The Cresswell Plot by Eliza Wass

Author:Eliza Wass
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Disney Book Group
Published: 2016-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

I meant what I said to George about family, but right then my family didn’t feel like the safest place. All of us children were in the yard that afternoon trying to organize pieces to take to the market that Saturday. But instead of working together, we were falling apart.

Delvive had been trying to spruce up a dresser for over an hour, but she kept falling into spaced-out reveries. Hannan was spending more time scowling and grunting at her than doing any actual work.

He snorted in disgust. “Del. No one is going to buy that thing. It’s moldy. Once you get mold, it never goes away. It’s just going to eat the whole thing up.”

“You should know, Mr. Athlete’s Foot,” she spat back.

Hannan mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “I can’t help it if I live in a shithole.”

“Besides, I’m getting rid of the mold.” Del lifted a spatula over her head. “Once you get rid of the mold, you don’t have mold anymore.”

Hannan put down the tin kettle he was supposed to be repairing. “You shouldn’t be focusing on big furniture, either. It takes up too much space in the truck, and people don’t buy it. You should be trying to find small things. Small things that people can afford.”

“There aren’t any small things.” Del motioned across the expanse of busted furniture, broken tents, and moth-eaten office chairs.

“What about your record player?” Hannan said. Delvive had a record player upstairs. She only had two records—Brahms and medieval lute—but she worshiped it like it was God.

“It’s my record player.”

“You should sell that.”

Delvive staggered to her feet. “Seriously? Seriously? You think there’s, like, some huge market for record players? You really think my getting rid of it would be worth the two bucks someone would pay for it?” She was close to tears. She gaped around, looking for help. Caspar was far out in the yard, working with a deranged intensity. Mortimer was helping Jerusalem bang a metal tub back into place.

“She’s right, Hannan,” I volunteered. “I doubt anyone would want it, anyway. It’s lopsided. Plus normal people have iPhones.”

Hannan met my eyes and then tossed the kettle across the yard. It landed in a plastic kiddie pool filled with mold. The others looked up. “This is all a joke! This is all a waste of time!”

“Just take a break, Hannan,” Caspar called out with his stupid over-cheeriness.

Hannan batted his hand through the air as though he were pushing us all away. “Father should make it so you get to keep whatever money you make. Then people might actually do the work.” And with that he strolled back into the house.

I continued working. I was painting a chair “distressed” green in the hopes that no one would notice the wood was starting to splinter.

Delvive sniveled. “Do you really think I should sell my record player? Father never lets me keep good records, anyway. If it would help, I…” She sat down on the ground and cried.

I watched the paint dry on the end of my brush, then dropped it in the water I’d taken from the pool.

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