Clay's Quilt Read Online Free Page A

greasy, coconut cakes fit for a baby shower, and pies made from apple preserves usually saved for Christmas. All of those smells had not overtaken that of the casket in Easter’s living room. It had been bought at the funeral home, made from fresh cedar. The smell had settled on people’s clothes and crept into their mouths.
    One woman had said that it was a shame Anneth had died in the winter, instead of summer, when so many good things could have been prepared right out of the garden. One of his mother’s cousins had told how Anneth liked to walk out into the garden and pluck a tomato right from the vine. “She’d eat it while it was still warm from the sun, see,” the woman had said. “She’d let the juice run right down her chin.”
    Clay stood now in Easter’s kitchen and looked into the living room. He could almost see all of the people who had crowded in there that night. They had sat up all night with the body. When it was very late, the women had busied themselves with putting up the food. Outside, the men had stood around a rusted drum barrel—alive with a fire that sent up columns of sparks—and covertly passed around a pint of bourbon.
    He had asked Easter to carry him to the casket so he could kiss his mother before going to bed. When she pulled back the net and bent over the casket, his mother’s face had been shrouded in lavender shadows that made her high cheekbones more prominent, her stillness more noticeable. She had always been in motion, even while she slept. He had looked at her a long time, knowing that she was dead. He had known.
    Easter had leaned over so he might reach her, and Clay kissed his mother on the cheek. Her skin had been so cold, like a piece of stone taken from a cliffside. When he had finally pulled away, he had buried his face in Easter’s neck, sure that his lips were blue.
    â€œLord God,” he said, announcing himself. “You’ve cooked enough for an army.”
    Easter looked over her shoulder and smiled, then lowered the volume on the radio. “It’s bout time you got up here. Only way I can get you up here anymore is to cook you a big supper.” She rinsed the last dish and wiped her hands.
    â€œI been working double shifts and laying round the house. Been too hot to do much.” Clay watched her move around the kitchen as she loaded a plate full of food. The long hair she had worn in a bun during his childhood was gone. Even though she was a Pentecostal, Easter decided long ago that her hair wasn’t going to get her into Heaven, so she went and got a shoulder-length permanent. She was still a pretty woman with big-boned hands and dark eyes. Clay hadn’t seen her in a pair of pants or shorts his whole life.
    â€œCake stayed with me three nights this week,” Clay said. “Can’t do much when he’s up the house. I called you bout ever night, though.”
    Easter laughed. “I know you got your own life. What’s Cake doing staying up your house? Him and Harold into it again?”
    â€œWhy yeah. Them two stay into it.”
    â€œI guess you still laying at that club, too,” she said. “Partying and carrying on.”
    â€œAh, not as much as I used to,” he said, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, fiddling with his change.
    â€œWell, good,” she said. “I hope that’s the truth.”
    Easter ripped off a piece of foil and covered a plate of food, then handed it out to Clay. He knew it was for his uncle.
    â€œHere, take this to Gabe. He’s got a big crew over there gambling, so I know he won’t come eat with us. Tell Dreama to come on before it gets cold.”
    Clay opened the back door to his uncle’s double-wide, and the cold indoor air rushed out. Gabe sat at the table with two men, a bottle of Jim Beam and the deck of cards between them. The air conditioner sat in the dining room window, ruffling the short hair of