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Show Motherlunge a novel 36 Jack stared back at her. He pressed his lips together, took a deep breath; the trout on his shirt magnified momentarily, like something lifted from the water and then put back. From my vantage point on the couch, I felt a wave of new nausea. I buried my head in the cushion and breathed through my mouth. "Mine?" I heard Jack say. Hee-ahh! screamed the Power Rangers from inside their shining helmets. Pavia said something. "Later," she said more loudly after a moment, and I heard the front door shut, heard her stomp past me down the hall toward the kitchen. Carefully, I raised my head then and got to my feet. I followed my sister into the kitchen. "Hey," I said, and waited. Pavia ignored me and began to put away the groceries. "Do you remember what Mom always told us about your baptism?" "Yeah." Reaching to put soup into the cupboard, Pavia's coat swept open. Her stomach was round under her sweater; why hadn't I noticed this before? "She wanted to read Kahlil Gibran but the minister said no because Gibran wasn't a Christian. That made her so mad she never went to church again. I wasn't even baptized." "A vampire could get you," Pavia said distractedly as she wadded up a plastic bag and threw it toward the trashcan, missed. "The quote was, 'Your children are not yours, they are like arrows, you are just the bow. Let them fly freely.'" "She had that one taped to the fridge, too." Pavia grunted as she reached to push the milk back on the refrigerator shelf. |
