Brightleaf by Raleigh Rand Read Free Book Online Page A

make of him. But I’ve made up my mind. He’s gifted is all. How else would he know I don’t follow styles?
    Mary Beth says, “You’re not from Brightleaf are you?”
    “Doyle Stubb at your service,” he says, holdin out his hand for a shake.
    I gotta say he has the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen on a man. Such pale, smooth skin, like a baby’s, and fangernails so shiny and trimmed, you’d think he spends his days sortin through feathers and cotton balls. And believe me when I say I’ve seen fangernails on a man that would scare the shit out of Dracula.
    Doyle says, “I recently moved to Brightleaf from Phoenix, Arizona. My mother is quite ill in The Peaceful Future Nursing Home.”
    “I’m sorry to hear about your mama,” I says. “Phoenix, Arizona? Ain’t that all hot and cactusy?”
    “My dear,” says Doyle, “Arizona has a most pleasant climate. Though it can be hot, it is quite arid, which is marvelous.”
    Right away, I know this is a good man. He came clear across the country to be with his mama. So I says to Doyle, “Doyle, you got a place to stay? Cuz Mary Beth here owns a boardin house, and we could use an extra man about.” I look at Mary Beth and nod to her like we have twin minds and she’d agree to it, but her lips get real tight, and she’s givin me the look that says she don’t want me goin around offering no psychics a place to stay.
    Mary Beth says, “Well, Mr. Stubbs…”
    “Stubb…it’s Stubb. And please, call me Doyle.”
    “Okay, Doyle,” says Mary Beth. “Seeing I’ve only just met you, I can’t say I feel comfortable renting to you just yet. But I would love for you to come by the house for a cup of coffee or join us on Wednesday night for Share Group.”
    “I thank you kind ladies very much for showing concern for my well-being,” says Doyle. “But I already have a nice cottage not far from here. The invitation for coffee and whatnot is equally appealing. You shall see me soon,” says Doyle as he runs his finger over his mustache, and looks real hard at those bagged groceries in our cart.
    Mary Beth
    I felt like throwing a blanket over our groceries. I did not want him looking at them that way. It seemed almost like he could see through our clothes. Figure out all the combinations on our locks, our social security numbers, and even the secrets we keep from our own selves. Anyway how hard can it be to estimate how long someone will live by looking in his shopping cart? If someone has a buggy packed with beer and Twinkies it’s no mystery they probably won’t make it to one hundred. You don’t have to be magic to know that.

9
    Manchild
    Mavis
    Manchild shows up at the house every day but Wednesdays—to dodge the sharin time. I told him I don’t want him comin around ever. He’s crazy about me, but ever since Cleavon’s been long dead I don’t wanna be worryin about no man. Sure, I have men friends that I shoot the breeze with here and there, have a smoke with and all. I don’t mind me some attention. So when I seen Manchild giving me the sly wink, I says, “Hey baby, ain’t you cute?” I wasn’t thinkin of being his girlfriend or nothin, just friendly flirtin is all. He’s twenty-seven, so I’m old enough to be his gramaw.
    That Manchild is hard to shake, though. Followin me from in front when I walk down the street to the Goodwill. Walkin backward, makin a fool of hisself, laughin like he’s so funny, but his eyes is sad. Some people always look sad, even when they ain’t. For some reason, he reminds me of my own little Orin. But his missin teeth tell me he don’t like to brush. Orin brushed.
    I’m missin teeth myself, on the bottom. I’ll be the first to say, but mine are gone cuz my mama got me dippin at a early age, to get me to calm down when I was fussy. I took up smokin at the age of twelve cuz it’s a lot easier to look glamorous for the boys smokin a cigarette instead of dippin snuff and lookin like you been chewin on cat turds