Slice by William Patterson Read Free Book Online Page B

“fortune-telling” was illegal in Connecticut. But there was no doubt, to Mom or to Jessie, that she honestly believed her gift was real.
    Jessie wondered if there had ever been a man in Aunt Paulette’s life. She always just smiled when they’d ask her. Marriage had never seemed an option for her. There was so much about her beloved aunt that Jessie just did not know.
    She raised her eyes to look back out at the yard. Todd was almost done mowing. He’d switched the ride-on for a handheld mower, using it to get in closer to the trees and the side of the house. His taut muscles held Jessie’s gaze for a moment, before she looked over at the swing set. Inga was nearly finished with her paint job, but now Abby was nowhere in sight.
    â€œInga!” Jessie called, standing up. “Where’s Abby?”
    â€œShe’s down at the brook,” the nanny called back. “Don’t worry, I can see her from here. She’s fine.”
    Jessie tried to see herself, but from where she was sitting on the deck she couldn’t see the brook.
    â€œSome little boy wandered up and they started playing together,” Inga told her.
    â€œA little boy?” Jessie asked, as she headed down the deck stairs out in the yard.
    â€œMust be Bryan’s son,” Aunt Paulette ventured.
    Jessie was walking quickly across the grass trying to get a better view. But by the time the brook, so blue in the afternoon sun, came into view, Abby was trudging back up toward them through the grass. She was alone.
    â€œThat’s funny,” Inga said. “The boy was just there. . . .”
    â€œAbby, come on back up here!” Jessie called.
    â€œHi, Mommy!” Abby called, and continued her march through the daisies and wildflowers. When she reached the yard, Jessie hugged her—a little too forcefully, perhaps, because Abby asked, “What’s wrong, Mommy?”
    â€œNothing, baby. Who were you playing with?”
    â€œA little boy.”
    â€œWas his name Ashton?” Aunt Paulette was asking, having come down from the deck herself.
    â€œHe didn’t tell me his name,” Abby replied.
    â€œWell, it must have been Ashton,” Aunt Paulette reasoned. “He’s the only little boy in the neighborhood. Did he have red hair?”
    â€œI don’t remember,” Abby said.
    â€œIt might have been red,” Inga said. “It was hard to see, since he was a few yards away and the sun was in my eyes.”
    Jessie smiled. “Well, anyway, Aunt Paulette, will you take Abby inside and help her get washed up for lunch?”
    â€œCertainly. Come on, sweetie.”
    Abby took her grandaunt’s hand and they headed back up the deck stairs and into the house.
    Jessie turned to Inga. “Don’t ever let her leave the yard alone again!”
    Inga looked at her quizzically, the paintbrush in her hand dripping pink paint. “Jessie, I never took my eyes off her. She never left my sight. The brook is just down the hill. It’s practically part of the yard.”
    â€œYou said the sun was in your eyes and you couldn’t see. What if Abby had fallen into the brook?”
    Inga stiffened. “I might not have been able to see the color of the boy’s hair, but I could see the two of them playing just fine. And you know very well that the water of the brook barely comes up Abby’s ankles. If she’d fallen in, I could have been there in thirty seconds and all she would have suffered would have been a wet and muddy bum.”
    Jessie sighed. “I’m sorry, Inga. I didn’t mean to snap.”
    Inga’s defensiveness evaporated and she smiled. “We’re not in the city anymore, Jessie. There aren’t dangers lurking behind every corner out here in the country.”
    Jessie nodded. She supposed it was just an old instinct, left over from the days when she’d thought Emil was still alive, that he was out there