The Children by Ann Leary

Author:Ann Leary
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781466844025
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

“She’s not at all like I thought she was going to be,” said Joan the next morning. She and Sally and I were having coffee on the porch. Laurel had gone out sailing with Spin. “I think she’s very sweet.”

“She’s nosy,” said Sally. “She wants to know everything about us, but I ask her one thing about her book, and it’s like it’s classified information. Nobody’s allowed to know. Her life is top secret.”

“I didn’t get that from her,” I said. “It’s boring to describe your writing to others; she just didn’t want to bore us.”

“I hate when people talk about anything they write,” Joan said. “It’s like when people tell others about dreams they’ve had. There’s nothing more boring. I consider it a sign of very good breeding not to talk about yourself all the time.”

Sally and I just stared at each other, grinning.

“You did not just say that, Joan,” I said.

“I wish there was coffee in my mouth so I could spit it out,” Sally cried.

“What?” Joan asked. “I don’t know what you girls find so funny. When I was at Princeton, I took a creative writing class. My professor told me that I had great promise, but I was so bored having to read everybody else’s stuff.… What? What on earth is so funny?”

* * *

Laurel and Spin returned around lunchtime; Laurel stayed at the house, while Spin headed out with Harry Noyes to inspect the lake further. Sally announced during lunch that she was going into the city for the night. Her roommate had found someone to rent her room, so Sally needed to get the stuff she’d left behind or it would go out with the trash. She said that she was glad to go: It would help her to think about her work while she drove. She was planning to return the next day and promised not to come in through the dog door if she arrived during the night.

“Just wear a gas mask if you do,” I said.

“What’re you guys talking about?” Laurel asked.

“Oh, the other night—wait, I forgot, Laurel, you’re part of this story. You’re the one who told us to use hornet spray for protection,” said Joan.

“Laurel told you to do that?” Sally asked, and she got that dark look. Sometimes you can almost see the circuits in her brain get crossed, you can almost hear the chaos of sparks and little pop-rock explosions in her temporal lobes or wherever it is that your moods form. “It was Laurel’s idea to have you almost blind me?”

“Not you, of course, Sally, don’t be absurd,” said Joan.

“We were all worked up about Mr. Clean,” I said. “Listen, Sal, it’s really hot in your room—I was in there earlier looking for a towel. Do you want to move to Perry’s old room for the summer? I think you should.”

This changing of the subject seemed to work. Sally and I went upstairs to sort out her stuff, and by the time she drove off an hour later, her mood had improved.

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