Brightleaf by Raleigh Rand Read Free Book Online

to find out he had the IQ of a worm, for real. That’s what that doctor told me after it was all said and done. By “said and done” what I mean is this: Orin was the spittin image of his daddy in every way, so handsome, but a pyromaniac from birth…and the boy didn’t live no longer than eight years. One of the few days his idiot of a daddy was supposed to be watchin him, the shrimp got into the matches and burnt down the trailer with his own self in it. How could I have stopped it? By not being so fool to think he’d be safe with Cleavon. The sadness at losin that boy was almost too much to bear, and I blame nobody but myself. But I have to believe he’s in a better place now, livin the life of an angel, far away from Cleavon, who’s in Hell.
    There’s no replacin a lost child, but you can always have other children to love on, which I never did do. Floyd is like a son to me now.
    Me and Mary Beth is here at the G.P. We gotta get some of this food home and into the deep freeze before it melts, so we’re speed-loadin the conveyor belt at the checkout. Frozen sausage links. Frozen fried chicken. Frozen corn. Frozen lasagna. Beep, beep, beep. Jumbo tea bags. Beep. Super-sized can of coffee. Beep. Hungry Jacks. Beep. Hungry Jacks. Beep. Hungry Jacks. Beep. Hungry Jacks. Beep.
    “Well, babe, looks like the last of ‘em. Go on now and pick up your magazine. I got it under control,” I says.
    Mary Beth don’t ever want to pay to read her magazine, seein she can cut to the article she’s most innerested in pretty fast and be finished by the time the food is bagged. Right now, she done found a story about movie stars who wear the same dress to the same party. For some reason that ain’t cool in Hollywood, but if I met someone with the same outfit on as me, Lord, I would love that. While I’m waitin for the cashier to finish ringin us up and baggin our stuff, I cross my arms and hold up my boobs.
    “Ah!” says a voice real close. “ I can see you are a no-nonsense type, who doesn’t follow trends. I can also tell that you are a person open to new ideas and experiences. A refreshing trait, indeed.”
    I turn around, and there’s a man with a teeny mustache and tinier lips. Cute as a caterpillar. His eyes is nice and wide apart, a sign his mama and daddy ain’t brother and sister. Even though one of his eyes drifts, I know he’s talkin to me cuz his good eye is fixed.
    Lord, he just read my mail. I’m shocked a stranger could figure that stuff out about me. So I says, “Do you have ESP or somethin?”
    Mary Beth sets down her People and looks at him. She says, “Mavis, why should he have ESP?”
    “Well, I want to know,” I says. “You ain’t that psychic who used to come on Oprah?” Law, I hope he is. Cuz I would love to have me a tarot card read or hear about all my different lives. I coulda been a damsel in distress or a grave robber. A princess would be easy, but I hear grave robbin is hard work. Either way I’d get me some good jewelry.
    “No, my dear,” says that man. “I have never met Oprah, although it would be a grand privilege. I’ll have you know that I’m not reading your mind, but I cannot help but have the pleasure of reading your groceries.”
    “I hope that ain’t like palm readin,” I says. “Cuz Mary Beth says that’s of the devil. Right, MB?” I glance over at Mary Beth.
    “That’s right. We don’t believe in that.”
    The little wanderin eye lands on Mary Beth while the regular eye looks at me.
    “I assure you, I’m no clairvoyant. I have only been gifted with the uncanny knack of understanding certain things about a person based upon their groceries and sundries. Even things they themselves may not be aware of. Not excluding how long a person will live.”
    “Well, don’t be readin mine that way,” I says. “I don’t want to know when I’m gonna die. I want it to be a surprise.”
    I look over at Mary Beth, who is lookin at this man, tryin to decide what to