Read Online When You Go Away by Jessica Barksdale Inclan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Barksdale Inclan
Tags: Domestic Fiction, Mother and Child, Grandparent and Child, Maternal Deprivation, Motherless Families
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let's get on home. We have to get you all settled."
She tried to catch Ryan's eye, but he scooted out of the booth and followed Grandpa Carl out the door and toward the Corvair. Ryan was almost as tall as Grandpa, which meant he was taller now than their father. Just like Maxie the Wonder Dog, their dad wouldn't even recognize them if he saw them again, walking right past them into his new and better life.
Grandpa's house was dark when they got there, only the sound of sprinklers in the night. "At least I got that fixed," he said. "You don't know the witch who lives next door to me. Don't go in that yard. She probably has an oven like in Hansel and Gretel ."
Carly felt a laugh in her chest but it wouldn't rise up any higher, so she smiled to herself and stepped out of the car, lugging her duffel bag behind her. She wasn't even sure what she had packed other than the clean laundry that had been on the couch. She hoped she'd brought her face soap, but all she could remember was grabbing her toothbrush. It wasn't that she really had any acne yet, but she knew she had to pay attention because she'd turned thirteen in December and that meant hormones and hormones meant zits. That's what Ashley and Kiana had told her, anyway.
When Grandpa Carl opened the door, holding it for Carly and Ryan, Carly half expected Maxie to run up, wagging her tail, thankful to be back in a real house with them. But there wasn't any sound of claws on hardwood or tile or even the small tick, tick of cat paws walking toward them. The only movement she could see was the steady red blink of the answering machine. The muscles in her back relaxed at the sight of the phone.
They hadn't been to Grandpa's house for awhile, but she remembered the smell, something clean like 409 spray and Lemon Pledge. He'd always been really neat. Once her father had said something like, "I guess that gene is recessive," to her mother, who hadn't thought it was funny. Grandpa read a lot of books, and the living room was full of them. When she'd been little, she'd liked to pull out the ones about castles and sit on his leather recliner, flipping the pages. Sometimes, she knew he smoked cigars, too, and in his study was a special box for keeping them fresh. He used to have to tell her to stop opening it or what was the point? "I might as well smoke them all now," he'd said
"So, Ryan, you're going to sleep in the foldout in my study, and Carly, you're in the guest room. Let's get the sheets and make up the beds."
Grandpa Carl pulled a stack of sheets from the hallway closet, handing some to Ryan and walking with her into the guestroom with the rest. The room was neat as everything was, a double bed, a nightstand with a brass lamp and alarm clock, and a picture of an old western town hanging over the dresser. Carly looked at her grandpa as he pulled off the bedspread. Who had been a guest here? What was this room for? Maybe he'd hoped that they would come to visit, but they hadn't, their mother not even mentioning it as an option. When Carly stayed at her Grandma MacKenzie's old house in Piedmont , she always slept in her father's old bedroom. The old, brownish wallpaper had cowboys on it. When she was really little, she named the different men--the one waving his hat was Jed, the one asleep on his horse, Buster. She could see them even when the lights were out.
There were no family memories in Grandpa Carl's house. When they were at their Grandmother's, she would say things like, "Your father used to slide down those steps on a towel, as if he were tobogganing." Grandma would point to the giant oak tree in the backyard and laugh, shaking her head, "He scared me so much! Climbing almost to the top. And then one day he really did it fall and break his arm! Can you imagine?" But their mother had never lived in this house,
She tried to catch Ryan's eye, but he scooted out of the booth and followed Grandpa Carl out the door and toward the Corvair. Ryan was almost as tall as Grandpa, which meant he was taller now than their father. Just like Maxie the Wonder Dog, their dad wouldn't even recognize them if he saw them again, walking right past them into his new and better life.
Grandpa's house was dark when they got there, only the sound of sprinklers in the night. "At least I got that fixed," he said. "You don't know the witch who lives next door to me. Don't go in that yard. She probably has an oven like in Hansel and Gretel ."
Carly felt a laugh in her chest but it wouldn't rise up any higher, so she smiled to herself and stepped out of the car, lugging her duffel bag behind her. She wasn't even sure what she had packed other than the clean laundry that had been on the couch. She hoped she'd brought her face soap, but all she could remember was grabbing her toothbrush. It wasn't that she really had any acne yet, but she knew she had to pay attention because she'd turned thirteen in December and that meant hormones and hormones meant zits. That's what Ashley and Kiana had told her, anyway.
When Grandpa Carl opened the door, holding it for Carly and Ryan, Carly half expected Maxie to run up, wagging her tail, thankful to be back in a real house with them. But there wasn't any sound of claws on hardwood or tile or even the small tick, tick of cat paws walking toward them. The only movement she could see was the steady red blink of the answering machine. The muscles in her back relaxed at the sight of the phone.
They hadn't been to Grandpa's house for awhile, but she remembered the smell, something clean like 409 spray and Lemon Pledge. He'd always been really neat. Once her father had said something like, "I guess that gene is recessive," to her mother, who hadn't thought it was funny. Grandpa read a lot of books, and the living room was full of them. When she'd been little, she'd liked to pull out the ones about castles and sit on his leather recliner, flipping the pages. Sometimes, she knew he smoked cigars, too, and in his study was a special box for keeping them fresh. He used to have to tell her to stop opening it or what was the point? "I might as well smoke them all now," he'd said
"So, Ryan, you're going to sleep in the foldout in my study, and Carly, you're in the guest room. Let's get the sheets and make up the beds."
Grandpa Carl pulled a stack of sheets from the hallway closet, handing some to Ryan and walking with her into the guestroom with the rest. The room was neat as everything was, a double bed, a nightstand with a brass lamp and alarm clock, and a picture of an old western town hanging over the dresser. Carly looked at her grandpa as he pulled off the bedspread. Who had been a guest here? What was this room for? Maybe he'd hoped that they would come to visit, but they hadn't, their mother not even mentioning it as an option. When Carly stayed at her Grandma MacKenzie's old house in Piedmont , she always slept in her father's old bedroom. The old, brownish wallpaper had cowboys on it. When she was really little, she named the different men--the one waving his hat was Jed, the one asleep on his horse, Buster. She could see them even when the lights were out.
There were no family memories in Grandpa Carl's house. When they were at their Grandmother's, she would say things like, "Your father used to slide down those steps on a towel, as if he were tobogganing." Grandma would point to the giant oak tree in the backyard and laugh, shaking her head, "He scared me so much! Climbing almost to the top. And then one day he really did it fall and break his arm! Can you imagine?" But their mother had never lived in this house,
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