Читать книгу Escape Claws - Linda Reilly - Страница 10

Chapter 2

Back at the house, her aunt had insisted on tidying up the kitchen counter, and Lara didn’t argue. She knew Aunt Fran needed something to make herself feel useful, in spite of the strain it put on her knees. Lara took that opportunity to explore her favorite room—the room where she’d spent so many hours as a kid.

The smaller of the two parlors resembled a playroom more than a parlor. Thick brocade curtains, somewhat faded now, hung from black, wrought iron rods. The room’s papered walls were lined with shelves crammed with children’s books. One entire corner, Lara remembered, had once been devoted to books that taught children how to draw. Curious, she went over to that spot, the special place where those treasured how-to books once sat. But they weren’t there. They’d all been removed. She knew it was silly, but a tiny bit of her heart felt empty.

Through one of the windows, Lara spied a short, yellow school bus rumbling up High Cliff Road. It chugged along slowly, its engine idling for a minute or so before turning around at the end of the road and motoring back down the hill.

In front of one of the windows, a low table painted cherry red was strewn with books. Lara smiled when she saw The Jungle Book, a childhood favorite of hers. She started to pick it up when she heard the kitchen door open and then close again. The low murmur of a child’s—no, two children’s voices—drifted into earshot. She returned to the kitchen, and was surprised to see Brooke Weston and a little boy of about eight or nine. Ah, so that was why Brooke asked her to hold on to the napkin sketch. She’d planned to pay a visit later.

“Hey, Brooke.” Lara retrieved the napkin from atop the fridge and gave it to her. “Here it is, safe and sound. I put it in a clear plastic bag for you.”

Brooke lowered her turquoise backpack to the floor. “Hi, Lara. Thanks for this. It really does look like me!”

Aunt Fran slid an arm around the boy’s shoulder. His chocolate-brown eyes were only a shade lighter than his straight, dark hair. “Lara, this is Darryl Weston, Brooke’s younger brother. He and I practice reading aloud every day. Darryl, this is my niece, Lara. Lara is an artist from Boston.”

Lara grinned at the boy and stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Darryl.”

Darryl took her hand shyly, then quickly withdrew it. His face lit up. “You’re a real artist?”

Brooke waved her sketch in his face. Her brother slapped it away.

“As real as it gets,” Lara said with a laugh.

“Lara, if you don’t mind,” her aunt interrupted, “Darryl is going to spend some quiet time reading in the small parlor while Brooke does her homework. He’s asked if he can practice without me today, so I won’t be joining him.”

“But I will,” Brooke sniped, “so you’d better not try to slack off, dork face.”

Darryl stuck out his tongue at his sister. “You’re not the boss of me. I’m—”

“Brooke. Darryl.” Aunt Fran spoke with a sternness Lara suspected was only half-serious. “Please go into the parlor and do your schoolwork. I’ll bring you both a snack in a few minutes.”

The siblings argued and picked at each other as they made their way into the parlor. Lara followed them to be sure they got settled without killing each other. She watched as Brooke dumped the contents of her voluminous backpack onto the floor. The girl then dropped down next to it all and plucked an algebra textbook from the jumble in the pile.

Lara noticed that the edges of the books were damp, and stained with something purple. “Oh wow, what happened to your books?” she asked Brooke.

“After you left the coffee shop I spilled my grape soda. The whole bottle went, like, right into my backpack. What a mess it made. I had to dump out all my books on the table so Dora and Mary could help me wipe them up. I’m such a klutzo sometimes.”

“Nah. Everybody spills things.”

Brooke dug a pair of earbuds from her pocket, stuck them into her ears, and started fiddling with her smartphone. She threw a dark look at her brother. “Do not bother me while I’m studying, Darryl, or you’ll be sorry.”

The boy stuck out his tongue behind his sister’s back and then snatched up The Jungle Book. Chuckling softly at their antics, Lara closed the door nearly all the way and went back into the kitchen.

“I’ll make the kids a snack, if you’d like,” she told her aunt.

Aunt Fran looked pale. Lara knew she needed to sit for a while. “Thank you. I would appreciate that. That way I can take a few minutes and skim through the paper.”

Her aunt sat at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out before her. Lara took a box of salty crackers from the cupboard and hunted around for the peanut butter.

“In case you’re wondering,” Aunt Fran explained, “Darryl struggles with reading. I’ve been helping him after school. It also helps his mom, who has a day job. I guess I’m sort of a tutor-slash-babysitter. As for Brooke, for some reason she likes doing her homework here. On Wednesdays, when she has book club, the school bus driver lets her hop on Darryl’s bus in front of the coffee shop. It gives their mother peace of mind, knowing where her kids are every day.”

Because you’re a natural at nurturing, Lara wanted to say, but kept the thought to herself. There were so many other things she wanted to say, so many questions she wanted to ask. But right at the moment she was chicken, so she stuck to a safe subject. “They seem like great kids. Is Darryl dyslexic?”

“No,” her aunt said. “But in school he’s extremely shy, nearly phobic about reading aloud in class. He knows the words, but when he has to pronounce them he gets all tongue-tied. He’s making progress, but it’s slow going.”

Having located the peanut butter, Lara made the kids a bunch of cracker “sandwiches.” She set them on plates, poured two glasses of milk, and plopped everything on a tray. It was the same treat, she remembered, that her aunt used to give her every day after school.

A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her—a longing for things to be the way they used to be. In her mind’s eye she saw Aunt Fran, young and healthy with her knees in perfect condition. The kitchen scrubbed clean, the linoleum gleaming. Lush pots of spider plants hanging in the windows. A pan of butterscotch brownies cooling on the stove. And on the kitchen table, a large pad of sketch paper and a package of colored pencils waiting for her when she got home from school.

Home from school, but not really home. Lara had never actually lived with Aunt Fran. But since her folks had regular day jobs and Aunt Fran taught middle school, she went to her aunt’s each afternoon and stayed until her dad picked her up.

Shaking herself of her memories, Lara carried the tray into the small parlor and abruptly stopped short. On the floor sat Darryl, The Jungle Book open before him on the red table. He was reading aloud without hesitation, pronouncing each word perfectly.

But that wasn’t the most shocking part. Next to Darryl was a beautiful Ragdoll cat with shining azure eyes. Peering over Darryl’s arm as he read, the cat glanced up at Lara in mild recognition and swished her tail. Lara took in a sharp breath.

“Blue?” The name escaped her lips in a ragged whisper.

Her heart pounded. Adrenaline gushed through her like a busted water pipe.

But it can’t be Blue. How could it be? After all these years, Blue would be long passed. This cat looked young and vibrant, her eyes bright and inquisitive.

The cat looked up at Lara, swished her tail again, then returned her gaze to the book. It was almost as if she were reading along with Darryl.

Lara’s knees felt wobbly. She wanted desperately to dash over and stroke the cat, to see if it was really her Blue. But Darryl was obviously on a roll, reading every word aloud with amazing ease, so she didn’t want to interrupt. She couldn’t help wondering, though, if her aunt had exaggerated the boy’s reading problem.

With a quick wave at Brooke to let her know the snacks had arrived, Lara set the tray on the floor. She backed quietly out of the room, pulling the door almost closed.

“Aunt Fran?” she asked, back in the kitchen. “Didn’t you say Darryl had trouble reading out loud?”

Her aunt looked up from the newspaper. “He does, yes. Why?”

“Well”—Lara scrubbed at her eyes with her fists—“he’s in there reading aloud at the level of a…a…high school senior! And there’s a Ragdoll cat sitting next to him. She looks exactly like my Blue. Remember Blue?”

An odd expression came over her aunt’s face. Slowly, she rose from her seat and grasped her cane. “Lara, I don’t have a Ragdoll cat,” she said quietly. “As for Darryl, he can barely read a simple sentence without stumbling over the words. Are you sure?”

Lara aimed a hand at the parlor. “See for yourself.”

For a long moment, Aunt Fran studied her niece’s face. Then she grabbed her cane and moved toward the parlor, taking every step with care.

Lara rubbed her eyes again. Maybe they’d played a trick on her. Could her stress over her aunt have pushed her senses into some crazy mode where she imagined things the way she wished them to be, not the way they were?

She was tired, that was for sure. The day already seemed twenty hours long, and it was only a little after four.

Thirsty, she went to the fridge and scanned the top shelf. She was pulling out a carton of OJ when Brooke paraded into the kitchen. The girl pulled out her earbuds, plunked her smartphone on the Formica table, and dropped into a chair. “Ugh, I hate algebra. If I have to look at it for one more second, I’ll… I’ll scream.”

Lara held up the juice carton, but Brooke shook her head. She poured herself a small glass and went over and joined Brooke. “So how did you get to be part of the classics book club? It seems like an eclectic group.”

“Eclectic.” Brooke grinned, displaying even white teeth. “I like that word. Someone, I think it was Mary—she’s the pretty one—posted a note in the library. I only joined because I’m going to have to read a lot of the classics once I’m in high school. I figured the others could help me if I got stuck on something.” She snorted. “Of course Glen is useless. He’s only there ’cuz he’s crushing on Mary. He’s, like, this weirdo who can never keep a job. Dora, she’s the older lady, is really nice, though. I just wish we could ditch Glen.”

“Well,” Lara said, not sure how to respond. It wasn’t her place to comment on a man she didn’t know. “So, what classic are you reading now? The book looked pretty thick.”

Brooke rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “The Pickwick Papers. The most utterly boring book ever written.”

“I’ve never read Pickwick,” Lara said. “What’s the premise?”

A striped, orange cat hopped onto Brooke’s lap. Brooke plopped a soft kiss onto its furry head.

“That’s Munster, I think,” Lara said, recalling her aunt’s earlier introduction to the resident felines.

“It is,” Brooke confirmed. “Anyway, it’s about a band of lame old dudes who roam all over England having these so-called adventures”—she made air quotes around the word—“and then when they get back, some ditzy landlady sues dumpy old Pickwick for not marrying her!”

Lara couldn’t help laughing at Brooke’s description of the classic Dickens novel. She’d never read it, so she couldn’t honestly critique it. “One of these days I’ll check it out,” Lara said. “Lately—in my rare spare time—I’ve been reading biographies of some of my favorite artists. Van Gogh, O’Keeffe—”

A light tap at the kitchen door interrupted her. Munster slipped off Brooke’s lap and padded out of the kitchen.

Before Lara could react, the door opened. A thirtysomething woman with short brunette hair and a bright smile peeked through the opening.

“Hey, Mom, you’re early,” Brooke said, without much enthusiasm.

The woman stepped into the kitchen and closed the door. “I am, a little, but—oh, hello there,” she said when she saw Lara.

Lara rose from her chair. “Hi. I’m Lara Caphart, Fran’s niece. You’re Brooke’s mom?”

The woman smiled, her resemblance to Darryl startling. “Yes, I’m Heather Weston. Pleased to meet you, Lara.” She extended her hand and Lara shook it briefly.

“Can I get you something?” Lara asked. “Water? Juice?”

“Thanks, but we have to be going. It’s food shopping day, remember?” Heather asked her daughter.

Brooke groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“The kids hate helping me lug all the heavy stuff inside the house,” Heather explained. She focused her gaze on Brooke. “But we all have to pitch in these days, don’t we?”

With a glum expression, Brooke nodded. “I’ll get Darryl.” She scooted off her chair and went to fetch her brother. Moments later, Darryl trailed his sister into the kitchen.

“Mom, you should see how good I read today!”

“Really?” Heather asked. “Can you show me after we get home?”

Darryl nodded eagerly.

Heather gave a tiny wave to Lara. “Tell Fran I said hi. Hope I see you again.”

“I’m sure you will,” Lara said.

After Heather and the kids left, Lara stuck her juice glass in the sink. Aunt Fran came from the direction of the bathroom into the kitchen.

“Oh, there you are,” Lara said. “The kids’ mom just picked them up.”

Aunt Fran nodded distractedly. “I watched Darryl read for a few minutes. It’s…inexplicable. You were right—he was reading that book aloud without a single hesitation.” She sat in one of the kitchen chairs, flinching as she bent her knees.

Lara dropped onto a chair adjacent to her. “Did you happen to see the cat with him?”

Aunt Fran looked at Lara as if she’d asked if she’d spotted the kangaroo in the room. “There was no cat in there, Lara.”

From her aunt’s tone, Lara decided not to press it. “Hey, I like the Weston kids.”

Aunt Fran smiled. “They’re sweet children, but right now they’re struggling. Their dad bailed on them several months ago. It’s been tough on the family. Heather does her best, but I think she’s getting worn out from being the sole supporter.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“The man was somewhat of a ne’er-do-well, but he always loved his kids. Unfortunately,” she said with an edge to her tone, “the words ‘child support’ were not in his personal dictionary. I don’t think Heather even knows where he is right now.”

“That’s a shame,” Lara said. “Where does Heather work?”

“Knowles Transitional Care, in Wolfeboro,” her aunt said. “She’s an LNA, a licensed nursing assistant. The place is so understaffed that she often has to work extra hours. Although, as she often points out, it’s better than working for Theo Barnes.”

“Barnes? That rude man we saw in the coffee shop?”

“The very same. Up until a few years ago, Heather worked in his office. He was such a miserable employer that it prompted her to go to school for her LNA. She did, and she’s never looked back.”

Theo Barnes again, Lara thought. “You make Barnes sound like the devil in disguise, Aunt Fran.”

Her aunt pointed a finger at her, her green eyes blazing. “Yes, Lara, you nailed it. He is the devil in disguise. The problem is, his disguise has slipped away and now he’s just the devil.”