Body and Bone Read Online Free Page A

about herself. “You’ve been working too hard.”
    â€œOkay,” Isabeau said brightly. “We made some blueberry muffins if you’re hungry. Didn’t we, Daltrey?” She turned the music up and returned to playing first-­chair violin with renewed vigor.
    Attitude of gratitude, Nessa reminded herself, watching this paragon of efficiency, who’d seemingly dropped out of the sky when she needed it most, engage her son. Nessa headed for the door, then turned back.
    â€œIsabeau,” Nessa said. “Could you call the locksmith? I need to change the locks again.”
    She looked up from her computer. “Why?”
    Nessa checked to see that Daltrey wasn’t listening. She lowered her voice.
    â€œJohn broke into the boathouse while we were gone.”
    Isabeau’s eyebrows bounced up. “Well, that explains it,” she said.
    Nessa felt a prickle of apprehension. “Explains what?”
    Isabeau stood and walked toward Nessa. “All the splintered wood. I saw it when I got here this morning. I didn’t want Daltrey to handle it and get splinters, so I was picking it all up when I found this.” She reached into the pocket of her shorts and held out a flat, black triangle.
    Nessa took it. It was a Fender medium guitar pick. What was this doing out here? She turned it over and saw that it had been signed in silver ink: BIG.
    Big and Rich? Big Bad Voodoo Daddy? Was this one of John’s mementos? It must be. Maybe it was one of the things he’d intended to try to sell. What a laugh. She shrugged and put it in her own pocket.
    Back in the kitchen, Nessa washed her hands and topped off her coffee while checking the clock. She had thirty minutes before she needed to get ready for their doctor’s appointment, so she brought her laptop to the kitchen table and logged in to her blog.
    She’d started writing the music blog for fun, as an outlet for her when they’d first moved to Manhattan after Daltrey was born, to a tiny, dark one-­bedroom apartment on Anderson Avenue they’d called the Cave. It had started with tentative little reviews of shows she and John had gone to see, often small regional bands; memories of shows she’d seen as a teenager; and explanations of obscure vinyl records she’d picked up at yard sales, rare 78s of old blues and marches, acetates and wax cylinders from the early twentieth century. But soon after, she’d started to say what she really thought. And with that had come two things—­Internet fame and vitriolic remarks via her comments section. Thank God she’d avoided the whole social networking thing, or there would have been even more of that.
    She usually only answered the positive comments, composing retorts to the trolls in her mind. It had taken her a while to understand that engaging trolls was always a mistake. When she’d started the blog, she’d thought if she explained herself clearly, calmly, and rationally, they’d apologize and everyone could be friends. But that wasn’t how it worked. They were like schoolyard bullies—­probing for weakness, looking to destroy. Lucky for her and unfortunate for them, it would take more than words to destroy her.
    Nessa took a look at the most recent comment posted.
    a professional jeweler resized my cock ring
    and he made it bigger
    Posted by Anonymous | June 1 8:17 AM
    This made her laugh harder than it should have. Sometimes it seemed a twelve-­year-­old boy lived inside her brain and took over from time to time. How many closet comedians were out there, just using the comments section to ply their wares? And how many guys were out there just dying to show the world their junk or at least talk about how big it was?
    The narrow spectrum of comments always amazed her. Interestingly, before she’d gotten her radio show and ­people had discovered she was a woman, she’d never received any personal comments.