The Children by Ann Leary Read Free Book Online Page A

dismembered on it.
    â€œYou need to sand the counters down, the way they do in butcher shops,” Sally tells Joan whenever she visits, especially when she brings friends with her. This is when Sally and I most acutely see all the afflictions of the aged house, all the clutter and disrepair—when we have company. We really only notice it when we look at it from the perspective of others.
    â€œI’ll sand it down for you before I go back to the city,” Sally always promises. “I’ll get Everett to help me. And let’s get rid of some of this clutter.” But she never does, because after a day or two at Lakeside, it all looks normal to her again, too.
    I saw Laurel staring up at the space above the old sink. Joan was drying a batch of plastic bags. I hadn’t noticed, or I would have taken them down the night before. Joan washes out old plastic bags and hangs them to dry above the kitchen sink. She fastens them to a long piece of twine with clothespins. Joan has used the plastic bags countless times, and plans to reuse them until they dissolve. She and Whit were into recycling long before it became common practice, when it was just considered being thrifty. You could call them cheap (most people do), given Whit’s millions. They just can’t bear to get rid of anything. Or they couldn’t. (I often do that—refer to Whit in the present tense, even though he’s gone.) Joan and Whit’s mutual abhorrence of the ephemeral, their need to hang on to things, their love of coupon cutting, tag sales, dollar stores, their borderline hoarding tendencies—these were the very things that had originally attracted them to each other.
    Sally and I were assessing our kitchen through the eyes of this stranger and we shared a sense of indignant pride: Our house is a great house, a Vandemeer house. How dare she judge it?
    â€œWell, I like old places,” Laurel said.
    Sally gave me a look. How dare she patronize us so?
    Laurel kissed Spin. He pulled her closer and then they were really kissing. It wasn’t a terribly prolonged thing, but it was a little longer than I’d kiss somebody in front of others. In the kitchen. Before breakfast. I moved over next to the sink and pulled the Baggies from the line.
    I was relieved when Spin and Laurel stopped kissing, but then she started sucking on his ear. I turned my gaze to the floor and started across the kitchen, where I managed to crash into Sally, who also appeared to be staring at the floor. “Oh, oops,” I said, laughter hissing from my nose. We clutched each other. We were trying so hard not to laugh openly. Then Joan trotted into the kitchen, wearing a little tennis dress.
    â€œWell, hello! You must be the famous Laurel. I’m Joan,” she said, pushing her damp bangs away from her forehead with her wrist. Laurel was no longer latched onto Spin’s earlobe, but I was certain that she was going to hug my mother. I was dying to see her do this, actually, but she seemed to pick up on Joan’s taut vibe and just extended her hand.
    â€œSo great to finally meet you. I’m sorry, I’m all sweaty,” Joan said, shaking Laurel’s hand.
    â€œHi, Joanie,” Spin said. He gave my mom a little hug, as he always does, and she pushed him away playfully. “No, Spin, really, I’m absolutely drenched.”
    She smiled at Laurel. “I so wish I had been here last night when you stopped in, Laurel.”
    â€œNo, no problem,” Laurel said. “I didn’t call first.”
    â€œSorry, I’m such a sweaty mess. I know you’re an athlete yourself, Laurel, so you understand. Sit, sit down! Charlotte will make us all some breakfast. I would have brought home some muffins if I had known you were coming. I had tennis this morning and then went for a run. I run every day.”
    Sally grinned at me and then at Spin, and we all tried not to laugh, thinking, Here we go, the five-mile