Tumble & Fall Read Online Free

slides into the driver’s seat and fishes for her keys in the cupholder. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
    The car smells of dirt and cilantro, and as Zan pulls out of the driveway she wonders again if anybody is actually eating this stuff. She thinks of the people she sees through windows on her route, the housebound elderly couples anxiously watching the news, the young single moms who seem to be constantly chasing their wired toddlers around the kitchen, or bribing them into the bath. She can’t imagine what these people do with the bags of fresh greens she leaves at their doors. She wouldn’t blame them for tossing it all in the trash.
    Zan starts down the hill at the top of Amity Circle, where the dirt road bends and meanders in both directions, all the way down to the beach. There are seven stops she has to make before turning around at the bottom, where the chalky dirt turns to smooth black pavement, and five more houses to hit on her way back up.
    She has it down to a science: make as little noise as possible pulling in the driveway, leave the car running, knock twice on the door if it’s closed (or not at all if it’s open), and hurry on her way. The only exception is Ramona.
    The house at the bottom of the circle is hidden and set back from the road, though Miranda likes to say it’s not hidden enough. It’s an old, falling-down ranch with missing shingles and a colorful collection of trash cans, usually overturned by greedy raccoons in the night. It’s by far the most ramshackle house on the road, but Zan likes to think that with a fresh coat of paint, a quick clean, and some basic landscaping, it could almost be considered cute.
    Zan turns off the car and grabs the biggest box from the back. The sliding door is open, as usual, and she pulls at the screen with a satisfying swoosh.
    “Ramona?” Zan calls into the quiet of the kitchen. The sink is stacked full of dishes, crusted with bits of pasta sauce and stray noodles, and there’s a forgotten mug of coffee, now cold, on the counter. Zan remembers the nights when she’d come looking for her half sister, Joni, and find her and Ramona in a halo of smoke on the back porch, whispering. The place was never exactly tidy, but it couldn’t have been as bad as this. “Hello?”
    Zan opens the fridge and begins unpacking the lettuces, spinach, and kale, shoving aside six-packs of cheap beer and bottles of empty condiments that leave filmy rings on the shelves. When the bag is empty, she peers around the corner, into the darkened living room. The TV is on, a talk show rerun reflected in flickering blue in the big picture window. Ramona is sprawled out on the couch, her head lolling on a cushion with her mouth puffed open, like a fish. Her knee twitches and she stretches in her sleep, turning her face to the wall.
    Zan stands in the doorway, looking at the pile of Ramona’s wild red curls. Joni used to say that Ramona had to be the world’s most stunningly beautiful alcoholic. Zan is inclined to agree.
    The toilet flushes at the other end of the hall and a door creaks open. Zan takes a step back into the kitchen and holds the bag closer to her chest. Caden doesn’t look up.
    “Sorry, I didn’t realize she was sleeping,” Zan says, gesturing at the couch.
    “She’s not sleeping, she’s passed out,” Caden corrects as he walks into the living room. He kneels on the carpet to tug at the slippery sleeve of a windbreaker, stuck beneath one leg of the couch. “There’s a difference.”
    Zan forces a smile. Caden looks thin, almost unrecognizable as the little boy she used to follow home from the bus stop after school. The only things that haven’t changed are his wavy mop of dark red hair and the tear-shaped birthmark near the top of his left cheek. His green eyes used to catch the light when he was up to something, but lately they’ve looked empty and flat.
    “I left some stuff in the fridge,” Zan says as Caden rifles through Ramona’s