The Last Good Day of the Year by Jessica Warman Read Free Book Online

a red Jeep, which was still parked on our street when I finally went to bed last night at around 1:30. It’s almost noon when Susan and I hear Remy walking around in the kitchen above us.
    Susan flashes the ceiling a frown. “Nice of you to get out of bed today,” she murmurs. Her gaze is an apologetic wince. “I’m sorry for the way he’s been treating you, Sam. I don’t know what his problem is lately.” She pauses. “Heather is such a clingy girl. I wish he’d spend some time apart from her.”
    I want to tell her that I don’t care about Remy’s life, or whether I ever talk to him again. It’s not like I’ve been pining away for him all these years. It’s true that we were close once, but ten years is a long time to be away from someone, especially when you’re our age.
    â€œHeather?” I can’t help it. I do care. I care more than anything.
    â€œHeather Bonterro. She’s a year behind you in school.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œHer father is an undertaker. Her whole family lives at the funeral home. Can you imagine?”
    â€œNot really.”
    Susan glances around the room. “Can I be honest with you, Sam?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    She leans in a few inches and lowers her voice to an exaggerated hush. “I don’t like her one bit.”
    I don’t say anything.
    â€œWell? Don’t you want to know why?” She blurts it out before I have a chance to answer. “She’s one of those needy girls. Clingy, like I said. And she smokes, I happen to know—that child must think I’m a
fool
sometimes—and I found a note she wrote him in his pants pocket while I was doing laundry—but I wasn’t snooping, Sam, I respect Remy’s privacy, I want you to know that—and this note, oh, my
lord
, I’ve never heard such filthy things. She’s trouble. She’s dirty, and she’s trouble, and I don’t like her face.”
    Susan finally stops speaking in order to breathe. She stares at me from behind her square, purple-framed glasses with the gleaming eyes of someone drunk on the relief of her confession.
    At first, all I can think about is her claim—
I’ve never heard such filthy things
—and what a lie it is. I remember every word of the joke Remy’s dad told on New Year’s Eve, and the way Susan and my mom cackled with laughter. They seemed downright delighted by its filthiness.
    â€œOh, no. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” Any trace of relief in her expression is gone. “I shouldn’t have said all that to you.”
    â€œNo, it’s okay.”
    â€œMaybe you could try to reconnect with him. Do you think he’d listen to you?”
    â€œAbout Heather?”
    â€œNo, not just about Heather. Remy is different now. I know how boys get when they become teenagers, believe me, but he’s … It’s more than that. He doesn’t tell me anything.” Now Susan looks like she might start crying at any moment. “I just want to know he’s okay.”
    I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. All the while, the joke keeps running through my mind:
This beautiful woman walks into her gynecologist’s office
…
    After a pause, Susan says, “Well, anyway, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put a bunch of pressure on you. But sometimes I feel like I don’t know him anymore. I just want to hold on to him a little bit longer, Sam, before I have to let him grow up all the way.” She looks past me, at the playhouse near the edge of the yard. It still looks great; Ed must have kept up on the maintenance. Now that he’s paralyzed from a stroke, I wonder if anybody will bother with the task. “Remember all the time you two spent out there?”
    How could I not remember? We spent entire days there, playing out whatever realities we could imagine, anything the space could accommodate.