Dark Song by Gail Giles

Author:Gail Giles
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: JUV039050, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780316121842
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2010-09-06T14:00:00+00:00

Part 2

THE GENE POOL IS POISON

My grandparents’ house was in a neighborhood of geezers. Their houses were geezered, too. Painted mailboxes with ducks or flowers on it, concrete statuary in the yards with cheap flowers around the bases. Cherubs, angels, saints, or worse, gnomes. The place was an ode to bad taste.

Dad’s geezers acted like the British army had arrived to bivouac in their house when we arrived. No smiles, no welcoming hugs. They stared at us like the strangers we were and at Dad like… well, like they didn’t trust him. They ushered us in with worried looks. Had we already caught leprosy from that house?

Chrissy stepped up. “Do I call you Grandmom like our grandmom Robin or what?”

The old woman stepped back, glaring at Dad. “Well, since I’ve never set eyes on you ’til this minute, I think Mrs. Ford will do right fine, little miss.” I ground my teeth.

So, we couldn’t look forward to a love fest here. I couldn’t blame them. How cold could Mom and Dad be? To not even tell these people that they had grandchildren? But when Dad hit bottom he called for a handout. Couldn’t we have gone on welfare or something in Colorado?

“Ma,” Dad said, “we drove straight through. You have to know what that house looks like. We just need to sleep a few hours before we can get to work. We’re not here to steal your paintings.”

Dad shrugged toward a wall. Hanging there in a dime store frame was a magazine picture of JFK. Seriously.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you stole from us,” Dad’s mother said. “I’ll get you something to drink. You looked parched.”

Mom’s head snapped around to Dad in surprise. I could see in her expression that those words were clattering around in her head like they were in mine.

Wouldn’t be the first time you stole from us.

Dad’s mother brought us warm tap water to drink from plastic cups. The floors in the house were vomit green linoleum, the furniture was Goodwill rejects, and their clothes were Kmart Blue Light Specials. Fine, I’m a snob. I was tired, sweaty, road-gritty, and all I wanted to do was bawl my head off, but I wouldn’t give my parents the satisfaction of seeing me break.

“Where’s my bedroom?” I asked.

“Well, now, she’s something,” Mrs. Ford said. “There’s no ‘your’ bedroom. Why would there be one when I haven’t even heard a howdy from you ever?”

I didn’t know how to politely explain to someone that they were supposed to be worm food.

“There’s a single bed in the room Doreen uses for sewing. Y’all can fight for that and the others can bed down on the floor.” This from Mr. Ford. “Hope you got your own pillows and quilts for the floor.” He hitched his sagging trousers and shuffled out of the room.

Mom and Chrissy doubled up on the twin bed. Dad tossed his pillow on the bare linoleum and lay down. He didn’t even take off his shoes. I stretched out on a braided rug that smelled slightly of dog.

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