Read Online This Heart of Mine by Brenda Novak - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brenda Novak
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broke apart when it struck the ground and what spilled out didn’t look dangerous
or
unpleasant.
From what she could tell, it was...
clothes
. And
canned goods
, which was why they’d hit the ground with such force.
She peered at the man—or men—who’d run off. Why would Buddy, or anyone else, bring her clothes and food?
Was there something wrong with it? It would be far crueler to make her believe this was a nice gesture, only to let her discover later that there were words written on the various articles, like
Murderer
, that he’d urinated on everything or that the canned goods were rotten or poisoned.
And what was in the other box? The one that
hadn’t
broken open?
Slowly descending the steps, she made her way around to find out, but she kept looking over her shoulder, checking to see whether whoever it was would come back. If Buddy had dropped off something intended to be hurtful, he’d want to stick around to make sure it had the proper impact.
There was also the possibility that he’d been hoping to draw her outside...
But everything remained quiet. There was no movement, no noise.
Just to be certain they were gone, she walked to the gate and stared as far down the road as she could. Nothing.
“Phoenix?” Her mother had managed to quiet the dogs. “You still out there? What’s goin’ on?”
Phoenix returned to study what lay on the ground, searching for movement. Had Buddy filled those boxes with cockroaches or earwigs or some other kind of bug? “I told you, nothing. Go back to sleep.”
“The dogs heard somethin’ or they wouldn’t have gotten themselves worked up like that!” her mother insisted.
“It was just me, chasing off a raccoon.” Whatever her visitors had brought, her mother didn’t need to know about it. Lizzie had been tormented enough for being odd, difficult, overweight, a recluse.
“You best be careful, girl,” her mother warned. “There ain’t nobody in this town who likes you.”
“I know, Mom. You tell me that every day,” she said, but not loudly enough for her voice to carry to the other trailer.
“Did you hear me?” her mother yelled.
Phoenix spoke louder. “I heard you. Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” Tough talk for someone acutely aware of her own weakness. Fighting with other women was one thing. That had been frightening enough. But Buddy? He was a huge man, positive she’d killed his baby sister, who’d been only a year younger than he was, and he seemed to believe that justice meant an eye for an eye.
“Get inside and lock the door,” her mother urged. “The bastards who run this town would love nothing more than to catch you out at night.”
“I’m going,” she said, but circled the boxes that had fallen instead. Whatever they contained—bugs or snakes or rat poison—she needed to get rid of it.
Once again using her bat, she nudged the box that had broken open. It was clothes, all right. As she’d noted before, it also contained canned vegetables, beans and soup. And a shoebox. She thought that might be where she’d find the dog shit, but when she knocked off the lid, she saw that it was...
running shoes
?
“What’s going on?” she murmured. The clothes were for a woman. There wasn’t any writing on them or blood that she could see. She couldn’t smell urine. Everything looked nice and new. These were name-brand items with the tags still on them.
More of the same, as well as some packaged food, filled the second box.
Who’d brought her these things?
Whoever it was had included a receipt. Whoa...someone had spent a great deal and left her the option of return or exchange.
That sure as hell wouldn’t be Buddy.
Were these gifts, then? Everything was in her size, or close, and had been dropped at her doorstep. It had to be for her. But she was afraid to trust what she saw. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her anything, other than the small handmade gifts she’d exchanged with her
or
unpleasant.
From what she could tell, it was...
clothes
. And
canned goods
, which was why they’d hit the ground with such force.
She peered at the man—or men—who’d run off. Why would Buddy, or anyone else, bring her clothes and food?
Was there something wrong with it? It would be far crueler to make her believe this was a nice gesture, only to let her discover later that there were words written on the various articles, like
Murderer
, that he’d urinated on everything or that the canned goods were rotten or poisoned.
And what was in the other box? The one that
hadn’t
broken open?
Slowly descending the steps, she made her way around to find out, but she kept looking over her shoulder, checking to see whether whoever it was would come back. If Buddy had dropped off something intended to be hurtful, he’d want to stick around to make sure it had the proper impact.
There was also the possibility that he’d been hoping to draw her outside...
But everything remained quiet. There was no movement, no noise.
Just to be certain they were gone, she walked to the gate and stared as far down the road as she could. Nothing.
“Phoenix?” Her mother had managed to quiet the dogs. “You still out there? What’s goin’ on?”
Phoenix returned to study what lay on the ground, searching for movement. Had Buddy filled those boxes with cockroaches or earwigs or some other kind of bug? “I told you, nothing. Go back to sleep.”
“The dogs heard somethin’ or they wouldn’t have gotten themselves worked up like that!” her mother insisted.
“It was just me, chasing off a raccoon.” Whatever her visitors had brought, her mother didn’t need to know about it. Lizzie had been tormented enough for being odd, difficult, overweight, a recluse.
“You best be careful, girl,” her mother warned. “There ain’t nobody in this town who likes you.”
“I know, Mom. You tell me that every day,” she said, but not loudly enough for her voice to carry to the other trailer.
“Did you hear me?” her mother yelled.
Phoenix spoke louder. “I heard you. Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” Tough talk for someone acutely aware of her own weakness. Fighting with other women was one thing. That had been frightening enough. But Buddy? He was a huge man, positive she’d killed his baby sister, who’d been only a year younger than he was, and he seemed to believe that justice meant an eye for an eye.
“Get inside and lock the door,” her mother urged. “The bastards who run this town would love nothing more than to catch you out at night.”
“I’m going,” she said, but circled the boxes that had fallen instead. Whatever they contained—bugs or snakes or rat poison—she needed to get rid of it.
Once again using her bat, she nudged the box that had broken open. It was clothes, all right. As she’d noted before, it also contained canned vegetables, beans and soup. And a shoebox. She thought that might be where she’d find the dog shit, but when she knocked off the lid, she saw that it was...
running shoes
?
“What’s going on?” she murmured. The clothes were for a woman. There wasn’t any writing on them or blood that she could see. She couldn’t smell urine. Everything looked nice and new. These were name-brand items with the tags still on them.
More of the same, as well as some packaged food, filled the second box.
Who’d brought her these things?
Whoever it was had included a receipt. Whoa...someone had spent a great deal and left her the option of return or exchange.
That sure as hell wouldn’t be Buddy.
Were these gifts, then? Everything was in her size, or close, and had been dropped at her doorstep. It had to be for her. But she was afraid to trust what she saw. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her anything, other than the small handmade gifts she’d exchanged with her
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