cereal bowl into his mouth. “When are we going to get a new fridge, Joe?”
“Not until I win the lottery, love.”
She hurried her brother from the table, holding out his school coat for him to put on. She looked up at the clock over the kitchen doorway, checking the time. It was one of those funny black cat clocks. Funny strange, not funny-ha-ha. The cat’s tail and eyes ticked off the seconds, sliding slyly back and forth. A cornball cliché for many a bad horror film. Josie had bought it last year as a Mother’s Day present for Shayna. Her mom liked that kitschy kind of stuff. Josie had since come to loathe the ugly thing. It was already seven-thirty. Gnat would be waiting outside.
“Are we poor?” Joel wondered aloud. He wiped the back of his mouth on his new navy-blue blazer. Josie had bought the sport coat with her own money earned from babysitting. Too bad it wasn’t the coat Joel had his heart set on. What Joel really wanted was an army coat, like the one his idol Bud Brown wore every day. The fact that Josie and Rusty wore the same garment made it seem like a reasonable goal to him. Joel wanted to be a Cree p more than anything else in the world. He figured if he pestered Josie long enough, like everything else, she’d eventually cave in to his demands. So far that hadn’t been the case.
Josie picked up the dishrag and wiped the smutz from his blazer. “Well, we sure aren’t rich,” she said, pushing him out the screen door. The hinges screamed like some irate jungle bird. She set Joel’s bowl into the sink, and the milk back into the asthmatic fridge. “We’re off to school, Shayna!” she shouted, waiting a beat at the door.
Her only reply was a phlegmy snort.
Josie let the screen door slam shut behind her.
Her best friend, Rusty Huggins, was checking out her brother’s latest Hot Wheel acquisition on the front stoop. Rusty’s army coat was at least two sizes too big for him—the Surplus store only carried adult sizes.
When Rusty saw her walk from around the backyard, he stood up and checked his watch meaningfully. It dangled loosely on his bony wrist.
“Jaysus pleezus,” she said, rolling her eyes. Rusty could be so anal at times. Despite their one-year age difference, Josie and Rusty had been best friends ever since they were in Pampers. She spent more time over at his house than she did her own. She loved Betty Ann like a cherished aunt and considered Ham a surrogate dad…
The thought of her father came to her unbidden and unwanted—unwanted, because thinking of her daddy only made her sad these days. Josie remembered that awful time as if it was yesterday, her brother oblivious in his infancy. She knew, in fact, that the thirteenth, five days away, would mark the eighth anniversary of his passing. About half of her life. The pain may have dulled somewhat over the years, but it was always there, ready to cut deep when she least expected. Triggered by seemingly random events: A certain song on the radio; a happy instance she would have loved to share with him, a traumatic day for the very same reason. Anything on the news that smacked of selfless courage. That was her Pop: a hero, through and through. Holidays were the hardest, though. Her daddy had been such a geek about Christmas! Celebrating it like some goofy kid who still believed in Santa Claus and Peace on Earth. Even had his own stocking by the fireplace.
Rusty could tell right away she was feeling blue. “All Right?” he asked her, not digging too deep. Joe wasn’t one of those silly girls who liked talking about her feelings.
“Aye. All right,” she replied. It was her mantra. That’s what they’ll put on me tombstone, she thought sourly. Here lies Josie Lee O’Hara. Aye…She’s All Right .
In front of them, other island kids made their way to the
“Not until I win the lottery, love.”
She hurried her brother from the table, holding out his school coat for him to put on. She looked up at the clock over the kitchen doorway, checking the time. It was one of those funny black cat clocks. Funny strange, not funny-ha-ha. The cat’s tail and eyes ticked off the seconds, sliding slyly back and forth. A cornball cliché for many a bad horror film. Josie had bought it last year as a Mother’s Day present for Shayna. Her mom liked that kitschy kind of stuff. Josie had since come to loathe the ugly thing. It was already seven-thirty. Gnat would be waiting outside.
“Are we poor?” Joel wondered aloud. He wiped the back of his mouth on his new navy-blue blazer. Josie had bought the sport coat with her own money earned from babysitting. Too bad it wasn’t the coat Joel had his heart set on. What Joel really wanted was an army coat, like the one his idol Bud Brown wore every day. The fact that Josie and Rusty wore the same garment made it seem like a reasonable goal to him. Joel wanted to be a Cree p more than anything else in the world. He figured if he pestered Josie long enough, like everything else, she’d eventually cave in to his demands. So far that hadn’t been the case.
Josie picked up the dishrag and wiped the smutz from his blazer. “Well, we sure aren’t rich,” she said, pushing him out the screen door. The hinges screamed like some irate jungle bird. She set Joel’s bowl into the sink, and the milk back into the asthmatic fridge. “We’re off to school, Shayna!” she shouted, waiting a beat at the door.
Her only reply was a phlegmy snort.
Josie let the screen door slam shut behind her.
Her best friend, Rusty Huggins, was checking out her brother’s latest Hot Wheel acquisition on the front stoop. Rusty’s army coat was at least two sizes too big for him—the Surplus store only carried adult sizes.
When Rusty saw her walk from around the backyard, he stood up and checked his watch meaningfully. It dangled loosely on his bony wrist.
“Jaysus pleezus,” she said, rolling her eyes. Rusty could be so anal at times. Despite their one-year age difference, Josie and Rusty had been best friends ever since they were in Pampers. She spent more time over at his house than she did her own. She loved Betty Ann like a cherished aunt and considered Ham a surrogate dad…
The thought of her father came to her unbidden and unwanted—unwanted, because thinking of her daddy only made her sad these days. Josie remembered that awful time as if it was yesterday, her brother oblivious in his infancy. She knew, in fact, that the thirteenth, five days away, would mark the eighth anniversary of his passing. About half of her life. The pain may have dulled somewhat over the years, but it was always there, ready to cut deep when she least expected. Triggered by seemingly random events: A certain song on the radio; a happy instance she would have loved to share with him, a traumatic day for the very same reason. Anything on the news that smacked of selfless courage. That was her Pop: a hero, through and through. Holidays were the hardest, though. Her daddy had been such a geek about Christmas! Celebrating it like some goofy kid who still believed in Santa Claus and Peace on Earth. Even had his own stocking by the fireplace.
Rusty could tell right away she was feeling blue. “All Right?” he asked her, not digging too deep. Joe wasn’t one of those silly girls who liked talking about her feelings.
“Aye. All right,” she replied. It was her mantra. That’s what they’ll put on me tombstone, she thought sourly. Here lies Josie Lee O’Hara. Aye…She’s All Right .
In front of them, other island kids made their way to the
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