Swallowing Stones by Joyce McDonald Read Free Book Online Page B

as it turned out, this
was
her house, because suddenly there was Amy, standing in front of him in her white shorts and pink tank top, as if she’d been expecting him all along. She smiled a shy hello; then, gently taking his arm, she led him inside. Michael couldn’t tell if she was surprised that he’d suddenly shown up at her house or not. He decided not to question any of what was happening. His instincts told him it was better that way.
    Everything inside was neat and clean, but the furniture seemed too big for such a small house. Old and overstuffed, it seemed to push up against the walls, as if trying to burst through them. Amy pointed him in the direction of a large, bulky couch. As Michael sat down he noticed a pale brown stain on the front of his T-shirt. He realized he must have spilled some of his Coke earlier but hadn’t been aware of it. Hewished he could hide the stain somehow. He thought about turning his shirt around when she left the room. For some reason it seemed important not to let Amy think he’d shown up at her house looking like a slob.
    “Want something to eat?” she said.
    Michael nodded, although he really wasn’t hungry. He still could not understand how he had come to be at Amy’s. Had he seen her address somewhere? He’d heard about things like that. How the brain stored away little bits and pieces of seemingly useless information, which suddenly popped up at the most unexpected times.
    Amy left the room. When she came back, she was carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced tea, two glasses filled with ice, and a half-empty box of Fig Newtons. She set the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch where Michael was already settling in, letting himself sink comfortably into the soft cushions. By then he had forgotten all about turning his shirt around.
    “Are you here alone?” he asked, glad to discover that his voice sounded relatively normal.
    Amy poured a glass of iced tea and handed it to him. “Pappy’s upstairs sleeping.”
    “Your dad?” Michael took the glass from her. The icy wetness cooled his sweating palms.
    “My grandfather.”
    “He lives here with you?”
    A soft smile curved the corners of her full mouth. “I live here with him,” she corrected. “Gram died a little over a year ago.”
    Michael did not ask about her parents. It was enough for the moment to know she had a grandfather. Enough to knowthat she wasn’t totally alone in the world, although he wasn’t sure why that should matter to him.
    “We can watch a movie if you want,” she said, pointing to the VCR next to the TV.
    He cleared his throat. “What kind of movies do you have?”
    Amy seemed to hesitate. “Mostly romantic stuff,” she said, barely whispering. Her face flushed a delicate pink, which both surprised and touched him. He realized then, for the first time that evening, that she wasn’t wearing makeup. Her face looked scrubbed and polished. She bit into a Fig Newton, looking thoughtful. “Or we could play a game. I have Scrabble.”
    Michael said Scrabble was fine, although he didn’t feel much like playing. But Amy seemed pleased. And it would keep his mind off other things.
    They set up the board on the coffee table, pulling cushions from the couch onto the floor. Then they settled themselves on the cushions and, like an old married couple, played Scrabble and ate Fig Newtons until, exhausted, they fell asleep on the floor.
    When the first rays of light began to filter through the sheer white curtains, Amy rose and went about turning off the lights. Michael waited by the front door.
    “I hope we didn’t disturb your grandfather.”
    Amy grinned. “Couldn’t you hear him snoring?”
    “Well, yeah, but …”
    “He sleeps like a log.” She looked down at her bare feet. The sunlight caught the top of her head, turning her dark brown hair a rich auburn. Michael felt an overwhelming desire to touch that spot on her head. “I’m glad you came over,” she said