Read The Last Days of Summer for Free Online Page B

coffee and bring the cups back up to bed. Both piping hot and black but his had sugar in it. And they would drink those coffees in silence side by side, burning their tongues to get the liquid down faster. And then in silence, as the sun rose, they would make love. In church later on those mornings, so close to her husband in the pew, Lizzie would remember the feel of him inside her, the taste of the coffee still thick in his mouth, and she would forget sometimes to call out, ‘Amen!’ after the reverend had spoken, would rise delayed to sing the hymns, her mind still tangled in bed sheets not yet remade. And then there was that last Sunday, the day he left. Eyes like stone. Coffee placed on the bedside table, not a word between them. He didn’t crawl into bed. She knew from the cold in his eyes he was leaving. Felt the knowledge deep in her gut. He picked up a bag, already packed. No kiss goodbye. That morning she did not at first drink her coffee. Sat and watched it cool till steam stopped circling the cup. When the sun finally rose, her voice found her again. ‘Stay.’ Silence enough of an answer. Bobby was never the same after Jasper went away.
    ‘Mom?’
    She looks up. Streaks of pink across a golden sky. ‘You’re up early, hon.’
    Katie slides into the chair beside her. Yawns. ‘So are you.’
    A sad smile. Tired smile. ‘Can’t you sleep?’
    Loose T-shirt and shorts, tangled hair everywhere, no makeup, but Katie still glows beautiful. Sunshine in the still dark room. She shakes her head. ‘Not really.’
    ‘Coffee?’
    She sets out milk and sugar for her daughter. But at least the brew’s still hot and she doesn’t have to make a fresh pot. ‘Where’s Joanne?’
    ‘Sleeping.’
    Lizzie nods. They drink in silence, letting the room grow light around them.
    At length Katie turns to look at her mother square on. A ray of sunlight has fallen through the kitchen window and across her brow. Same transparent colour as a buttercup held under a chin. ‘She’s been askin’ what he done.’
    Lizzie takes a long, slow sip. Holds the coffee in her mouth and lets it cool there before she swallows. Sets the mug back down. A tiny ring of moisture where the mug rested before. Without thinking, she matches the mug into its former spot. ‘You know?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘You tell her?’
    ‘No.’
    Grosbeaks and orioles call from the shrubs praising the risen sun, jays and flycatchers and wrens soon waking to join their symphony before all is drowned in the harsh cackle of a crow. Lizzie rises from the table and takes their mugs to the sink, rinsing both before setting them upside down on the rack to dry.
    ‘She’ll find out,’ Katie whispers.
    Lizzie grips the edge of the sink with both hands and
lets her head fall down between her shoulders, neck stretched long. Stays unmoving there for a spell. The rim of the sink feels damp and cool beneath her palms.Smooth and foreign even though she must have touched it one thousand times. She imagines crumpling down onto the linoleum. Worn-out body concave. She imagines the linoleum cool against her face, imagines pressing her face down into that cool. She straightens. ‘Not if I can help it.’
    ‘He gives me the creeps.’
    She lets out a deep sigh.
He does me too, hon.
But she can’t say that, can never say that. Aloud. ‘It’s what we don’t know that eats at me,’ Lizzie says at last.
    ‘What’s there not to know, Mom? He’s guilty of what he done.’ Katie looks down at her nails, brow furrowed, fingers fidgeting, entwined. Picks a piece of dirt from under one nail and flicks it to the floor. A strand of blonde hair falls across her face.
    Lizzie watches, saying nothing. The grosbeaks outside have fallen silent but from somewhere a wren still sings.
    At length Katie’s eyes rise to find her mother’s, and as her chin lifts, her hair brushes from her face. A tangled halo in the growing morning light. ‘I saw the photos,’ she says quietly. ‘Of the