Black Creek Crossing by John Saul Read Free Book Online Page A

came from the same tree,” he declared, prodding at one of them with the tip of his jackknife. “But the concrete’s starting to rot. Gonna cost a bundle to fix that.” He fell silent for a moment, then shrugged. “’Course, I could build the forms myself, and maybe even mix the concrete.”
    While her parents and aunt fell into a discussion of just how much work the house might require and what it might cost to accomplish it, Angel went back up to the second floor. The stairs, built in a narrow well between the kitchen and the dining room, led straight up to the second floor landing. The three bedrooms were of varying size, with the largest one occupying the southern wall. It was long and narrow, with a second fireplace to give it heat, and Angel could see by the worn areas on the pine floor that the bed had stood at the back, leaving enough room at the front for a table and a pair of chairs.
    The other two rooms were smaller, separated by the bathroom, and Angel went first into the one at the back of the house. Its windows faced north and east, which meant the sun would pour into it every morning just like it did in her room in Eastbury. But even though she had always loved the morning sun, she kept thinking about the other room.
    The one at the front of the house.
    It was the smallest of the three bedrooms, and shared a wall with the big room that would be her parents’, and the front window faced west, so she’d never get to see the sunrise or have her room flooded with light when she woke up. But there was still something about the room that tugged at her.
    But what?
    There was nothing special about it, really. In fact, as she looked at it more closely, it was easily the ugliest room in the house. Its walls were covered with faded wallpaper with a floral pattern Angel thought must have looked worse when new than it did now. There were cheap lace curtains hanging at the windows, and they were dirty, and most of them were torn too.
    There was one little closet that didn’t even have a light inside.
    Frowning, she went back to the other room, which was larger, and brighter, and had a bigger closet.
    A much better room.
    So why did she like the other one so much?
    Her frown deepening, she went back to the smaller room, closed the door, moved slowly around to look at it from every angle. Finally, she sank down to sit on the floor, her back to the wall, her knees drawn up against her chest with her arms wrapped around them.
    And all at once she knew why she liked the little room.
Because it’s just like me,
she thought.
It’s ugly, and it’s gawky, and nobody else will ever like it.
But she would. It would be her room, and she’d love it. And it would love her.
    “Well, you certainly were right,” Angel heard her mother saying as she came back down from the second floor. “It would do just fine for us.” Angel paused at the bottom of the stairs as she felt a tingle of anticipation, then her mother spoke again, with a wistful tone that made her excitement fade as quickly as it had come. “But I just don’t see how we can afford it.”
    “For heaven’s sakes, Myra,” Joni Fletcher replied, her tone that of a big sister patiently explaining something to a deliberately dense younger sibling. “Don’t be a defeatist—where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
    Myra sighed. “I wish I could see how. I suppose the price might be fine for someone else, but I don’t see how we can swing it with Marty out of work and—” Her words died on her lips as Angel entered the room. “Maybe we should talk about this later,” she suggested, her eyes darting pointedly toward her daughter.
    “I’m not a baby, Mom,” Angel said, flushing. “I know Dad doesn’t have a job right now.”
    “I can get a job,” Marty Sullivan said, his eyes fixing on his daughter almost as if he thought it was her fault that he wasn’t working. “But I’m not gonna work for some ass—”
    “Marty!” Myra broke in, her lips