Wander Dust by Michelle Warren Read Free Book Online Page B

away.
    When my teeth stop chattering, Mona’s questions begin again. “Where’s your luggage?” she asks.
    “The airline lost it,” I mumble.
    She nods, understanding.
    “My cell phone and coat—they’re in there,” I explain. “Sorry, I should’ve found a pay phone and called. I didn’t think it would take me this long to get to your house.” I look down at my feet, guilty.
    “What happened to your lip?” she asks, pointing.
    I already forgot about that.
    “Commuter in a rush to get somewhere, I guess.” I shrug. “They elbowed me.” I place a finger on my lip. It throbs under the touch of my freezing skin.
    Her eyes soften. “Well, we’ll get some ice on it when we get home,” she says. I cringe at the thought of purposely putting something frozen on my body after today. Mona leans in to look at the wound. She eases back and crosses her arms. She must be getting cold by now as well.
    “Why were you running back at the station?”
    This question is more difficult to answer. Should I worry her and tell her the truth: I’m crazy .
    “I thought I was going to miss the train.” My lips press into a tight line. I hope she won’t see through my lie.
    She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “Well, I’m just glad you’re here,” she says in a very paternal way, a way in which Ray would never speak to me.
    “Me, too.” I tuck my head into the corner of her neck. For some reason, I know I’m safe with her.
    Thirty minutes later, we exit the L train and walk to Mona’s home in the city. Thankfully, it’s only a few blocks away.
    She lives alone in a Victorian brownstone. The facade is pine green and heavy, but the windows are arched and look like a face with surprised eyes. Although covered in snow, her city-size front yard reveals her passion for covering everything with mosaic glass.
    I consider Mona a free spirit.
    “Hippie,” Ray called her once.
    She’s well read and well traveled. One can easily make the assumption upon entering her home. Items collected from all over the world make up her eccentric decor.
    A red, well-worn Persian rug lays center in the main room underneath a Venetian glass chandelier. A rust colored, velvet couch and two opposing modern chairs complete the seating area. The extremely high reaching ceiling, and mayonnaise yellow walls act as a quiet backdrop for her fifteenth century medieval tapestries and modern Kadinsky painting.
    An old trunk serves as a coffee table. Amazonian shrunken heads, a Neolithic fertility goddess, white marble busts of her favorite poets, and tenth century, Chinese porcelain decorate the living room like everyday tchotchkes. Finally, a ten foot high totem pole, carved from red cedar, sits in the corner, guarding the bright lofty space.
    I only know what these things are because Mona has told me the story for each.
    Mona leads me to my room, up two flights of stairs, past her library, which houses an expansive collection of antique books. We pass several closed doors, rooms that I had never bothered to investigate in the past.
    “Well, here it is,” she says as she pushes her way through the guest room door. “It gets nice light.” She walks over and pulls open the curtains, “And it has a fabulous view of the city.” She gestures out the window then tucks a strawberry lock of hair behind her ear.
    “This is great, Mona. Thanks.” I smile back, trying to hide my sadness.
    “We’ll pick up some necessities from the store tomorrow, to replace what you’ve lost.” She crosses the room to the closet. “I guess we’re lucky you’ll be wearing uniforms to school. I picked them up yesterday.” She pulls one out for my inspection and holds it up.
    “Cool.” I nod, but they aren’t. The uniform is ugly. I’ll have to do some serious accessorizing.
    “Also,” she adds, “ignore the box of Christmas lights on the floor. I’ll put them in the attic tomorrow.” She gestures toward the pull down stairs at the ceiling. “I just