamroller. It was strange to think of the beginning of the school year in Colorado, how we’d worn sweaters and jeans. In Austin, the kids wore shorts and flip-flops into December. I gasped for breath, scorching my lungs, and stood, my thighs peeling off the driver’s seat with a revolting sound. I locked the car and plodded torpidly toward Evian’s trailer.
I tapped at the metal door but there was no response. I put my hands on my knees, then stood and pounded a bit harder. The door opened, revealing a short black girl withfrizzy hair spilling out of a high ponytail. She was plump, her tummy pooching out between a midriff-baring tank top and a pair of neon yellow stretch pants. “Hi,” I said. “Are you Evian?” She nodded without smiling. “I’m Alice,” I said. “Alice Conroe? Did Principal Markson tell you I’d be coming by?”
The girl nodded again, not taking her big, sad eyes off my face. Despite the AC unit, Evian’s trailer was hot, and smelled like cigarettes and corn chips. “Is your mom here?” I asked.
“She’s asleep,” said Evian.
“Oh, okay,” I said. Evian’s mother had signed the release forms allowing me to meet with Evian and take her on “afternoon outings,” but I’d figured she’d want to meet me before I spirited her daughter off. “Should we wake her?” I said. “Maybe tell her I’m here?”
Evian shook her head. “It’s fine,” she said in her queer, hoarse voice.
I nodded. The room behind Evian was dim, filled with an overstuffed orange couch and a big TV. Was this where Evian’s little brother had died, bleeding into the brown shag rug? I shook off the thought. “Okay,” I said. “Well, we can do whatever you’re in the mood for. Bowling, or a movie …?”
Evian shrugged. “I don’t care,” she said, looking down.
“I need some clothes, too,” I said. “We could hit the thrift stores. Or go boot shopping?” As soon as I spoke, I realized how stupid this sounded. Evian likely lived on government cheese and the Bugles I saw spilling out of a bagon the floor. I berated myself: boot shopping! I hadn’t even realized how privileged I was until I’d spoken. Evian wore large sneakers without laces or socks. “I feel like I’d better talk to your mom,” I blurted.
“Okay,” said Evian.
“Can you … can you wake her?”
Evian didn’t move. “She doesn’t like it if you wake her,” she said finally.
“Oh, of course!” I said, my voice as big and cheery as a circus tent.
“I can do whatever I want,” said Evian. “She doesn’t mind.” This was said with tentative pride. The whole scenario was beginning to
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