Read Online The Tenderness of Thieves by Donna Freitas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Freitas
Ads: Link
our night to end like this. I wanted that kiss.
“Yeah,” he said, like he was torn. Caught between two things, maybe to stay or to go. Maybe.
“See you around,” I said then, just like that first day at the beach, before I’d walked away from him. No, I’d strutted. Definitely. Acted like I didn’t care. Like Handel and I talking didn’t matter.
He already mattered, though. A lot.
“See you,” he said, just like that day, too, but this time it was Handel leaving me behind, and me, watching him slip through the screen door of the porch into the pouring rain, listening as the door banged shut, closing him out or maybe it was me in, the sound of his footsteps pounding through the wet and the darkness of the night.
SEVEN
T HE MORNING AFTER TH E rainstorm was heavy with mist. The whole world smelled like the ocean. I could hear the seagulls crying overhead, flying farther inland because they couldn’t tell where the beach ended and where the rest of the town began. The storm had taken with it the oppressive heat, and there was a crispness to the air. I lay there in bed, the quilt pulled tight around me. The sun had come up, but the world was still gray. Its light hadn’t made its way through the cloud cover yet. I loved days like this. They were lonely, but not in a bad way. The beach would be nearly empty, free of the tourists who wanted their day in the sun. It made me want to walk along the ocean and stare into its depths because it was suddenly all mine. At least it always seemed that way to me.
After last night I had some interesting topics for reflection, despite how my night with Handel had ended. The better part of it had been good, and this was the part that held my focus. I started to get dressed, my body already humming with the need to get down to the water while it was still early morning.
Then I remembered.
Michaela. Her dad. His request that I go down to the station today. Patrick and his metal-toed boots. My motivation evaporated, and I crawled back under the covers, jeans and all, and closed my eyes.
• • •
I woke later to the sound of the telephone. The landline my mother still kept in the house because cell service was spotty at best in our town, and nonexistent in most of it. She held on to it just in case we needed it someday, she always said. By the fourth piercing ring, I figured she must not be home to answer it, so I stumbled out of bed and went to the kitchen. Grabbed the phone after two more rings threatened to split my eardrums. “Hello?”
“Jane,” said the voice on the other end. Male. Deep and older and one I knew well.
My hand went to my head in an attempt to ward off the headache I didn’t have but was coming. “Hi, Professor O’Connor.” I held my breath.
“Jane,” he said again. Quietly. Worried. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of weeks. You haven’t returned my calls.”
A mixture of guilt and resistance swirled my insides. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. It’s not easy what you’ve been through. What you and your mother have been through,” he corrected.
I didn’t say anything. Just stared at the phone on the table. The number pad with its big raised buttons, like a strange plastic toy from another era. My mother had left the newspaper out, and the headlines caught my attention, glaring at me.
RASH OF BURGLARIES OVER? RESIDENTS HOPEFUL;
NO SUSPECTS IN SIGHT, POLICE SAY
I flipped it over, blotting out the words, but Professor O’Connor was still waiting for me to speak. Dealing with the headlines was easy, but it’s not like I could treat him in the same way and hang up.
I guess he got tired of waiting for me, though, because he spoke again. “It’s been a long time since Martha and I have heard from you,” he said in that confident teacher voice of his.
“Please tell Dr. O’Connor hello,” I managed.
“I will. Of course I will. But I wanted to see if you were all right.”
“I’m
“Yeah,” he said, like he was torn. Caught between two things, maybe to stay or to go. Maybe.
“See you around,” I said then, just like that first day at the beach, before I’d walked away from him. No, I’d strutted. Definitely. Acted like I didn’t care. Like Handel and I talking didn’t matter.
He already mattered, though. A lot.
“See you,” he said, just like that day, too, but this time it was Handel leaving me behind, and me, watching him slip through the screen door of the porch into the pouring rain, listening as the door banged shut, closing him out or maybe it was me in, the sound of his footsteps pounding through the wet and the darkness of the night.
SEVEN
T HE MORNING AFTER TH E rainstorm was heavy with mist. The whole world smelled like the ocean. I could hear the seagulls crying overhead, flying farther inland because they couldn’t tell where the beach ended and where the rest of the town began. The storm had taken with it the oppressive heat, and there was a crispness to the air. I lay there in bed, the quilt pulled tight around me. The sun had come up, but the world was still gray. Its light hadn’t made its way through the cloud cover yet. I loved days like this. They were lonely, but not in a bad way. The beach would be nearly empty, free of the tourists who wanted their day in the sun. It made me want to walk along the ocean and stare into its depths because it was suddenly all mine. At least it always seemed that way to me.
After last night I had some interesting topics for reflection, despite how my night with Handel had ended. The better part of it had been good, and this was the part that held my focus. I started to get dressed, my body already humming with the need to get down to the water while it was still early morning.
Then I remembered.
Michaela. Her dad. His request that I go down to the station today. Patrick and his metal-toed boots. My motivation evaporated, and I crawled back under the covers, jeans and all, and closed my eyes.
• • •
I woke later to the sound of the telephone. The landline my mother still kept in the house because cell service was spotty at best in our town, and nonexistent in most of it. She held on to it just in case we needed it someday, she always said. By the fourth piercing ring, I figured she must not be home to answer it, so I stumbled out of bed and went to the kitchen. Grabbed the phone after two more rings threatened to split my eardrums. “Hello?”
“Jane,” said the voice on the other end. Male. Deep and older and one I knew well.
My hand went to my head in an attempt to ward off the headache I didn’t have but was coming. “Hi, Professor O’Connor.” I held my breath.
“Jane,” he said again. Quietly. Worried. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of weeks. You haven’t returned my calls.”
A mixture of guilt and resistance swirled my insides. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. It’s not easy what you’ve been through. What you and your mother have been through,” he corrected.
I didn’t say anything. Just stared at the phone on the table. The number pad with its big raised buttons, like a strange plastic toy from another era. My mother had left the newspaper out, and the headlines caught my attention, glaring at me.
RASH OF BURGLARIES OVER? RESIDENTS HOPEFUL;
NO SUSPECTS IN SIGHT, POLICE SAY
I flipped it over, blotting out the words, but Professor O’Connor was still waiting for me to speak. Dealing with the headlines was easy, but it’s not like I could treat him in the same way and hang up.
I guess he got tired of waiting for me, though, because he spoke again. “It’s been a long time since Martha and I have heard from you,” he said in that confident teacher voice of his.
“Please tell Dr. O’Connor hello,” I managed.
“I will. Of course I will. But I wanted to see if you were all right.”
“I’m
Similar Books
