The Best Kind of People Read Online Free Page B

and drive in the middle of the night surprised Joan, though she felt relief that she’d soon be joined by other adults. She could not fall apart with only Jimmy and Sadie around to watch. Not that falling apart was really in her character. But she knew that the dissociative state she was currently functioning in had a time limit.
    Joan stood at the window waiting for Clara’s headlights, while Jimmy and Sadie slept curled up on the couch. She watched as Clara clicked the gate open with the extra remote she had clipped to the rear-view mirror of her mini Smart car and pulled up beside Joan’s Volvo. She got out of the car and ran up the stone steps. Andrew got out more slowly, stretching his long legs and cracking his neck in the moonlight.
    Clara, her angular face smudged with raccooned eyeliner, her salt-and-pepper bob slightly askew, pulled her older sister into a hug. An editor at a beauty and lifestyle magazine in the city, Clara described herself as “lucky to be a satisfied spinster” and liked to use the house as a refuge. She had her own suite on the second floor that served as a vacation property of sorts, with its own small kitchen and bathroom. Clara’s perfume filled the room before she did, a spicy floral scent hovering. She draped a long black coat over the living room couch and it slid to the floor like liquid.
    Clara pulled away from Joan’s embrace, both women’s faces streaked with tears. Sadie, woken by the commotion, picked up the coat and hung it on the wooden rack by the entrance. Clara spoke dramatically, as though addressing a crowd. “I’ve taken a week’s leave from work, and I can take care of things while we figure this out,” she said, turning to Sadie and embracing her again. Andrew took his mom in his arms and hugged her.
    “How was the drive?” she asked, as though it were any other visit. She didn’t know what else to say, how else to speak.
    “My knees touch my chin in that car, and we drove like someone was chasing us with guns, but we’re here,” he said, pulling away from her embrace. “This will be over before it begins. They can’t have enough to hold him, and there has obviously been a mistake. Let’s just stay as calm as possible, okay?”
    Clara nodded, sat in the reading chair — George’s ancient recliner he insisted on reupholstering in lieu of throwing out — and went to work unlacing her tall leather boots. Andrew was gaping at the curving wall by the front staircase — and that’s when Joan first noticed it too. The family photographs had all been taken, leaving light white squares of lack against the ivory walls that had darkened with age. He walked up three wooden steps on the carpeted liner and pressed his palm inside a square of white. “They’re fucking overreacting, aren’t they? What could they need with my graduation photo? Do they think it’s lined with heroin?”
    He turned to survey the room. Sadie and Jimmy on the lounger and ottoman, eyes open again, like drowsy, cornered rabbits. Despite Joan’s best efforts, the mess was still everywhere.
    “They do this to destabilize the family, to show they’re serious. It’s not as though they think they’ll find anything in our Kodak moments,” he said, returning to the living room, sitting cross-legged in front of the long antique coffee table. He pulled a laptop from his shoulder bag. “I’ve done some research on his charges. Is his lawyer still available by phone? We should talk to him right away.”
    “He just left. Here’s his card. He’ll be back tomorrow morning,” said Sadie.
    “Sadie, I think you should go to bed,” Andrew said. Joan nodded, grateful someone else could take charge in that moment.
    “I’m not twelve anymore. I want to know what’s happening.”
    “I just think it’s best. You need to sleep,” Andrew said, more softly.
    Sadie scoffed. “Mom, my room has been torn apart. I think it makes more sense if I just go crash at Jimmy’s house