The Crazy School by Cornelia Read Read Free Book Online

marshmallows.”
    “I know,” said Santangelo. “And there’s even whipped cream.”
    He wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders to gather her 4 3
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    in, a gesture of supportive concern belied by his no-nonsense grip on her closer wrist.
    Lulu opened the door, kicking down its rubber-tipped stop so she could move aside to let them through.
    “We’ll call the hospital and make sure they’re taking good care of Mooney. Then you can tell me all about what happened,”
    Santangelo said to Fay.
    “I will,” she said, raising crossed fi ngers to the small of her back as they stepped across the threshold.
    Lulu shoved the glass door shut behind them, fi ghting the tension in its hydraulic arm to get the job done faster.
    “Jesus Christ, ” she said, watching them go. “Please tell me you’ve got a couple of smokes tucked into that jacket, Madeline, because I need a few blessed moments of illicit-vice inhalation after all that drama. ”
    I patted my Camel-hiding pocket. “The woods or your place?”
    “The woods are closer,” she said.
    We waited for Santangelo and Fay to reach the end of the hall, then hauled ourselves out a back window to make our getaway undetected.
    “Why the hell I ever left the old homestead. What possessed me?” said Lulu, hunkered down Indian-style under the abandoned grape-arbor hideout we’d stumbled upon during our fi rst week here.
    The structure twisted in the embrace of its gnarled vines, hung with swags of shriveling black fruit that perfumed the air with a seder-wine Concord tang. The western sky sported streaks of orange and pink.
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    I shook a pair of Camels loose from my crumpled pack and lit hers fi rst.
    Lulu blew a stream of smoke into the shadows. “Dhumavati told me we’d hold off on the faculty meeting until she brings Mooney back from the hospital.”
    “ Fuck me,” I said. “I promised Dean I’d make it home for dinner tonight. Again.”
    “Poor Dean.”
    “A patient man, as husbands go, but getting testy,” I said.
    “You can’t blame him. With all these goddamn meetings, he barely sees you.”
    “I got home so late last night, he said he fi gures if I stay here one more week, they’re gonna shave my head and make me sell fl owers in an airport.”
    Lulu laughed. “He’s a keeper, that boy. And he’s got a sense of humour.”
    “I just don’t want to go back to Syracuse. Took me three years to pry him loose.”
    “Has he brought it up yet?”
    “Any day now.”
    We’d moved here to the Berkshires from Dean’s hometown when the Southern Pacifi c told him they wanted two of the rail grinders he’d designed. He’d been antsy to start work ever since we arrived in August, but the contracts had to clear layer after layer of management fi rst. When his inside-contact guy said fi nal approval was a sure thing by the fi rst of November, Dean began negotiations for shop space in a derelict factory outside Pittsfi eld. We’d met the out-of-town landlord there for a fi nal walk-through exactly a month ago—October 17, just after dinner. The Loma Prieta earthquake must have hit San Francisco 4 5
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    right about when Dean and I were fi rst shaking hands with the guy.
    An hour later, they agreed to meet the next afternoon to get the lease signed.
    “I think that went really well,” said Dean as we drove out of the parking lot.
    I’d left the radio on and was just reaching to turn it off when the BBC News announcer said, “The two-tier Bay Bridge and Nimitz Freeway have both partially collapsed, and rescuers are waiting to recover bodies from cars crushed by the quake.”
    “Bay Bridge?” I turned up the volume.
    “ . . . measured six-point-nine on the Richter scale . . .” the BBC guy intoned.
    I hit the brakes and pulled over.
    “. . . what experts believe is the second biggest earthquake ever to hit