Blackbird by Tom Wright Read Free Book Online

arboured flagstone path toward the back door of the house. ‘So, where you from, girl?’ I heard her say as they disappeared from sight.
    I found Dusty currying Mariel, a pregnant four-year-old Janus mare, in the paddock beside the first barn. Mariel and I were good friends because she trusted the way I saddled and handled her, and because I hardly ever forgot her treats. Waggling an ear, she eyed the sack I was carrying. Dusty glanced at me. ‘Say, podner, what’s up?’
    ‘Not much. I brought some company.’
    ‘Who is it?’ He stuck the comb under the stump of his left arm, picked up the towel and ducked under Mariel’s neck to take a close look at her offside eye, which had been crusting a little.
    ‘A girl I met,’ I said. ‘Her name’s Kat. She’s from Boston. I invited her for supper.’
    ‘Sounds good,’ he said. He wiped at the corner of the mare’s eye and she tossed her head impatiently. ‘Hope they like hamburgers in Boston, ’cause I think we’re out of scrod.’
    ‘I’ll cook tonight,’ I said, holding out a couple of carrot heads for Mariel and watching her take them delicately with her soft lips.
    ‘Doubt it’ll get you out of doing dishes.’
    ‘I know. I’ll still clean up.’
    ‘Then it’s all yours, cookie,’ he said, tossing me the comband towel. ‘Put those up while I take her in and get her some oats, then we’ll go up and meet your friend.’
    ‘Sure,’ I said, handing him the sack.
    ‘Oh, yes, my dear, yes!’ Gran Esther was saying to Kat as we came in. ‘Boston was a completely new universe for me – that cold, cold wind, but history simply everywhere, such wonderful museums, the moon coming right up out of the sea – I can see it now, just like it was yesterday!’
    Aunt Rachel was slicing tomatoes and onions at the breakfast bar, listening to the talk and smiling her absent little eavesdropping smile as Dusty and I got out of our boots in the entryway. I washed my hands at the sink beside her, then ripped open the two packages of hamburger she’d set out. Dusty had poured a cup of coffee and carried it around the open counter into the den, where I heard him say, ‘You must be the young lady from Boston.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Kat said, rising to walk over and shake his hand. ‘I’m Kat Dreyfus.’
    ‘Call me Dusty,’ he said. ‘You eat hamburgers?’
    ‘Quick as a mousetrap.’
    ‘Miss Dreyfus is on a journey of conscience,’ Gran Esther said, sipping her tea. ‘She’s helping the black people and the other poor folks.’
    Something caused me to shiver slightly as I worked spices and chopped onion into the meat. When that was done I padded out to the patio in my socks to get the fire started. The air was cool, the sun low and red beyond the oaks. An owl hooted sadly somewhere behind the house. Dumping charcoal into the grate, I saturated it with starter fluid and rummaged around for matches. When I had the fire going, I walked back inside where Rachel had the hamburger fixings laid out on plates along the counter.
    She said, ‘How’s it feel to be so far from home, Kat?’
    ‘It’s beautiful here,’ Kat had said. ‘Especially at night. I’ve never seen so many stars. Compared to the city, it seems so peaceful and safe – ’
    As I tried to describe this part of the conversation to Max now, the words died in my throat. After a silence he said, ‘Y’know, Jim, you’re dealing with some pretty knotty abandonment and mortality issues here – could that be what all this is about?’
    ‘Sounds like something LA would ask.’
    ‘Mmm,’ said Max. ‘We’re lucky to have her.’
    He was right. She’d gotten me in to see him after diagnosing my depression a couple of years ago, and the two of them had been a hell of a tag team, having me surrounded before I could think of an evasion strategy. But I’d liked and trusted Max immediately because he was a smart guy, obviously not a bit afraid of whatever was wrong with me, and entirely unimpressed