John Grisham - 2001 A Painted House by John Grisham

Author:John Grisham [Grisham, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, Fiction
ISBN: 9780307576040
Google: EuauR-w3QVkC
Amazon: B003B02P9U
Barnesnoble: B003B02P9U
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2001-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

It was late in the afternoon before Jimmy Dale made any mention of leaving. We were ready for them to go, and I was particularly worried that they might hang around long enough for supper. I couldn’t imagine sitting around the dinner table trying to eat while Stacy commented on our food and habits. So far she had despised everything else about our lives, why should she relent over supper?

We moved slowly to the Buick, our languid goodbyes taking forever, as usual.

No one was ever in a hurry when it was time to go. The announcement was made that the hour was late, then repeated, and then someone made the first move to the car or truck amid the first wave of farewells. Hands were shaken, hugs given, promises exchanged. Progress was made until the group got to the vehicle, at which time the entire procession came to a halt as someone remembered yet another quick story. More hugs, more promises to come back soon. After considerable effort, the departing ones were safely tucked away inside the vehicle, then those sending them off would stick their heads in for another round of goodbyes. Maybe another quick story. A few protests would finally get the engine started, and the car or truck would slowly back up, everyone still waving.

When the house was out of sight, someone other than the driver would say, “What was the hurry?”

And someone standing in the front yard, still waving, would say, “Wonder why they had to rush off?”

When we made it to the car, Stacy whispered something to Jimmy Dale. He then turned to my mother and said softly, “She needs to go to the bathroom.”

My mother looked worried. We didn’t have bathrooms. You relieved yourself in the outhouse, a small wooden closet sitting on a deep hole, hidden out behind the toolshed, halfway between the back porch and the barn.

“Come with me,” my mother said to her, and they left. Jimmy Dale suddenly remembered another story, one about a local boy who went to Flint and got arrested for public drunkenness outside a bar. I eased away and walked through the house. Then I sneaked off the back porch and ran between two chicken coops to a point where I could see my mother leading Stacy to the outhouse. She stopped and looked at it and seemed very reluctant to enter. But she had no choice.

My mother left her and retreated to the front yard.

I struck quickly. As soon as my mother was out of range, I knocked on the door of the outhouse. I heard a faint shriek, then a desperate, “Who is it?”

“Miss Stacy, it’s me, Luke.”

“I’m in here!” she said, her usually clear words now hurried and muffled in the stifling humidity of the outhouse. It was dark in there, the only light coming from the tiny cracks between the planks.

“Don’t come out right now!” I said with as much panic as I could fake.

“What?”

“There’s a big black snake out here!”

“Oh my God!” she gasped.

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