The Ferryman by Christopher Golden Read Free Book Online

ever. But for the first time she believed that there was room in her heart for other feelings, other emotions. Home, at least, was something she could hold on to. In so many other ways, she felt cast adrift. Over the course of her pregnancy she had come to mentally identify herself as a mother. Now, without the baby, she wasn’t sure what she was.What her life was supposed to be now.
    â€œYou coming, Janine?”
    Annette had paused at the front steps of the apartment house and turned to watch her. With a nod, Janine followed her into the foyer and they walked upstairs together.
    Her apartment was on the second floor, a two-bedroom with a small but serviceable kitchen and a lovely living room with high windows that caught the sun from three different angles all day long. When she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, Janine felt a rush of relief. The sunlight gleamed off the hardwood floor and the windows were open a crack, letting in the spring breeze.
    Inside, she dropped the small bag she had brought home from the hospital and just wandered around the place for a moment. All her plants had been watered, and somehow that seemed important to her. In the corner of the living room, where she could look down upon the trees and the barn in the back, her music stand waited for her. On an antique bench beside it, her violin case lay open, the instrument resting inside.
    Home, she thought again.
    As if sensing she wanted a few moments to herself, Annette had gone into the kitchen. She could be heard banging about in there, and after a short time Janine became both curious and a little concerned.
    â€œHey.What’s going on in there?” she called.
    â€œDinner. Or it will be.”
    Janine’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. With an ironic grin, she hurried into the kitchen to find Annette on her knees rifling through a cabinet full of pots and pans.
    â€œStop right there,” Janine ordered. “Not that I don’t appreciate your help, but let’s face it; in the kitchen, you’re a danger to yourself and others.”
    Annette turned and sat on her butt on the linoleum floor. She shot a baleful glance at Janine. “You know, that whole thing about lesbians not knowing how to cook? It’s a myth.”
    â€œYou make it true,” Janine said bluntly.
    With a sigh, Annette relented. “My mother made lasagna, okay? I just need a pot to heat up the extra sauce.”
    â€œWhew,” Janine replied. “You had me scared there for a second.”
    They shared a bittersweet moment together then, both of them aware that it was likely the first time Janine had smiled in days, the first glimpse of sunlight breaking through the black cloud of her grief. Janine grimly accepted the knowledge that it was only a momentary reprieve, that the numbness she had felt would likely be her regular state for quite some time.
    But it wasn’t the only thing she could feel. Annette had reminded her of that, and she was more grateful than she could ever have put into words.
    Though Annette tried to scoot her out of the kitchen, Janine stayed and together they quickly cobbled together a salad to go with the lasagna. Both of them wanted music—Janine especially—but it had to be something uplifting rather than the melancholy songbirds they both often listened to. Janine slipped in Barenaked Ladies’ live album, Rock Spectacle, and, at odd times during dinner, they both sang along.
    A bottle of Corvo Bianco had lain dormant in the fridge for months, and they polished it off between songs and servings of lasagna. Annette never brought up the baby.
    After dinner they moved into the living room and Janine put a classical compilation into the CD player. Her violin called to her from the corner as if inspired by the music, but she resisted the temptation to play. There would be time for that. She would rebuild her life one moment at a time.
    Janine studied Annette, there beside her on the