Playing by Heart by Anne Mateer

Author:Anne Mateer [Mateer, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042030, FIC042040, FIC027050, Christian fiction, Love stories
ISBN: 9781441264718
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2014-08-05T16:00:00+00:00

22

CHET

At the front door, Lula’s hand slipped from my arm. I dipped my hat and bid her farewell, wishing I didn’t have to. I jogged down the few steps to the yard. Then I stopped. Turned. She hadn’t yet gone inside. It almost seemed as if she were feeling the same way I was, and it gave me courage.

“Let me take you to Lawton tomorrow,” I called to her. “We’ll talk about basketball. Maybe see a picture show. Eat ice cream.” When had a prospect for a day delighted me more?

She didn’t blink or twitch. She stood there, eyes wide. I moved a step closer. “Please, Lula?”

She rocked forward on her toes, her small tongue darting out and circling her lips. Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and whispered, “I’d love to.”

I didn’t remember returning to my automobile or driving home. But suddenly I was in the house, peeling off my coat, hanging it and my hat on a peg by the kitchen door, dropping my leather case beneath.

“Ma?”

No answer. Was she angry that I was late? The light bulb blared overhead, but I saw no evidence of supper. The range was cold and the house beyond was dark.

“Ma?” I turned on lights, put a record on the gramophone—“All the World Will Be Jealous of Me”—and stretched out on the sofa. Had I really just asked Lula out? And had she said yes?

I sang along to my favorite song. When it ended, Ma still hadn’t turned up, so I put a pot of coffee on to boil. Where could she have gone? Should I be worried? She had a few friends, but she rarely spent time with them outside of Red Cross meetings or church, though she had taken to stopping by God’s house at odd hours.

My stomach rumbled, but even hunger couldn’t dampen my spirits. I’d downed two cups of coffee by the time Ma bustled through the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” she mumbled, immediately gathering eggs and bacon from the ice box and then slicing bread to toast in the oven. As the iron skillet popped and sizzled, I retrieved dishes from the cupboard. She finally filled one plate, then the other. I carried them to our small table.

I placed a napkin in my lap as I inhaled the sharp smell of pepper and meat. My stomach grumbled again, but I folded my hands and bowed my head, saying a blessing over our meal before forking some eggs into my mouth, trying to appear hungry for food instead of for the hours to tick away until I could see Lula again.

Ma watched me, silent. Not a new thing. Our conversations had dwindled when Clay left. Long ago, when my father still lived, I remembered him teasing Ma out of her silent sulks. I hadn’t had much success with the technique. But then I’d had only seven years to watch and learn from him, and most of those years I wasn’t paying much attention.

Clay, on the other hand, could charm Ma into giving him the last morsel of food standing between her and certain death.

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