Waiting for Augusta Read Online Free Page B

and how I wished she’d slammed open the back door and demanded to go with me to Augusta instead of that Noni girl. But May’d never been the demanding type, unless it came to peaches, which she wouldn’t touch unless I peeled all the skin off for her, or the color green, which she always called dibs on when we used my paints together, only letting me use it when she was done. She was always making me run out of green.
    Mama came in full of sighs, putting a hand on my head. “I’m worn out. Think I’ll lie down for a spell, but I may fall asleep for the night. I’ve got those meetings in Bridger tomorrow, and then I have to talk to the bank. I have to leave early, so I won’t wake you. You get yourself some cereal. I won’t be back until around six o’clock, so we’ll be closed. If anyone stops by after school, you can sell them leftovers, but that’s all.”
    â€œMm-hm.” Mama’d set up meetings with a few farmers to see if we couldn’t afford to add chickens to our menu. They were cheaper than pigs and the occasional beefsteaks we bought, and less hassle. If the prices were right and the bank loan was approved, we’d get the café back.
    â€œThat your dinner?”
    I nodded, wiping sauce from my cheeks. “Had broccoli and slaw earlier. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
    She hung up her apron, cracking her neck and moaning while she stretched her back. Then she smiled the best she could and cupped my chin. “Good boy, Bo.”
    Bo . Bo was Bogart and Bogart was Daddy. She’d accidentally called me Daddy’s name even before he died. It was a joke back then and, boy, how we poked fun and laughed. But it wasn’t funny anymore and I wasn’t about to mention the slip.
    â€œMama, what day is it?”
    She glanced at the golf course calendar I’d bought Daddy for Christmas. “Tuesday, April 4th.”
    I cleared my throat. “The Masters starts this week. Remember how Daddy used to say he wanted to end up at Augusta?”
    The tiniest raise of her lips was canceled out by the way her chin was shaking. “Yes, I do.” She poured herself a glass of water.
    â€œYou think we should take him there?”
    She pushed against the counter with both hands, stretching. “Oh, Ben. Even if the truck wasn’t begging for the junkyard and even if I didn’t need to keep up with the business, we don’t have the money to go anywhere right now. Sometimes life doesn’t give you everything you want, but if you’re lucky you have most of what you really need. Your daddy knew that.” She took a sip of water and looked at the wall like maybe it had something to say. Turning her face back to me, she lifted a hand to my cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
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    I went back to the shed and dealt with the hog. It wasn’t a particularly big one, which I was glad to see. Daddy’d taught me careful, telling me to watch when I wasn’t more than five and having me take a knife on my seventh birthday. Not a pretty sight, he’d said, but everything worth having in life starts messy. Like your golf game , he’d joke. Heck, like my golf game.
    Mrs. Grady was just visible over her backyard fence. It was close to eight o’clock, and she was wearing a nightgown and special socks that kept her leg veins held in, holding a rake and hacking away at the Spanish moss hanging from her trees. She hated that stuff. Crazy Grady was somewhere in her eighties and thought her husband was still alive.
    Mama sent me over there once a week or so to bring her a plate of barbecue and visit for a while, which I didn’t mind at all. I usually just sketched or painted while she servedwalnut bars to me and talked about Mr. Grady’s arthritis. I thought about calling a hello to her, but decided the pig needed to be butchered more than Mrs. Grady needed to have another