Etched in Sand by Regina Calcaterra Read Free Book Online Page A

armful of clothes and my plastic number 4 to the attendant. “Bummer,” I say, shrugging at her. “Nothing fit.”
    It’s actually no lie: The jeans are too big on me, but that doesn’t matter . . . nor does the fact that they’re the same color as a construction cone. I saunter my way toward the exit but inside I’m dying to break into a run. My very own Gloria Vanderbilt jeans! Just as I walk out the door, however, a voice bellows in my direction. I sprint out to the parking lot and, hearing the security guard behind me, do the only thing I can think of: duck behind a car. (I made it!)
    As I try to catch my breath in silence, I feel a growing confidence that I’ve lost him in the darkness. Just then I spot the glow of a flashlight and hear his hard-soled shoes clicking up and down the rows of cars. I slither underneath the belly of the car I ducked behind, praying the driver doesn’t show up. From several rows away, I watch the feet of the man from Billy Blake’s walk farther across the parking lot. After I’m sure he’s gone back inside the store, I crawl out and, crouching low, quickly make my way to Doug’s car across the lot. After I’m safely lying down in the backseat, I swear to myself that I’ll never set foot in Billy Blake’s department store again.
     
    B Y MID -A UGUST, IT’S been six weeks since we’ve seen Cookie, and one afternoon Rosie and Norm are playing down the road when the landlord comes knocking. What would Amelia do?
    What would Camille do?
    Instantly I hide in the kitchen, ready to run out the back if he comes through the front. He knocks loudly once, twice, then three times. I hold my breath in anticipation of the sound of the doorknob turning. When all I hear is the buzz of the refrigerator, I peer around the corner to see if he’s still standing there. He’s not, but his truck is still perched in the driveway. Unfortunately, I straighten just in time to see him walk past the kitchen window, catching his eye as he catches mine. Shoot! I freeze.
    His face is creased and round, and what’s left of his white hair looks iridescent in the afternoon sun. I steady myself against the wall, bracing for an angry expression, but instead, concern has taken over his face. He motions for me to open the door. I debate it for a second. Then, having no choice, I turn the knob.
    “Your mother here?” he asks.
    “No,” I tell him. “She’s working.”
    “Oh, I see. She must work a lot.”
    “Pretty much all the time.”
    He frowns. “The rent is two weeks late,” he continues, as though I’d be shocked. “I’ve stopped by here a few times and haven’t seen anybody at home.” Now he’s studying me, but he makes no move to come inside. I’m blocking the door with my hip, leaving it only slightly ajar. I feel half naked in my striped tube top and cutoff jean shorts. Aware that he appears in no hurry to leave, I cross my arms over my chest to make it clear I don’t welcome any physical contact.
    “Everything in the house work okay?” he asks, peering behind me.
    “Yeah.” I peek over my shoulder and nod at him. “No sweat.” Something tells me this man won’t be easy to fool. Great. I’ll have to be on the lookout for social services from now on.
    “Okay then,” he says, starting down the back steps. “Good. Well, tell your mother I stopped by.”
    I don’t say anything, so he turns and walks toward the side of the house. Just before he’s out of sight, I call after him. “She works late.”
    He turns to face me again. “I noticed the oil tank is empty. Anybody been around lately to fill it?”
    “I’m not sure, but we don’t need it. It’s summer. It’s not a big deal.” After he rounds the corner, I close the door. Then I sit down with my back against it, sighing in relief as his truck pulls away.
    The next afternoon, when we return from the library, Norman heads out with his new neighborhood friends to play with someone’s skateboard. “Hey, Gi?” he