She makes her people work on Sundays?" Rachel whispers, pulling some of my grandmother's old food from he fridge and sniffing it.
"Nah-weekends are optional. They only have to work them if they want to keep their jobs.
You know, hon, after Stephie died, we never really talked about her." she says, her hands tight around the cart handle. "There's a lot of pain there. Still. I guess we feel like we failed her. Like maybe if we were home instead of away at college, we could've done something to fix her. Something my patents and the doctors and her boyfriend missed. Sometimes I think I don't have the right to talk about her. Like at the end, I don't know her well enough to say anything. So much of her life became secret. She spent all of her time with her boyfriend, and when she was home, her nose was buried in her diary. I swear that diary was her best friend, even more than Megan."
"Did you ever read it?" I ask.
"No."
"Not even after she died?"
Aunt Rachel shakes her head, removing an eggplant from the middle row and pressing her fingers against its flesh. "To this day, I don't know if I would've, either. We never found it, Delilah. It's like she just…took it with her.
Stephanie was…intense. That's the best word to describe her, Del. The best one.
Sarah OcklerLeft turn in four. Hundred. Feet."
An invisible electronic woman navigates us toward the highway from the distant planet Monotone, where everyone is tranquil and directionally adept,
Sure, Mom." There are worse punishments than tailing Patrick all summer. Don't contractors usually work without shirts?
Sarah OcklerYou know it wouldn't kill you to walk, right, old man?"
"Maybe not. Wouldn't kill you to keep your clothes on, either.
Not everyone who comes to Luna's on gig nights is here to see me. Some people are actually more interested in the coffee. Or the scones. Or in hitting on Emily."
"Oh, I didn't say I wasn’t' here to hit on Em," I say. "Just that hitting on Em and enjoying your music aren't mutually exclusive.
Don't you ever see the bright side of things?" Patrick asks as I mope against the bottom of the ladder.
"Easy to see the bright side when you're getting paid by the hour."
"Delilah, I will gladly give you my fill wage plus a month's supply of your iced choco-nut whatever lattes if you trade places and clothes with my right now."
"You're not wearing a shirt."
"That's the deal, Hannaford," he says.
I’ll never know exactly what I lost, how much it should hurt, how long I should keep thinking about him.
Sarah OcklerNo one knows me here. No one knows that they’re supposed to feel sorry for
me.
« prima precedente
Pagina 9 di 19.
prossimo ultimo »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.