The Favour. Megan HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
what’s wrong with you, then?”
“I got piles, okay?” The old man scowled. “Hurting something fierce. Is that what you want to hear? Fine, I’ll tell you!”
Gabe laughed. “If you got off your ass once in a while, maybe you wouldn’t have that problem.”
His dad raised a trembling finger, his lower lip pooched out. “You can just shut your mouth. Disrespectful son of a bitch.”
It was an old insult, one that no longer stung. Gabe shrugged. “I’ll take you. Thanks for the cigarettes.”
He pocketed both packs and went out back to smoke. Light spilled from the Decker house next door, golden and somehow warm even in the frigid January chill. From this angle he couldn’t see inside, but shadows moved in the square of light from the kitchen window. Janelle, he imagined. Washing the dishes, maybe. Standing at the sink, looking out into the snow-covered backyard.
The light upstairs went on, snaring his gaze. From here he couldn’t see inside any more than he could into the kitchen, but more shadows shifted up there. He imagined her pacing. Unpacking a box, making the bed.
Dancing.
“When I dance,” she says, “I feel like I can do anything.”
A shudder rippled along his spine that had nothing to do with the cold outside. Gabe drew again on the cigarette, but it made him cough unexpectedly, burning his throat and the inside of his nose with smoke and frigid air. Above him, a figure appeared in the window. Staring down at him? Maybe, if only at the cherry tip of his cigarette. Surely she couldn’t see the rest of him, tucked away in the shadows. Still, he dropped the butt into the coffee can of sand on the porch railing and stepped back from the edge, making sure there was no way she could even glimpse him.
The swing of lights in the street alerted him to Andy’s return. His brother laughed as he got out of the car that had brought him home, and he was still laughing when Gabe met up with him inside the house. Andy waved a fistful of lottery tickets in Gabe’s face.
“Got the winner this time, I know it.” He pinned them up on the corkboard next to the fridge, where they kept the calendar and his work schedule and messages from Michael.
There were a few there now. He called every other day on the house phone to talk to their dad, though he couldn’t be bothered to visit more than a few times a year. Somehow, the only person this seemed to bother was Gabe.
“What would you do with that money if you did win, anyway?” Gabe asked.
Andy looked thoughtful, then shrugged. “Take you and Dad and Michael on a trip. He went on that cruise, remember? He said it was fun. Maybe I’d buy some new video games.”
“What if you won really big?” Gabe looked over the tickets. His brother spent hours analyzing the numbers, certain he could figure out the next big hit. “Wouldn’t you want to get out of here? Wouldn’t you want to leave?”
Andy had been rummaging in the fridge, but now turned. “Where would I go?”
“Nowhere,” Gabe said with a shake of his head. “Never mind.”
FIVE
JANELLE HAD NEVER wept when Bennett started school, not even kindergarten. And Bennett hadn’t been one for tears, not even as a baby. Today, with his breath puffing out in the frigid northwestern Pennsylvania mountain air, his cheeks red and lips already chapping, he looked as if he might break down, and that was enough to send Janelle’s heart surging into her throat.
“I’ll be okay, Mom.”
“Sure. It’s going to be a great school for you.” She nodded firmly. “I know it won’t be like the academy, but it’ll be great.”
“Don’t cry,” Bennett warned.
She’d always driven him to and from school. Montrose Academy had limited bus service, and Bennett’s after-school activities would’ve meant she needed to pick him up, anyway. Music lessons, sports and art classes, in addition to what the academy provided. No dance lessons; he’d never been interested in that. She’d spent hours ferrying him from one class to the next. Thousands of dollars, all to make sure he had every possible opportunity.
“And you get to ride the bus,” she told him. “That’ll be fun.”
His expression told her he didn’t believe her. The bus appeared at the end of the street and stopped at the intersection. For a moment it looked as if it would continue without turning onto Dippold Street. The first day of her senior year of high school, Janelle had had to run for the bus. She’d lost a ballet flat, had to go back. Everyone had been laughing at her when she got on the bus, red-faced and panting, the carefully tousled hairdo she’d spent an hour fixing a mess.
This time she’d called the school four times to make sure of the stop location so they’d be at the right place on this first day, but her heart still pounded uncomfortably until the bus made the lumbering turn and headed toward them. It screeched to a stop on the opposite side of the street with that distinctive braking noise. The lights flashed and the red sign flipped out to prevent the nonexistent traffic from passing. Bennett headed for the bus without a backward glance.
“Wait!” Janelle cried. “Do you have your...lunch money? Your gym clothes?”
She should’ve driven him to school, just this first day. Walked him to the office, made sure he had everything he needed. Switching from private to public school was a difficult enough transition without a cross-country move, including a climate change on top of it.
Bennett didn’t even look back. Janelle stared at the faces peering at her from the bus windows, and kept herself from running across the street after him. The bus driver waved. She waved back. The bus drove off.
That was it, then.
Her teeth were chattering and her fingers numb. The house would be warm, but before going inside she took the time to look up and down the street. Not much had changed.
Those Tierney boys, Janelle thought, turning to look at the big redbrick house next to Nan’s. It sat higher on the hill than hers. An intricately constructed railroad-tie wall had replaced the cinder blocks that used to keep the yards distinct. The same concrete walk led to the back porch door. It had once been lined with flowers, but now butted directly against the wooden ties.
And... Oh. Andy. He stood on the front porch, bundled in a bulky red coat, the fur-edged hood hanging down his back. He waved at her.
“Hi!”
Janelle tucked her hands into her pockets and quelled her chattering teeth long enough to cross to the edge of the Tierneys’ yard. The new winter boots her mom had given her for Christmas were too big, too heavy. In California, Janelle lived most of the time in flip-flops or sandals. Slow and unwieldy, she felt like she was walking on the moon, without the bonus of being able to leap and float.
“Hi, Andy.” Janelle waved.
He’d gotten older, of course, the way they all had. Yet she knew that face. The slope of his chin, his nose, the hollows of his eyes and cheeks. The silver glinting in his dark hair came from age, but the thicker stripe of white along the part hadn’t. That was from the bullet.
“You know me?” Andy rocked back and forth on his heels. In contrast to his heavy winter clothes, he wore bedroom slippers on bare feet. His ankles stuck out a few inches below the bottom of his flannel pajama pants.
“Yes. Do you remember me?”
Andy’s brow furrowed. “No.”
His lack of memory didn’t surprise her, but her disappointment did. Thick as thieves, that’s what they’d been once upon a time. Janelle and all three of those Tierney boys. She didn’t let even a toe prod the frosty grass of his yard.
“Janelle Decker. We—”
“Mrs.