Nissa's Place by A. LaFaye

Author:A. LaFaye
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Milkweed Editions
Published: 2010-05-28T00:00:00+00:00

The New Mama

Sleeping proved to be quite a challenge in my room-sized home away from home. The sounds drifting in through the windows would’ve pulled a hibernating bear out of its slumber—people motoring along in their cars, honking horns, slamming doors, shouting at each other. And this god-awful sound that made me think someone was trying to strangle a goose the size of a house over and over again pulled me right out of bed. At the window, I found out that’s what a siren sounds like in the middle of the night when I saw a police car zoom down the street below.

Back in Harper, the only siren we’ve got is Chessie Roubidoux running into the streets shouting, “There’s a fire down at the old Miller place! There’s a fire!”

I would’ve paid part of my big toe for the quiet of Harper where the loudest noise you hear are the cicadas electrocuting the night. Of course, some nights, if I listened real close, I could hear the music from the Crocked Gator drifting in from a distance far enough away to pull the sass down to a minimum and leave the notes lazy and soothing. If only I could convince my brain all that city racket carried a tune.

I had no such luck. Instead, I twisted and turned my way through the night, until Mama came bounding into the room. I wanted to throw rocks at her, but she jumped on my bed, and started kissing me all over and tickling me, saying, “Morning, morning, morning” like some crazed bird.

In spite of my sour mood, I started laughing.

“I won’t even ask how you slept,” Mama said, giving me one final kiss on the forehead before she stood up. “I’ll just treat you to breakfast with my apologies.”

“Treat me?” I hadn’t heard that phrase before.

“That means I’ll buy you breakfast at The Silver Spoon.”

“What’s that?” I asked, suspecting Mama had named her own closet of a kitchen.

“The coffee shop on the first floor.”

“We’re going to have breakfast in a restaurant?” I hopped out of bed like I was still eight, the age I’d been when Papa’d suggested the same idea while we were in Buffalo.

“I’m afraid that’s the only way you’ll get breakfast around here.” Mama walked out the door. “I don’t cook before noon.”

Wriggling into my clothes, I came out into the prop room. I could see from the shine in the paint on the canvas in the middle of the room that Mama had already been working. Checking the clock in the kitchen, I saw that it was only 8:30 in the morning.

“You may not cook before noon, but you sure do get up early.”

“It’s quiet.” I stared at Mama, thinking the city never shut up as far as I could tell. She laughed, saying, “Well, there’s only a dull roar after dawn.”

“Dawn?”

“Nothing like a sunrise to get your fingers itching to paint.” Mama scrunched up her fingers like claws.

From the looks of the canvas, she scratched that itch pretty good.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.