A Frenzy of Sparks: A Novel by Kristin Fields

Author:Kristin Fields [Fields, Kristin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-02T16:00:00+00:00

On Sunday, the tables and chairs weren’t put out. It was too chilly to leave the front door open, so they turned the porch light on. It was barely visible in the early-afternoon sun, confused whether anyone was really welcome. Agnes pushed the couches back and vacuumed underneath. The kitchen table had been polished with lemon chemicals, stray shoes tucked behind the door, junk mail into a basket. Agnes wrapped prosciutto around sesame breadsticks and put them on a plate with melon slices and provolone cubes because no one knew what else to do on Sunday.

Gia swept the front porch and changed the straw in the rabbit hutch. Buster had already doubled in size, his real fur growing in over the fuzz, hopping around on his sturdier legs with the others. The cold tasted like fall, and it lit her up inside, a fresh start. She picked around the yard for leaves to press between book pages, but she couldn’t think right on the ground. From the garage roof, she could climb the oak tree, see above the whole neighborhood. Maybe that would help her understand how to talk to Lorraine, who was still hiding, or what to do if she saw Tommy or Ray around or where Leo was all the time. Her foot was on the window ledge when the front door opened. Her mother had taken off her apron and checked the street, her watch. It was late. The melon had probably sweat all over the salty prosciutto.

The chipped paint was rough under Gia’s fingertips, probably full of lead. No one’s coming, Mom, she wanted to say. You know this.

But what were they doing? They had come here after church for as long as Gia remembered. She wondered if they were sorry now, licking their wounds and lumping around without her father’s barbecues, if Aunt Ida was sorry she’d missed a week with her sister.

Grass crunched under her feet, dry from the sudden chill. The block smelled like meatballs and gravy. Yeast. It carried on the cold. Aunt Ida’s walkway was newly lined with flaming mums, a cornucopia of dried flowers on the door. The windows were closed, but the house had a warmth to it, a full feeling. The radio was on. Shadows moved across the streakless, perfect windows.

She crept closer. Two tall candles burned on the dining room table, which was piled with linguini and clam sauce, sliced semolina bread, lemon wedges so vivid they made Gia’s mouth pucker. A bakery cake was on the sideboard, a sparkly cake knife at the ready. Gia wondered if she’d had the nerve to buy that from her bakery, from Lorraine’s. Aunt Ida shuffled about the kitchen, a flash of apron, an open oven. Gia felt slapped. The house hummed with music; Uncle Frank laughed as Aunt Ida called everyone to the table. Why had they never been invited to something so nice?

The back door opened, and Tommy dumped bottles into the trash. She stood in full view, a cat cornering a mouse.

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