Five Minutes in Heaven by Lisa Alther Read Free Book Online

over the stones just above her head? What if they didn’t realize that she wasn’t the one who had wrecked their home? She sank as far down in the grave as she could. But then she remembered the skeleton below and tried to twist sideways out of its grasp.
    She lay there in the dark, eyes closed, breathing as little as possible. At Sunday school, the preacher was always talking about how great nature was because it displayed God’s handiwork. But what about black widow spiders? What about copperheads? What about leeches and mosquitoes and bats and ticks and wasps? What about Ace Kilgore?
    Gradually, her body relaxed into the contours of the sunken grave. Ace was right: She fit like Cinderella’s foot in the glass slipper. This was what it was like to be dead, and it wasn’t so bad. If she stayed like this long enough, she would be dead and she could join her mother in heaven and never have to see Ace Kilgore again.
    Billowy white clouds were drifting like spinnakered sailing ships across an indigo sea of summer sky. Beautiful smiling women in white bathrobes were reclining on them, waving as they passed. One woman with curly black hair and full red lips looked exactly like Jude’s mother.
    â€œWait!” called Jude. “Take me with you!”
    But they seemed not to hear.
    A dog began snuffling and yelping up above. Jude kept her eyes tightly shut, struggling to return to her mother.
    â€œJude, are you okay?” called Molly through an opening between the broken headstones. Sidney was beside her, whimpering and flailing frantically at the stones with his paws.
    â€œI guess so.”
    â€œDon’t worry. We’ll get you out,” said Sandy, freckled face looming in the window of light. “It’s just a question of leverage.”
    T HEY SAT IN S ANDY’S tree house drinking grape soda through straws that bent like gooseneck lamps. The Commie Killers, shirtless in the hot afternoon sun, were redigging trenches across the street beneath a Confederate battle flag that hung limply from a pole stuck in the mud. The phone rang.
    Answering it, Sandy said, “Oh, hi, Nicolai.” He reached for a notebook. “Let’s see, what do I have for you today? Oh, yes, queen to king’s bishop four. Okay. Talk to you soon.”
    â€œMoscow,” he explained, running his hand over his cowlick in a futile attempt to smooth it down. “Right, so first of all, Jude, don’t ever play alone again. If Molly hadn’t seen your tricycle, you’d still be in that grave. I can’t spend all day at my telescope watching out for you two. I’m in the middle of some very important chess matches. Why don’t you play with Noreen next door?”
    â€œShe’s a girl,” said Molly.
    â€œWe’re not really girls,” said Jude. “We just look like it.”
    N OREEN AGREED TO LET Jude and Molly be her sons if Sandy would be her husband.
    â€œOkay,” said Sandy, standing outside the shed attached to Noreen’s parents’ garage, “but I’m the kind of father who spends all day at the office. And my office is my tree house. And only my sons are allowed to visit.”
    â€œBut pioneer fathers don’t go to the office,” said Noreen from the doorway. Her dark naturally curly hair was parted on one side, and a red plastic barrette shaped like a bow held it back from her face on the other side. The frames of her glasses matched her barrette.
    â€œThey go hunting, don’t they?” asked Sandy, walking toward his yard. “Pretend I’ve been eaten by bears. Pretend you’re a widow.”
    â€œYou’re no fun,” said Noreen.
    â€œSorry about that.”
    â€œWell, all right, come in, Jude and Molly.” Noreen stepped aside. “Sit down. We’re having supper.” Supper consisted of dried clay patties served on wild grape leaves atop an orange crate.
    Noreen’s “daughters”