The Dying Ground by Nichelle D. Tramble

Author:Nichelle D. Tramble [Tramble, Nichelle D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-375-50653-6
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2001-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

Iwoke up to the bright, glaring sunlight and the stifling heat of the Cougar. I was slumped like a drunk over the steering wheel, the windows sealed tight as a drum with the car oddly angled under a sliver of shade in the parking lot of the Nickel and Dime. Against the protests of my grandparents I’d left them at the Dover Street house and driven my car to the bar. What started as a quick rest before entering the bar had turned into another haunting visit from Billy.

I wiped sweat from my forehead and noticed a shadow at the passenger door. Alixe stood there, bewildered, tapping lightly on the glass. She motioned for me to roll down the window, but I opened the door instead. She slid into the passenger seat and reached across me to roll down my window.

“It’s a hundred degrees in here, Maceo! You’ll pass out.”

“I’m alright.” My tongue felt thick and mossy in my mouth.

“No, you’re not.” She loosened my tie and unbuttoned the rigid collar of my dress shirt.

“I’ll live.”

She put a hand to my forehead. “And you’re hot. You want to get out and take a walk?”

I shrugged her hand away. “I’m cool. Don’t worry about it.” I straightened up and popped the ignition. “I need to get out of these clothes, though, if you want to ride to the house.”

“Sure.”

We pulled out of the lot as a caravan of cars arrived from the funeral. I knew the bar would become the designated gathering place, but I wasn’t in the mood for a crowd. As I hit the corner and headed toward the house I saw Holly stare after my car with a look of displeasure. I ignored it.

Clio was curled into a corner of the porch when I arrived. She jumped up eagerly when she saw I had company and followed us inside. I pointed Alixe toward the living room while I walked upstairs to change. She followed me instead. The heat had succeeded in wearing me down. My mouth was filled top to bottom with acidic cotton balls and my limbs felt heavy, like bricks.

My bedroom, little more than a closet with room for a bed and dresser, faced my grandmother’s vegetable garden. Alixe took the director’s chair beneath the window and looked down at the rows of plants. “What a pretty garden.”

I didn’t answer. Instead I dropped onto the bed and stared across the room at my St. Mary’s championship jersey. It was stored in a glass case alongside the winning cleats and my mitt. Both items were still caked with the mud of a long-ago game. I focused on the cleats and used the memory of a simpler time to pull me back from the edge.

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