The Last One by Tawdra Kandle Read Free Book Online Page A

understood it.
    “Go get washed up, okay? The chicken’s done, and I’m about to pull out the potatoes. Oh, and will you yell for Bridget, too? She’s upstairs doing homework.”
    Without answering her, I headed for the tiny washroom just off the kitchen. I stopped at the bottom of the staircase that sat to the left of the front door and called.
    “Hey, Bridge! Supper.”
    Before I turned all the way around, I heard the sound of footsteps running down the hallway. The wooden floors in this house were original, built and put down by my great-great-grandfather, and they were beautiful. But they sure didn’t do much to keep the noise level down.
    I washed my hands and dried them on the rag Ali kept on a hook at the back of the door. I hated her little frou-frou towels, the ones that hung on the side of the antique wooden wash stand, and she hated trying to get grease or dirt out of them after I used them. So by mutual consent, she made sure I had a rag and I made sure I used it.
    Bridget was sitting in her seat at the table when I came back into the kitchen. Her dark hair was tied back in one long braid, and her brown eyes, so much like mine, were sparkling. She held a large sheet of white paper in her hand.
    “Hey, Uncle Sam! Lookit what I drew.” She held it out to me, and I took the paper, studying it closely.
    I squinted at the figure. “Is that Poker?” It was definitely a horse, and by the way she’d drawn it, I could see that it was one that belonged to our neighbor, Fred. The proportions were close to being right, and the setting was definitely our own farm. I made out our barn in the background.
    “Wow, squirt, look at this. It’s da—dang good. Ali, did you see what your kid drew?”
    My sister set a bowl of steaming green beans on the table and leaned to glance over my shoulder. “Nice job, baby. Why’s that horse on our land, though? I think your picture puts him right in Uncle Sam’s melon patch. Probably not a good idea.”
    Bridget took the paper from her mother and trotted to the fridge, where she added it to her other masterpieces. “That’s what it would look like if Poker came to live at our house.” She flashed me a brilliant grin, showing off her missing front tooth.
    “Poker would be lonely if he came to live here.” Ali scooped potatoes onto her daughter’s plate. “He’d miss his friends Rummy, Gin and Solitaire over at Mr. Fred’s. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
    “Noooo.” The little girl shook her head. “But they could visit.”
    “Sorry, toots. No horses here.” I stabbed a slice of white meat and put it on my plate. “Pass the gravy, please.”
    “But Uncle Sammy, we live on a farm. We don’t have any animals. It can’t be a real farm if we don’t have any animals.”
    “That’s not true, Bridge.” Ali reached over to tug her daughter’s braid. “We have Loopy and Butler.”
    “But Mom, they’re not real farm animals.” Her voice came dangerously close to the whine line, and I watched Ali’s eyebrow rise. “They’re only a dog and cat. And they have to live outside.”
    “I’m pretty sure Old McDonald includes those, right? With a woof-woof here and meow-meow there, here a woof, there a meow, everywhere a woof-meow ...” My sister had many fine qualities, but singing in tune wasn’t one of them. Bridget and I clapped our hands over our ears.
    “Make it stop!” I moaned, and Ali stuck out her tongue at me. Bridget giggled, and another crisis was averted.
    “The drawing really is good, sweetie. You should take it in and show it to Mrs. Norcross.” Ali sipped her water.
    “I drew one for her in school today. She asked me if I was gonna take art lessons.” Bridget poked at her green beans.
    “Hmmm. Did she?” Ali frowned. “Eat your vegetables, Bridget, don’t play with them.”
    My niece dropped her fork to the plate with a clatter. She clutched at her throat and pretended to gag. “Poison ... beans ... killing ... me ... ’
    I