Girl Runner Read Online Free Page B

laughing, and neither am I when we see where Mother’s bottle has landed. It’s struck a stone, and broken. We stare at the dark liquid leaking into the dusty roadway. We are each weighing our blame. Cora can say it’s all my fault for frightening her, but she was the one holding the tincture, and we both know our mother assigns consequences evenly. If our mother is anything, it’s fair.
    Cora’s eyes meet mine. We arrive at the same conclusion, at the same moment: we won’t tell. No one will ever know. Together, we kick the glass into the ditch with our tough-soled feet, and sprinkle dirt over the damp spot in the road, as if we expect someone to come looking for evidence.
    In silence, we continue to Edith’s. This time, I don’t run ahead.
    As we’re walking up the lane, Cora says, “You play with Little Robbie and I’ll do the washing up.”
    I say, “Little Robbie can help sweep. He’s handy with the dustpan.”
    It is rare for us to agree. I’m not certain I like it. I feel uneasy.
    Edith and Carson’s lane is bare, no trees, and there are no trees planted in the yard around the house either, not even young saplings. The grass is burnt away by the sun. I shoot a quick scanning glance, but I don’t spy Carson anywhere, and I hope I won’t; then I think, with horror, what about Fannie? I’m terrified of seeing them here, together, their presence like a haunting, like their languid selves might part the corn and float toward us, hand in hand. I’m shaky, almost glad for Cora’s presence. Everywhere I look, I see what’s been hidden, and there is doubleness layered behind what is, making a blur of the outlines, sickening me.
    Little Robbie is playing by himself in the shade on the porch. He runs across the hard dirt when he sees us, straight into my arms, and he steadies me like the kitten did.
    “Fetch your dustpan,” I boss him. “We’ve come to play house. You can be the big brother and I’m the mum!”
    He wriggles down, looks at Cora and tries to say something. He’s only got a few words, and he sucks his thumb every waking minute. But I understand what he’s asking even if Cora can’t.
    “Cora will be the wee granny,” I say, answering his question.
    Cora doesn’t like that one bit, and I’m relieved, like I’ve put something back where it belongs.
    “Hello Edith!” Cora calls brightly, going into the house ahead of us. “Me and Aggie have come to visit!”
    Edith says hello, but she doesn’t get up to greet us. The kitchen door smacks shut behind us. There is no screen in it, and the house is stifling, the counter swarming with flies and no wonder: it’s a jumble of dirty dishes and pots.
    Cora and I work together to set things straight. Edith rocks in a chair in the corner, in her lap a little handiwork. She shows it to us: she is embroidering tiny flowers and vines around the hem of a white nightgown such as a newborn baby might wear. She looks the same as always, tall like Fannie, who is her full sister, but gaunt at the extremities, thick in the middle. She and Fannie don’t look much like sisters, aside from their height, although both are very pretty, much prettier than Olive or Cora or I will ever be. Their mother must have been prettier than ours, that’s the plain truth of it. But Edith’s prettiness is faded, like it’s been left outside to curl and shrivel in the sun. She is younger than Fannie, but you’d never guess it.
    Cora and I stay as long as we can stand it.
    Little Robbie doesn’t want to let go of my hand. He follows me into the lane and I turn and walk him back to the porch again, and then again, and then I’m grown tired of it, and I speak sternly: “Little Robbie, I’m going on now! You can’t come!” I have to leave him crying and kicking his heels on the porch. I want to run to get away, but I’m suddenly weary. I keep checking over my shoulder to see whether Little Robbie is going to follow me again. When he doesn’t, I feel next thing to