Читать книгу The Juliet Spell - Douglas Rees - Страница 11

Drew pulled into our driveway. Bobby got out and opened the door for us. I crawled out of the back seat, but Edmund unfolded himself and climbed over the side of the car. Then he leaned on it casually, but I was pretty sure his legs were trembling and he needed the support. I walked around and took his arm.

“I thank ye, friend,” he said to Drew. “A most excellent ride.”

“Any time.”

“Well, good night,” I broke in. “See you at tryouts.”

“Cool,” Bobby said, and got back in with Drew.

Edmund and I waved as they took off down our dark street.

When we couldn’t hear the engine of the Citroën any more, Edmund barfed all over the lawn. Then he allowed himself to collapse onto the driveway.

“Dear God, do ye do that all the time?” he asked, looking up at me. “’Twas like being on a mad horse with no reins. Or a plunging ship with a gale blowing. How d’ye stand such a thing?”

“Edmund, it’s okay,” I said, sitting down beside him. “Really. Drew’s a good driver. There was nothing wrong. Cars are the best way anybody’s ever come up with for getting from one place to another.”

“How fast were we going?”

“About thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five what?”

“Miles an hour.”

“Thirty-five miles an hour?” Edmund said. “How is it we’re still alive?”

“Maybe you’ll like riding in our car better,” I said. “It’s bigger and safer.”

“My car riding days are over!”

“They can’t be,” I said. “Everyone takes cars everywhere. You’ll get over being afraid. And I’ll tell you something else. Sooner or later, you’re going to be driving.”

“No! Such a thing…d’ye think I could learn the manage of a car?” Edmund asked.

“I think you could do anything you wanted to.” I said it just to cheer him up. But when I said it, I realized that I meant it.

“I, do such a thing,” Edmund said. “It must be easier than it looks.”

“We’d better go in.”

It was still early, only a little after nine o’clock, but tucking Edmund into bed in the extra room seemed like the best thing to do with him at this point. I needed some private time to sort out a couple of things. Such as how I was going to explain to Mom that we had a new, permanent house-guest. And why my heart was still going thumpity thump.

And Edmund really was tired. “Saint Mary and Joseph, I am weary and ’tis late for a night with no ranging to be done,” he said. “Miranda, where may a poor player lay his head?”

I showed him the bedroom. But then there was another little problem.

“Edmund,” I said. “What do you sleep in?”

He thumped the bed and looked surprised at how much it bounced. “Oh. On such a warm night as this, I’ll need nothing. Thank you, Miranda.”

“Okay,” I said. “But if you have to—go to the jakes in the middle of the night—”

“I will cover myself up. I do have a proper sense of shame.”

“Well, good, then. Good night.”

“Miranda, before we say good-night, will ye pray with me?” Edmund asked.

“Uh…yeah. Okay, I guess,” I said. “What religion are you?”

“Church of England, of course,” he said. “Inclining more toward the old faith than some, as I expect ye’ve noted. What are ye?”

Dad was Jewish, and Mom wasn’t anything. My six-week stint in Sunday school had been because I was curious where some of my friends went on Sunday morning back in the second grade. My curiosity had been satisfied and I hadn’t been back since.