Читать книгу Something Wicked - Susan Johnson-Kropp - Страница 6

Chapter 4

Just as before, many days went by without my seeing Jeff. I began to think he was avoiding me, so I decided it would be best to forget about him. I launched myself into my work, writing ten to twelve hours a day but taking short, brisk walks every two to three hours to reinvigorate. I wouldn’t acknowledge it to myself, but I secretly hoped to run into him when I went out, and I always wore something comely in lieu of the disheveled, unbathed look I’d been sporting of late.

I debated getting another dog, someone to keep me company and distract me from my life. “You have Scout,” I told myself. Cats are fine, but they’re not like dogs. Cats tolerate you. Dogs live for you. I really missed my dog, Bo, and I decided to start looking in a month or two, when it would be nearly summer and a much more agreeable time of year to be constantly taking a puppy outside.

My mother was coming for a visit in a week, so I decided to spruce up the place a bit, do a little spring cleaning. She’d been to my place before but not in a while, and it had been noticeably neglected since then. I did have a cleaning lady who came once a week, but she only did the basics, no deep cleaning. So that’s what I began to do. I pulled everything out of my closets, sorted out the things I didn’t wear anymore, and reorganized the rest. Then I did the same to my kitchen cupboards and my desk. I found many things I’d lost track of, such as old writings, some lame awards, things like that. It felt like a trip back through time, and it left me feeling melancholy. I was happy to have the place refreshed but saddened by the undeniable passage of time.

My mother came, and it was wonderful. We talked like old girlfriends and shopped like aristocrats, coming home with armloads of shopping bags. We watched old movies and drank coffee and took walks, and when the time came for her to go, I cried as I’d never cried before, cascades of tears. She cried too, only not as profusely.

“Won’t you consider moving back home?” my mother had pleaded. “You could find your own place. I miss having my daughter around!”

“I’ll think about it.” I’d said and, for the first time since I’d moved west, I actually began to consider it. I loved Seattle, but I missed my mother, and seeing her reminded me of how lonesome I really was. Maybe the time had come.