Abby's Christmas. Lynnette Kent

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ was too hot. Since he wasn’t sure he was staying, though, he wouldn’t take it off.

      “There.” A plate thumped onto the table. She still used the same dishes he remembered from fifteen years ago, made of unbreakable white glass, with blue flowers around the edges. Two hamburgers anchored the meal, framed by a pile of potato chips and a couple of pickles.

      “Here’s some rolls.” A bowl of hamburger buns plopped onto the table. “I’ve got mustard and mayo. No ketchup.”

      “This is good, Ma. Thanks.” He only hoped he could eat without choking.

      She set a soda can by his plate, and then brought her own dinner plus a cola to the table and joined him. Her eyes closed. “Thank you, Lord, for this day and the blessings it has brought. Amen.”

      Noah barely got his own eyes shut before she finished, and was a little slow in opening them. The first thing he saw was his mother’s fork, carrying a piece of dull gray hamburger, pointing into his face.

      “So why don’t you tell me,” she suggested, “just where you’ve been for the last fifteen years?”

      He took a deep breath.

      “And why the hell,” Marian Blake continued, “you bothered to come home now?”

      CHAPTER TWO

      The Diary of Miss Abigail Ann Brannon

      September 2, 1981

      Dear Diary,

      The first day of fifth grade was just like the last day of fourth grade. We got our books and they all look boring. Why do we have to study North Carolina history? We live here, so what’s to learn? I want to know about England and Africa and Japan. No such luck.

      They mixed up the kids in different classes, like they do every year. Dixon and Rob and Jacquie are with me in Mrs. Davis’s room, but Adam and Pete have Miss Lovett for a teacher. We get to see one another at recess and lunch, though.

      Mrs. Davis made us sit in alphabetical order. How stupid is that? The boy in the desk next to mine is Noah Blake. He’s shorter than me and really skinny. I heard he went to Porter Elementary but got transferred to New Skye Elementary because he caused so much trouble. I didn’t see him do anything wrong today. His T-shirt was too big and his jeans were too short and his arms were covered with purple bruises. He didn’t say anything all day, and sat by himself at lunch and recess. I think he’s scary.

      And I think Dixon has a crush on Kate Bowdrey. I’m glad it’s not me—boys are too much trouble.

      April 1, 1982

      Dear Diary,

      Mrs. Davis assigned partners for our end-of-the-year project today. April Fool’s for me—I have to work with Noah Blake. He hasn’t said a word to me all year long, now we’re supposed to work together on the biggest project all year. We have to pick a historic building, make a model and write about it. A North Carolina building, of course, not something neat like the Taj Mahal or the Eiffel Tower. We got fifteen minutes at the end of the day to talk about what building we want. Noah just shrugged when I asked him what he wanted to do. But when I named some buildings—the state capitol, the courthouse here in New Skye, the lighthouse at Cape Hatteras—he rolled his eyes or sneered. He doesn’t like my ideas, but he doesn’t have any of his own. Stupid boy. I don’t think he has lunch money—I hardly ever see him eat.

      June 4, 1982

      Dear Diary,

      This was the last day of fifth grade and the worst day of my life. I stayed up until almost midnight writing the paper for my history project with Noah. He built the model of Fort Fisher at his house and was bringing it in this morning for our presentation. When I got to school, the model was on my desk—smashed to pieces, like somebody punched their fist into the fort about ten times. Noah didn’t show up for school. I read the paper to the class, and Mrs. Davis said she wouldn’t take marks off on the model—you could tell it had been beautiful, made out of little sticks like the boards at the real fort, with bunkers covered by green felt for grass and a flag and cannons. I don’t know what happened to it. I’m wondering if Noah’s okay.

      August 13, 1982

      Dear Diary,

      I saw Noah at the county fair tonight. I was behind this guy in line, and something about his shoulders, about the way he stood, made me sure it was him. But he was with a girl—she looked like she was about sixteen. I didn’t say anything to make him turn around. I decided I didn’t want a funnel cake after all and went for a pretzel instead.

      He looked really cute.

      September 4, 1982

      Dear Diary,

      The first day of middle school was weird. Changing classes freaks me out—I’m sure I’m going to be late every time. I have at least one class with just about everybody I know, but I only have lunch with Pete and Adam and Rob. Dixon still stares at Kate like he could eat her up, and she doesn’t even realize it.

      Even weirder than the classes was when Noah came up behind me at the water fountain after lunch. I turned around and—boom!—he was there. I had water dripping off my chin, of course. He grew about six inches over the summer, because he’s taller than me now. His jeans weren’t too short. He had a black eye, and his hair was longer.

      He said he was sorry about the history project last June—he’d tripped when he was carrying it in and smashed it all up. I said it was okay, because I got an A on the paper. He said Mrs. Davis made him write a paper on his own and he’d managed to pass. I asked him about the black eye, and he said he got hit by a baseball he meant to catch. Why do I feel like that’s not how it happened?

      I thought about him a lot this summer, and I can’t stop thinking about him now that I’ve seen him again. But we don’t have classes together and Dad wants me to start working afternoons at the diner to give Mom a break, so unless Noah comes over after school, I probably won’t see him at all this year.

      He won’t miss me. And I shouldn’t miss him. But sometimes when Mrs. Davis would say something really silly, I’d see Noah trying not to laugh. I’m going to miss sharing the laughs.

      I’m going to miss Noah, period.

      STOPPED AT THE RED LIGHT two blocks from home, Abby glanced down at the dog on the passenger seat. “What am I going to do with you? You’re too dirty to let into the house, and I’m pretty sure you have fleas, because my arm itches. Where can I get you a bath?” He hunched his skinny shoulders but wagged his tail at the same time. “That’s not an answer.”

      In the end, she left Noah’s dog with Carly Danvers, a friend from high school who’d built a nice little business grooming and boarding dogs. Carly promised to bathe and dip the little guy and then leave him on the porch at the Brannon house when he was dry, with food and water and a soft dog pillow to lie on. All he needed now was a name.

      That would be Noah’s contribution, Abby hoped.

      She returned to the diner well before the dinner rush started, to find her dad stressing out over her absence.

      “You just lock the place up and disappear?” Charlie Brannon stood in the kitchen with his СКАЧАТЬ