The Season of Lillian Dawes by Katherine Mosby

Author:Katherine Mosby
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061846922
Publisher: HarperCollins

Little Gloria was wearing a rhinestone tiara and a bright red bathing suit when we found her behind the boathouse. She was eating jujubes, stuffing them by the handful into a mouth ringed with a bright orange stain from an earlier bout with a Popsicle that had dyed her tongue a sunset hue. I know this because the first thing she did upon seeing us approach was to distend her tongue as far as it would go, displaying not only its astonishing length, but the half-masticated rainbow of candies that were cupped in its center. Then chortling to herself, a harsh, gargled sputter that sounded confusingly as if she was choking on a knot of jujubes, she ran off, stomping through the grass, thrashing at flowers with a reed she wielded like a thin whip.

Lillian called to her as Gloria rustled out of sight, dodging behind the thick growth of trees that edged the far rim of the pond. Gloria did not respond, although she did turn once and make an oblique gesture of disrespect in my direction. Lillian sighed and pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear.

“That kid has some major problems,” I opined. Lillian’s eyes were trained on the thicket from which a few birds rose noisily into the air.

“I think she’s up to something, but I’m not sure yet what it is,” Lillian said, her voice revealing an unexpected agitation she would not comment on further.

“Come on,” she urged abruptly, skipping ahead down a steep section of the curved bank from which she could survey the collection of weathered rowboats, slanting up on the bank of the pond like large, dormant animals, wooden alligators sunning their winter-blistered hides. “This one,” she said, stopping at the third boat. I was a little hesitant about embarking; I had had only enough experience rowing to discover my inadequacies at the sport. I remembered having difficulty keeping my strokes even, and found that my upper-body strength was quickly sapped by the effort. I did not have an opportunity, however, to disgrace myself. Lillian stepped lightly into the boat and seated herself on the bench with the oars.

“Push us off,” she commanded, smiling childishly as I gave a shove and set her adrift. I was just barely able to hobble clumsily into the boat at the last moment, before her first stroke pulled the boat out of reach of the shore. Lillian pulled the oars evenly, making them click in their metal stirrups with the rhythmical precision of a metronome while I arranged myself at the back of the boat, enjoying inordinately the reversal of roles. With each stroke of the oars, I could see her breasts rise beneath the fabric of her dress, flexing taut against its fitted bodice.

“You need a sun hat,” Lillian commented. “You’ll burn out here on the water, dear boy, without one.”

The sun was having a salutary effect on my general state, dissolving in its white wake the remnants of my headache and the sour disposition with which I had encountered the day.

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