Jericho
Page 61
“How about that promo copy we got of Bob Dylan’s Christmas CD?”
Syd looked at her like she had suddenly sprouted horns.
“Right. I didn’t think so.” She sighed. “What do you think he wants?”
“I’ve only heard him mention two things.” She paused. “Well, three things. But I hardly think we should take the idea of getting him his own airplane seriously.”
Maddie laughed. “What were the other two items?”
“A puppy.”
Maddie groaned.
“He’s persuaded that Pete is lonely.”
“Oh, lord. What’s the other thing?” she asked, hopefully.
Syd smiled at her. “A doctor’s bag.”
Maddie was speechless. She looked away, trying to hide her emotion.
Syd used her free hand to force her face back around. “I ought to be jealous, you know.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t see him asking for a violin, or a library card.”
“He already has a library card.”
“True.”
“And except for Midori, what five-year-old would voluntarily ask for a violin?”
“Good point.”
“He loves you.”
Syd smiled. “I know. He loves us both.”
“I wish we could give him the one thing he’d like the most.”
“Seeing his dad?”
“Yeah.”
Syd sighed and snuggled closer. “Me, too.”
They stood in silence for a few minutes. The wind started picking up—not a good omen for keeping the power on.
Inside, Henry’s lesson continued. Maddie could hear the low timbre of Celine’s voice, then the sound of the first few measures of the DvoYák being played again. She assumed her mother had unearthed that old copy of Alfred’s Introduction to Piano workbook she had groaned her way through so many years ago. It was incredible. Again and again, against all their best efforts to muck things up, the universe found ways to make things right. Heal wounds. Replace darkness with light. And, somehow, these things happened quietly, seamlessly, and without notice.
Off in the pasture, somewhere behind the barn, a loud crack made them both jump. All the lights in the house went out.
“Cool!” Henry’s excited voice cut through the darkness.
Maddie and Syd sighed and looked at each other. They turned around and walked hand-in-hand toward the generator behind the house.
Maybe, just once in a while, the universe did need a hand.
About the Author
Ann McMan is a writer by day, and a closet librarian by night.
She was born in the mountains of Pennsylvania, but spent much of her childhood below sea level in northern Delaware. She now lives halfway between the mountains and the sea in central North Carolina, but dreams of one day relocating to Vermont—where the colder climate might help her keep better.
When she isn’t working, writing, or rereading Pride and Prejudice, she’s cruising the circulation desk of her local public library—hoping to be discovered.
Jericho is her first novel.