The False Friend Read Online Free

Noreen’s head like a clever hat. In each other’s presence, Celia’s parents became a single organism, a consolidation that had occurred too long ago for Celia to ever undo. From across the table, Celia saw two versions of the same smile.
    “We’re awfully glad you’ve come, Cee Cee,” Warren said. “When you start getting older, you begin to appreciate what’s truly important, and you visiting like this … well, it means a lot to us.”
    Celia was briefly tempted to confirm her visit as a gift they could congratulate themselves for being given. Instead, she turned toward the window. In winter, the scenery was beautiful in a stark way, the bare skeletons of trees black against the frozen hills. Now it was all green.
    “Is there anything special you’d like to do while you’re here?” Noreen coaxed, as if trying to persuade Celia to eat her green beans. “There’s a new restaurant in Oswego we could try, and if the weather’s good I was thinking it might be fun to hike around the lake.”
    “Sure, Mom.” Celia tried to keep her voice even. “Look, I’m sorry I was so abrupt on the phone yesterday, but now that I’m here—”
    “Oh no, dear,” Noreen interrupted. “We understand perfectly. Phones are terrible for personal conversations. Phones …” She gestured at the tables around them. “…  restaurants. Somethings are much better left to discuss in person, and in private. It’s so important to be comfortable.”
    Celia’s parents nodded in spontaneous unison, a pair of bobblehead dolls. Celia’s mouth opened and shut. She had spent the plane ride preparing for this moment. Forcing the words back down felt like dry-swallowing pills. “But you asked what I’d like to do,” she stammered, “and, well, I’m hoping to track down Leanne, Becky, and Josie. Not to mention Mrs. Pearson.” She put her hands in her lap when she realized they were shaking.
    Celia’s mother blinked. “You mean Grace Pearson?”
    “Who’s Grace Pearson?” Warren asked.
    “Grace Pearson is Grace Pearson,” Noreen answered. “Dennis’s wife.”
    “You mean the mother of Cee Cee’s little friend—”
    “Djuna,” Celia said.
    They all looked out the window at once. Spring foliage hedged the parking lot, obscuring the view. There was probably a store or a fenced-in yard just a few feet away, but from the diner it looked like the trees went on forever.
    “Why do you want to see Grace Pearson?” Noreen asked in her guidance counselor voice, as if Grace Pearson were a college Celia shouldn’t pin her hopes on.
    “To talk to her,” Celia said. “Her, and everyone else who was part of what happened back then.”
    Noreen dabbed at an imaginary spot on the table.
    “Your mother’s right,” Warren said. “We’ll get back home, you’ll get a little rest, and then when you feel good and ready—”
    “But do you know if she even still lives around here?” Celia asked.
    Celia’s father scrutinized his plate.
    “Dennis left,” Noreen said quietly, “but Grace stayed. I don’t think she wanted … She didn’t like the idea of going too far.”
    Eventually, the three of them returned to the car. For the rest of the trip, Noreen remained intent on the passing scenery, her elbow propped on her armrest, her chin cupped in her hands. Celia’s identical pose in the front seat betrayed her as Noreen’s daughter. Had she not so resembled her father, the driver whose jittery fingers picked at the custom-wrapped steering wheel might have been taken for someone hired to ferry his passengers to a place neither wanted to go.

CHAPTER
3
    W hen Jensens were still made in Jensenville and America’s rubber boot capital seemed as firmly rooted as a sycamore, the town built a stone arch carved on both sides with the words LET IT RAIN . After the factories had moved south and trains started skipping the local station, the arch remained, spanning the road like a tombstone. Depending on the direction being