Read Online What Changes Everything by Masha Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Masha Hamilton
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really need, I need to think. S o kind, but now I need to ask you…"
"Are you all right, Clarissa?" Ruby asked. "Do you want to go upstairs and rest? No one would—"
"No, no, I just need, I need some quiet so I can think. Maybe I can—" She took a deep breath. "Ruby," she said. "Would you help me get everyone out?" She realized, as soon as she finished the sentence, that her voice emerged a little more shrill than she might have wanted, and that the sentiment sounded rude. But she also knew she had no desire to retract it.
"Yes, yes, of course," Bill Snyder said, and Mikey was also on his feet. Ruby looked
dismayed, and a little angry, and frightened; Clarissa could pick out these emotions and wished to ease them, and she saw milder versions of the same emotions imprinted on other faces, especially pity and surprise. But as much as she wanted to help Ruby, help them all, a part of her knew that what she wished even more, desperately needed in fact, was for everyone to go.
Joel and Bill Snyder left together. Mikey bent to kiss her. "I‟ll stop by tomorrow." She held his arm for a minute; part of her wanted to cling to Mikey, but clinging to Mikey would be acknowledging how frightened she was by what was happening, and she couldn‟t acknowledge that, not in a full-sized bite, not yet, so she let go.
"I‟ll clean up a little then," Ruby said, but Clarissa shook her head.
"No. Leave everything. Please."
The words were as restrained as Clarissa could make them, but she knew the tone was tough and Ruby caught it.
"Would you like me to bring you some dinner?" Ruby asked, her face pale.
"Ruby, that‟s kind of you. I‟ll be fine, though. I just need a couple hours to gather myself, to think."
Angie seemed most comfortable, and perhaps even relieved, to be kicked out. She squeezed Ruby‟s arm gently. "You‟re doing the right thing," she said softly to Clarissa. "You all need time to absorb this."
Clarissa nodded, though she couldn‟t manage a smile, and she watched as the last of them walked out the door. Then she closed it behind her. Leaning against it, suddenly aware of deep exhaustion, she sunk to the floor.
Stela, September 4th
The bells dangling from the top of the front door made a tinny, strident sound. Stela knew she should welcome since it meant a potential customer, but these days she found it mainly intrusive. Chekhov stirred slightly and glanced toward the door. Stela, less hospitable, looked up more slowly from the paper on which she was writing to see Yvette waving cheerily. "It‟s KLOVE‟S afternoon of praise. Positive, encouraging K-Love. Send us your blessed stories by phone or—"
"P lease t urn off that Jesus talk, Stela, for God‟s sake. I can‟t stay long—dentist appointment. Coffee on?"
"Help yourself," Stela answered as she reached to turn down the radio. No need to bother arguing that the radio station wasn‟t that bad, and that when hope went on short supply, one had to overturn the dusty furniture and look in every dank corner. She‟d just listen later.
Yvette picked up a yellow coffee cup and surreptitiously inspected the inside.
"It‟s clean, Yvette."
Yvette flushed, then smiled.
"I‟m not a crazy, unkempt cat lady yet."
"I know," Yvette said. "I know that."
Chekhov rose languidly, arched her back, hopped off the counter, and disappeared behind
the third row of shelves. Yvette poured herself a cup. She set it on a table across from Stela‟s counter and gingerly pushed Pushkin out of the armchair. "Shoo," she said. Stela slid two books waiting to be shelved—a dictionary of symbols and a children‟s tale—on top of what she‟d been writing. She could tell by the way Yvette‟s eyes
"Are you all right, Clarissa?" Ruby asked. "Do you want to go upstairs and rest? No one would—"
"No, no, I just need, I need some quiet so I can think. Maybe I can—" She took a deep breath. "Ruby," she said. "Would you help me get everyone out?" She realized, as soon as she finished the sentence, that her voice emerged a little more shrill than she might have wanted, and that the sentiment sounded rude. But she also knew she had no desire to retract it.
"Yes, yes, of course," Bill Snyder said, and Mikey was also on his feet. Ruby looked
dismayed, and a little angry, and frightened; Clarissa could pick out these emotions and wished to ease them, and she saw milder versions of the same emotions imprinted on other faces, especially pity and surprise. But as much as she wanted to help Ruby, help them all, a part of her knew that what she wished even more, desperately needed in fact, was for everyone to go.
Joel and Bill Snyder left together. Mikey bent to kiss her. "I‟ll stop by tomorrow." She held his arm for a minute; part of her wanted to cling to Mikey, but clinging to Mikey would be acknowledging how frightened she was by what was happening, and she couldn‟t acknowledge that, not in a full-sized bite, not yet, so she let go.
"I‟ll clean up a little then," Ruby said, but Clarissa shook her head.
"No. Leave everything. Please."
The words were as restrained as Clarissa could make them, but she knew the tone was tough and Ruby caught it.
"Would you like me to bring you some dinner?" Ruby asked, her face pale.
"Ruby, that‟s kind of you. I‟ll be fine, though. I just need a couple hours to gather myself, to think."
Angie seemed most comfortable, and perhaps even relieved, to be kicked out. She squeezed Ruby‟s arm gently. "You‟re doing the right thing," she said softly to Clarissa. "You all need time to absorb this."
Clarissa nodded, though she couldn‟t manage a smile, and she watched as the last of them walked out the door. Then she closed it behind her. Leaning against it, suddenly aware of deep exhaustion, she sunk to the floor.
Stela, September 4th
The bells dangling from the top of the front door made a tinny, strident sound. Stela knew she should welcome since it meant a potential customer, but these days she found it mainly intrusive. Chekhov stirred slightly and glanced toward the door. Stela, less hospitable, looked up more slowly from the paper on which she was writing to see Yvette waving cheerily. "It‟s KLOVE‟S afternoon of praise. Positive, encouraging K-Love. Send us your blessed stories by phone or—"
"P lease t urn off that Jesus talk, Stela, for God‟s sake. I can‟t stay long—dentist appointment. Coffee on?"
"Help yourself," Stela answered as she reached to turn down the radio. No need to bother arguing that the radio station wasn‟t that bad, and that when hope went on short supply, one had to overturn the dusty furniture and look in every dank corner. She‟d just listen later.
Yvette picked up a yellow coffee cup and surreptitiously inspected the inside.
"It‟s clean, Yvette."
Yvette flushed, then smiled.
"I‟m not a crazy, unkempt cat lady yet."
"I know," Yvette said. "I know that."
Chekhov rose languidly, arched her back, hopped off the counter, and disappeared behind
the third row of shelves. Yvette poured herself a cup. She set it on a table across from Stela‟s counter and gingerly pushed Pushkin out of the armchair. "Shoo," she said. Stela slid two books waiting to be shelved—a dictionary of symbols and a children‟s tale—on top of what she‟d been writing. She could tell by the way Yvette‟s eyes
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