Read Online The Summer the World Ended by Matthew S. Cox - Free Book Online
Authors: Matthew S. Cox
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already? Why did she feel like an intruder in her own home?
She spat out the toothpaste foam, rinsed, and walked down the hall to her bedroom. Mom’s was almost bare now, the door shut tight. On Monday, they had packed the bed into a U-Haul trailer attached to the back of Dad’s beat-up tan Silverado. He called it a ‘98 as if that was something to be proud of, at least until she pointed out it was older than she was. The rest of the big furniture would go with the house.
Riley hated whoever was going to buy it. Money or not, they were stealing her home.
Darkness engulfed her room except where green light glowed from the lone Xbox controller on the charging stand next to her TV. The other one sat on the floor in the same place it fell out of her hand when she went to check on Mom. She hadn’t the least bit of interest in touching the game since.
So far, the devouring whirlwind destroying her life hadn’t had a visible effect on her bedroom. All the packing of
her
stuff had been limited to eviscerating closets and ransacking drawers. Dad probably let her save it for last to keep things feeling as sane as possible. Tomorrow, her dresser, bookcase, and desk would go to the trailer. Her bed would be last, as she needed to sleep. She took two steps toward it, but paused as her foot brushed the abandoned controller.
It’s dead too, now.
Riley squatted over it, confirming her diagnosis by poking a button and getting no response. She picked it up and knee-walked to the charging stand. The clear plastic clip lit up red as she put the device in its socket.
I wish I could plug Mom in and she’d wake up.
After a few minutes of staring at the controller tree, she dragged herself to bed.
She tried to stay awake as long as she could, to ‘experience’ being in her bedroom. She thought of Christmas Eves past, staring at this very ceiling, trying to make herself sleep faster so morning would show up. Random images of Mom came and went, as fleeting as the glow of the occasional passing set of headlights on the wall. Despite her strongest wanting, dark became light, and the sound of voices downstairs murmured up through the floor. Eventually, the discomfort of needing a bathroom overpowered her lack of desire to do anything but lay there. After dealing with it, she made her way downstairs.
Riley stumbled into the kitchen, t-shirt pulled up enough to scratch her stomach, ignoring the suited white-haired man talking to Dad. Most of their conversation sailed over her head, but she caught enough to assume they were discussing the sale of the house. She hoped her sullen glower would be enough to keep her out of the conversation, and went for a box of Special K. Riley hovered at the counter with her back to the men, picking the cereal out of the bowl with her fingers and eating it dry.
“One moment.” Dad walked up alongside her. “Morning, kiddo. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hung over.”
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch
.
“At some point today, we need to load whatever of your furniture you want to keep, except the bed.”
“‘Kay.”
“I’m sorry, Riley. I am… I just.”
“Can’t afford New Jersey. I know.”
Crunch
. She let out a long breath. “No choice, right?”
“Something like that.”
She tried to give him an ‘it’s okay, I understand’ face, but wasn’t sure if the message made it―or if she believed that. Dad returned to his discussion about setting up a ‘trust’ account for her and directed the house be sold at a reasonable price. There was no rush. Riley deserved a fair price for the place.
Riley walked out with her cereal bowl, leaving the box open on the counter, not wanting to hear them talk. It felt as traitorous as if she eavesdropped on people plotting Mom’s death. Soon, she found herself in her room, disassembling her electronics and tossing things into boxes between flakes of cereal.
Dad knocked on the doorjamb about an hour later. “Riley?”
“What?”
“There’s
She spat out the toothpaste foam, rinsed, and walked down the hall to her bedroom. Mom’s was almost bare now, the door shut tight. On Monday, they had packed the bed into a U-Haul trailer attached to the back of Dad’s beat-up tan Silverado. He called it a ‘98 as if that was something to be proud of, at least until she pointed out it was older than she was. The rest of the big furniture would go with the house.
Riley hated whoever was going to buy it. Money or not, they were stealing her home.
Darkness engulfed her room except where green light glowed from the lone Xbox controller on the charging stand next to her TV. The other one sat on the floor in the same place it fell out of her hand when she went to check on Mom. She hadn’t the least bit of interest in touching the game since.
So far, the devouring whirlwind destroying her life hadn’t had a visible effect on her bedroom. All the packing of
her
stuff had been limited to eviscerating closets and ransacking drawers. Dad probably let her save it for last to keep things feeling as sane as possible. Tomorrow, her dresser, bookcase, and desk would go to the trailer. Her bed would be last, as she needed to sleep. She took two steps toward it, but paused as her foot brushed the abandoned controller.
It’s dead too, now.
Riley squatted over it, confirming her diagnosis by poking a button and getting no response. She picked it up and knee-walked to the charging stand. The clear plastic clip lit up red as she put the device in its socket.
I wish I could plug Mom in and she’d wake up.
After a few minutes of staring at the controller tree, she dragged herself to bed.
She tried to stay awake as long as she could, to ‘experience’ being in her bedroom. She thought of Christmas Eves past, staring at this very ceiling, trying to make herself sleep faster so morning would show up. Random images of Mom came and went, as fleeting as the glow of the occasional passing set of headlights on the wall. Despite her strongest wanting, dark became light, and the sound of voices downstairs murmured up through the floor. Eventually, the discomfort of needing a bathroom overpowered her lack of desire to do anything but lay there. After dealing with it, she made her way downstairs.
Riley stumbled into the kitchen, t-shirt pulled up enough to scratch her stomach, ignoring the suited white-haired man talking to Dad. Most of their conversation sailed over her head, but she caught enough to assume they were discussing the sale of the house. She hoped her sullen glower would be enough to keep her out of the conversation, and went for a box of Special K. Riley hovered at the counter with her back to the men, picking the cereal out of the bowl with her fingers and eating it dry.
“One moment.” Dad walked up alongside her. “Morning, kiddo. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hung over.”
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch
.
“At some point today, we need to load whatever of your furniture you want to keep, except the bed.”
“‘Kay.”
“I’m sorry, Riley. I am… I just.”
“Can’t afford New Jersey. I know.”
Crunch
. She let out a long breath. “No choice, right?”
“Something like that.”
She tried to give him an ‘it’s okay, I understand’ face, but wasn’t sure if the message made it―or if she believed that. Dad returned to his discussion about setting up a ‘trust’ account for her and directed the house be sold at a reasonable price. There was no rush. Riley deserved a fair price for the place.
Riley walked out with her cereal bowl, leaving the box open on the counter, not wanting to hear them talk. It felt as traitorous as if she eavesdropped on people plotting Mom’s death. Soon, she found herself in her room, disassembling her electronics and tossing things into boxes between flakes of cereal.
Dad knocked on the doorjamb about an hour later. “Riley?”
“What?”
“There’s
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