Mud Girl by Alison Acheson Read Free Book Online Page A

house. “Can you hear the water under the house at night?”
    His question comes from left field. Or at least, from some place she’s not at all sure she wants to go with him.
    â€œI used to like the sound,” she begins. “When I was a little kid.”
Before Mum left
. She doesn’t want to add the other thoughts that push into her mind: how now the sound keeps her awake, and it’s a sound that never stops, won’t let her rest. On windy nights she can hear the greenhouse bumping up against the dock as if fighting to escape, and she lies awake listening for when the sound ends and for when that broken-down frame and bits of glass that Mum loved is gone too, away down the river.
    When Mum first left, Abi had nightmares that pieces of the house would fall away, a section of floor, a bit of lower wall, and Dad and his chair would also fall away, moving with the current until out of sight, Dad never realizing where he was, remote control still in hand, head resting on one shoulder, sound asleep, feet bobbing in and out of the water, the chair turning, turning in the eddies of mud. But the dreams ended when she began to cover him at night. Now with warm evenings she doesn’t have to remember to tuck a blanket around him.
    Would Jude understand all this?
The urge to say something is strong in her. Just for a moment.
    A rattle of newspaper calls to her. Jude is holding the comics to her. He spreads out the front-page section for himself.“I always read the Sports at breakfast,” he says. “Whew!” He taps the paper. “Look at this!”
    She leans over for a look. The headline’s enough: foster PARENTS CHARGED WITH … She doesn’t want to know what. Jude is shaking his head in disbelief.
    â€œHow about this?” she says, and points to the Family Circus in the corner of her piece of news. She hasn’t had a chance to look at the comic herself yet, but Jude gives a laugh and forgets to say more about the front-page piece.
    â€œI’d better get going.” He begins to pack up his lunch. He breaks a chocolate bar in two and gives her half. His lips brush the top of her head as he stands. “Gotta go.”
    She watches him leave. A blackberry stringer catches his overalls and he has to stop to loosen the barb. He turns back and smiles. “Soon,” he says.
    Not soon enough.
    She stays on her side of the blanket and draws her knees to her chest. She huddles, looks at the house, and tells herself, “This is the house I live in, and this is my life,” but she likes it here in the field. Maybe she’ll move here and live in the open air.
    She falls asleep.
    When Abi wakens she can hardly move, she’s so badly burned. The sun is low, the river louder than the traffic. Cooler air tries to tickle her, but her skin is hot and her head dizzy. That’s how Rhodes finds her.

Underwear to Fill a Drawer
    â€œO h my,” Rhodes says. Of course. She helps Abi to her feet. “Oh my,” again, and then, “you haven’t been…been…” She can’t even say it.
    â€œDrinking?” Abi asks. She motions around. “What do you think?” She takes the arm Rhodes offers. “I could’ve used a bottle though – a bottle of sunscreen.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought was your affliction!” There’s relief in the woman’s voice. So. This Little Sister business can still be pretty straightforward.
    She helps Abi into the house. Abi has to keep her head down, looking at her feet. If she raises it at all, she feels as if she’s going to keel over. The edges of her vision have a threatening darkness to them. “I feel as if I’m going to go blind.” Abi’s voice has a whine to it.
    â€œSit here,” says Rhodes abruptly, and gently she pushes her down on the car seat. “Put your head between your knees. Breathe deeply.” Rhodes wedges the screen door open