Read Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea for Free Online Page B

White,” he said again, “is a snob who thinks she’s better than the rest of the town, like all the Whites before her, and the Glenships too, until we drove them out of Echo. Snobs. Always was and always will be, living in that big mansion on the sea, knowing nothing, acting like they know everything, but I could tell them a thing or two . . .” 
    Daniel Leap had done this for years, every time he saw me, or my brother, or our parents, and I was used to it. His monologue always touched on the same themes: us being snobs, and him being able to tell us a thing or two. I asked my dad about him once, wondering if there was some bad blood between him and my family. But my father had just picked up his paintbrush,shrugged,and said,“Violet,who knows what motivates the lesser people,” before going back to his painting. 
    So the snob description wasn’t completely off. 
    I turned away from Daniel Leap, deciding I would just move along to the Dandelion Co-op at the end of the block. But someone grabbed my arm, and I stopped. River. I looked at him, but he was looking at Daniel Leap. 
    River was furious. His eyes were slits and his cheeks were red and his body was still. His grip tightened on my arm. 
    “It’s all right,” I said. I waved my free hand like I was shooing away a fly.“He always talks like this when he sees one of us. I’m used to it.” 
    River shook his head once, fast. “You should never let yourself get used to someone talking about you like that.” 
    Daniel Leap stopped pointing at me. He swayed and swayed, and then toppled over onto the ground. 
    “Look,”I said to River.“He’s passed out now.Let’s just go to the grocery store.” 
    River finally turned away from the drunk and looked at me. He smiled, and he seemed relaxed again, snap, just like that, all anger gone. “All right. Lead the way.” 
    The Dandelion Co-op carried locally grown vegetables, and almond milk, and nuts and spices in bulk. Sunshine’s parents had hooked me on natural food. Cassie and Sam had a plump little garden back behind the cabin, in the only spot that got much sun. They made coconut milk ice cream, and cauliflower fried in olive oil, and pesto pizzas, and on and on. They invited Luke and me over for holidays, since my parents had left. They even gave us presents last Christmas. I got a long, striped hand-knitted scarf that I wore all winter, and Luke got a book on artists of the Italian Renaissance, which he’d actually read. And it had been fun, cramped into their tiny living room, playing board games until midnight, pine needles from the too-big Christmas tree poking at everyone. Luke and Sunshine even forgot to flirt with each other, for a while. 
    My own parents rarely cooked. Or gave presents. I guess they wanted to spend their money and their creative urges on their art, not waste it buying gifts, or cooking a meal that would be eaten in twenty minutes by two semioblivious brats. 
    Shopping at the Dandelion Co-op made me feel European. Very Audrey Hepburn as Sabrina in Paris (that movie played a few weeks ago in the park). River picked out goat cheese to spread on crispy-crusted French bread for the picnic, and olives, and a jar of roasted red peppers, and a bar of seventy percent dark chocolate, and a bottle of sparkling water. He bought some things for himself too: organic whole-fat milk, another crunchy baguette, glossy espresso beans (which were roasted by Gianni’s family and sold all over town), bananas, ParmigianoReggiano, fat brown eggs, extra-virgin olive oil, and some bulk spices. 
    I watched River as he shopped. Closely. I watched him breathe in deep the gorgeous roasted smell of the espresso beans before he ground them. I watched him open the egg carton and stroke the brown shells before closing it again.I watched him slip his slim fingers into the barrel of bright purple-and-white cranberry beans, unable to resist the urge, just like me. I always had to put my hands in the