The Truth About Fragile Things by Regina Sirois

Author:Regina Sirois [Sirois, Regina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01G3ZP05A
Published: 2016-06-06T23:00:00+00:00

Phillip found a diner where we could stop for dinner, a dimly lit place, crowded with burgundy vinyl booths and cluttered with dusty artifacts from farms. I tore into my fried chicken, letting Phillip take over the conversation since Charlotte had barely spoken since we’d found her.

“It’s six thirty. It will be dark before we get back to our camp. That’s why I bought that bundle of wood at the gas station.”

“Your car smells weird,” Charlotte finally contributed as she flattened her mashed potatoes with her fork.

“It’s from all the dead bodies,” Phillip quipped back. “I’ll get the fire started, we can roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories. That’s what girls do, right? Or should we braid our hair some more?”

I glared. “I will happily cut your hair. Are you trying to go European or something? You’ll look like a girl in two more inches.” I fingered one of his dark curls that was growing brassy at the ends where it had been left in the sun all summer. “And I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“I do,” Charlotte said. “Once there was a dead guy who left a list and his daughter jumped into a river naked and it still didn’t fix anything. So ghosts suck.” Charlotte met our eyes, a steel challenge flexing in her irises like a bridge before collapse.

My chicken felt too heavy in my stomach. I stopped chewing.

“What did you expect to happen?” Phillip asked, still tugging on his hair to judge how long it really was. When he pulled it tight he could stretch it down to his nose. “Did you think there would be some grand moment? Choirs would sing over your bare behind?” His cheek lifted impishly.

“What?” she asked, catching his expression.

“I’ll sing about your behind if it’d make you feel better.”

“You’d have to imagine it because you didn’t see it.”

“Done.” He shoveled a spoonful of baked beans into his mouth and grinned up at the filthy ceiling fan.

“Stop imagining my butt,” Charlotte demanded and hit him squarely in the forehead with one of my French fries. “And Megan’s right. Cut your hair.”

“I told you you’d regret it,” I reminded her.

“Okay, I’m done,” Phillip said, his face almost completely serious. “Let’s order our dessert to go so we have something to eat at camp.” We got a Styrofoam container filled with slices of cake and pie and Phillip laid some cash in the middle of the table. “And despite your shocking rudeness, this one is on me, ladies,” he announced.

“That’s okay, my dad will pay for it,” I said, reaching for my credit card.

“No. This is a special occasion. I want to celebrate both of you.” He tipped his head so properly, I could almost see the top hat and ascot.

“What are you celebrating?” Charlotte asked.

“The uncomfortable,” Phillip announced. “Charlotte wore her birthday suit for some catfish and Megan…” He paused to let me see the amusement in his eyes. “Megan didn’t take a shower today and her legs are all hairy. I’m so proud of both of you.

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