Road Ends Read Online Free Page A

spoon.
    “Ow!” Peter said, outraged, rubbing his head. “Megan! That really
hurt
!”
    “Pay attention!”
    Donald put his hand up.
    “What?” Megan snapped.
    “I’m really, really sorry to interrupt,” Donald said languidly, “but I thought you’d like to know the baby is strangling.”
    “No, he’s not,” Gary said. “He’s just having a crap.”
    “He doesn’t go blue when he’s having a crap, he goes red.”
    “Would you
please
not use words like that at the table,” Megan said automatically. She glanced at Adam. He was making gasping noises and pulling at his bib and was indeed a little blue. She undid the strings of the bib, did them up again more loosely and pattedhim on the back. He took several deep breaths, yelled briefly and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Megan patted him again in approval; he was a stoical little soul. He was the only one of them she was going to miss.
    “Now all of you, listen,” she continued. “In two weeks’ time I’m leaving home.”
    “Good!” Peter said.
    “This is great, great news!” Gary said.
    “Really?” Donald said. “You mean, for good?”
    “Yes,” Megan said. “For good. And it’s going to affect all of you. You’re going to have to do more to help around the house.”
    Corey said, “Can we eat now?”
    “Did you hear what I said?” Megan demanded. “You’re going to have to help Mum. She won’t be able to manage without help. Did you all hear that?”
    “Yes,” Donald said. “Not being stone deaf, we all heard that.”
    “Good. I’ve made out a list of chores for each of you and I’m going to pin them to the wall next to the fridge. I’ll go through them with you, individually, before I leave. You are to do them
without being asked
. Do you understand?
Without being asked
! I will be checking,
regularly
, with Mum.” How she was going to do that from England she had no idea, but in any case she held out no hope that it would work. It just had to be said.
    “Okay,” Gary said. “Fine. Can we get on with supper? I’ve got homework.”
    “Corey?” Megan said. “Peter?”
    “Okay! Okay! Okay! Can. We. Eat. Now?”
    None of them had asked where she was going. I’m sick to death of the lot of you, she thought. I really am.
    She told Patrick on Saturday night over coffee at Harper’s. They always went to Harper’s on Saturday night, along with everyoneelse in town under the age of thirty. The only other place to go was Ben’s Bar, which on Saturdays was jammed with drunken loggers. In the summer there was the beach, but now it was February and minus twenty-six degrees outside and it hurt to draw a breath. In Harper’s it was so hot everyone was stripped down to their shirt sleeves, but the snow tracked in on people’s boots refused to melt. Mounds of parkas and hats and gloves were heaped onto hooks and stuffed into the corners of benches.
    Patrick didn’t say anything for a minute or two after Megan made her announcement. He studied the menu printed on the paper table mat in front of him as if he ever had anything but a cheeseburger and fries.
    Finally he looked up and said, “Megan, will you marry me?”
    Megan said, “Patrick, please.”
    He picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee. His head was tilted to one side, the way it always was when he was out of sorts. Not that he was often out of sorts, Megan conceded. He was a very even-tempered man.
    “I’ve always said I was going to go,” she said. She felt even worse than she’d thought she would. “Always.”
    “Not to England. Why England, for God’s sake?”
    “I’ve always wanted to see it,” she said, which wasn’t true, but going all that way just because her father would pay for the ticket and a friend was there didn’t seem good enough reasons even to her.
    Patrick went on stirring his coffee. “How long will you stay?”
    “I don’t know. A while, I think. I have an open ticket.”
    “How long is a while? Are we talking weeks? Months?