Dreams of Shadows by Patrick Sean Lee (best life changing books txt) 📕

Jack, who’d been standing close to Cynthia exclaimed with a giggle, “He’s HUGGING her! He’s going to kiss her!”

“WHAT?”

“Come on, Munster…I hate that name. I’m going to call you by your Christian name from now on. Come on, help me drag one of these bags of fertilizer out, Francis,” Cynthia said as Jerrick stammered and began to carefully leave the garage.

Francis Munster Gardella didn’t object. Together they grabbed hold of one of the bags and tugged it out. Good Lord.

“Seed?” Peter said to me, pointing to the neat stack of bags behind the fertilizer.

“I think so,” I replied with a little laugh. Seed indeed.

That evening there was singing and laughter inside the house, every light in every room glowing brightly, the generator outside struggling to keep up with the electrical demands put on it. We were exhausted and covered with soil, but there was a lightness brighter than all of the fixtures put together. Jerrick sat on the sofa next to Lashawna, lecturing on the mundane aspects of farm work, but she hardly noticed his presence. Charles sat on the other side of her, smudges of dirt on his cheeks and forehead. Very close to her. But he diplomatically kept his hands in his lap in the presence of the rest of us who could clearly see them. At times he commented back at Jerrick, and each of those times Lashawna shot a glance up at him, shaking her head. Smiling like the cat that got the canary. If Charles was now aware that he was being watched, Lashawna seemed oblivious of our presence.

Peter had laid several logs inside the fireplace shortly into the evening, and soon we had a warm fire crackling that added to the fires at work in the rest of us. I left the small spectacle in front of the sofa, and sat on the thick rug in front of the fireplace after a while. I watched the flames dance in red-orange and yellow, and thought back months and months to the world before its sudden end. I thought of Mom and Daddy, a sharp return of pain stabbing at my heart, but the remembrance quickly flew away. I thought of Ash. I flashed to Mari, somewhere out there all by herself…or was she up there in one of those ships, content?

Peter joined me on the rug. He put his arm around me, and I snuggled closer to him. Neither of us spoke as we sat gazing into the fire, and of course by that time, neither of us cared what anyone else thought.

The winds had shifted suddenly, taking all of us except Jerrick and Jack into new and unexpected universes.

 It became all too apparent, at least to me, that something was out of kilter. Wasn't adding up to the sum I'd calculated, anyway. I had—we all had misjudged Charles.

Standing just out of sight at corners, I watched them day in and day out for several weeks, waiting for the worst to happen—that they would disappear together, but in fact their time during the day was spent nurturing the half acre garden we’d planted, in plain view. At night he would read to her, and sometimes, if he was around and inclined to listen, Jerrick as well, sitting on the sofa in the living room after dinner. Peter, Cynthia, Munster, and Jack were elsewhere in those most favorable moments of my spying.

It was a clear, cool evening. Charles was sitting beside Lashawna near the fireplace. How romantic, I thought, standing out of sight, but not entirely out of earshot. The rest were outside, gazing into the telescope, except Jerrick. He was in the next room practicing. I could hear snippets of Charles’ and Lashawna’s subdued conversation in the seconds and half-seconds when the bow hesitated on the strings of the cello, or stopped entirely. I became frustrated after some time of straining to hear over Jerrick’s playing, and finally snuck away and entered the music room.

I don’t know how he did it, but he was aware of my entrance the moment I stepped in, even over the notes that rose from the instrument. He continued to work the bow and his long, delicate fingers, but he turned his head toward me the second I entered. I padded to his side and whispered into his ear.

“Shh.”

At last he stopped playing and let the hand holding the bow sink to his side.

“What?” Very low.

“Stop practicing, but turn the CD player on with the volume turned down.”

“Why?”

I hadn’t considered what reason I’d give him, even that he’d ask why I wanted him to stop. I had never been very good at chess. I wracked my brain quickly, and as quickly decided to tell him the truth.

“Something is going on in front of the fireplace. I can’t hear what it is over your playing.”

“Between…?” He must have rightly sensed that that something involved his sister. In the quiet he strained an ear in their direction. “Who is it?”

“Charles…and Lashawna. I…I don’t know what’s been developing between them. I mean, I’m not certain yet, but they’re sitting there talking. I just want to find out what it is. You know, eavesdrop.” I whispered that last word more loudly.

For a moment Jerrick seemed confused, his brow knitting, and his mouth curling.

“Shawna is only fourteen!”

“Hush. Just start the CD player and wait here. I’ll let you know when I come back.”

He set the cello and bow aside, reached over and pushed the start button on the player, and then he lowered the volume. I turned and crept back to the living room. Outside I could hear Munster laughing. Charles had had his arm around Lashawna when I first began my mission that night, but now he sat slightly farther away from her as she spoke, looking straight down at his fingers. I eased forward unobserved behind the sofa until I was within a few feet of them. A second later I felt Jerrick’s shoulder touch mine.

There was nothing to be done about his presence by then. I should have been more emphatic back in the music room. Don't follow! Little good the command would have done, though.

The music from the player, and the merrymaking outside, did their work at any rate. Neither Charles nor Shawna noticed our presence so close to them. I watched and listened.

“But it isn’t out of the question, is it?” she asked Charles. There was a sadness in her voice. Charles looked away as though unable to answer, fiddling nervously with his fingers. Whatever she thought wasn’t out of the question, he must have thought otherwise. The fire crackled. Peter’s voice grew louder for an instant, and then died away. Charles finally answered Lashawna’s question, and I nearly collapsed.

Stupid, stupid me. Stupid all of us.

“It is out of the question, Shawna. How could I have…you misunderstood me.” He finally turned his head to her, and although I couldn’t see her face, I sensed the crashing of her spirit. “You’re a lovely, beautiful girl, and I’ve grown to love you, perhaps more than I do Amelia, Cyn, and little Jack, even, but not in the way you imagine. I care deeply for you. For your future, but…”

“What future?” she whimpered.

“Oh Shawna, I can’t. Not with a child, not with anyone right now. I have work to do here.”

“I’m not a child.”

“But you are.”

“Who then? Cynthia? Amelia?”

I cringed.

“No one. Not now.” He placed his hands that had once been burned and bandaged onto her quivering shoulders. “Look…”

“Don’t touch me!” At that, Lashawna jerked away from him, rose in a burst of sobbing, and rushed out of the room, upstairs.

I quickly forced Jerrick down lower, ducked my head, and waited until Charles left after some of the longest moments of my life. Probably his as well.

Dear, dear Charles. Something had to be done, both for him and for grieving Lashawna. Thinking back, I’d misjudged Charles, and now, with another spate of misplaced logic, I began to formulate a plan that would probably screw up their lives even more.

Jerrick and I lay there until all that could be heard was the clatter of voices outside, and then I rose to my knees. “Let’s get out of here. Don’t say a word to anyone. They’ll figure it out in time without our help.”

I helped Jerrick stand, but that was unnecessary. He made his way to the stairs, and his sister up in her room. I left the house to join Peter, burning to tell him what we’d heard, but I decided without a second thought to wait until I unveiled the plan forming in my head. First thing in the morning.

“Yes, you and I. Get your jacket, I’ll pack us some food.”

“What will you tell them?”

“That we’re leaving for a while to find others like us, if they ask. That’s all. Load up two sleeping bags, too. This might take some time.”

Ever the cautious one, Peter asked me, “What if we stumble onto more of the kind that attacked you?”

“I’m bringing one of the guns. Hurry up, now. I’ll meet you at the truck.”

I’d had to tell him. Maybe because I just couldn’t hold it in. That was part of it, surely, but whatever the reason, or reasons, I trusted him not to despise me for eavesdropping on business that didn’t really concern me. I wondered who might be spying on us? I didn’t care.

Ten minutes later, after I’d raided the supplies in the cellar, I placed them behind the passenger seat, and then went to the garage where the shattered remnants of the gun cabinet lay. I figured one of the rifles wouldn’t be best. The double-barrel shotgun would be, though. There was a fifty-fifty chance that if we met others alive, they wouldn’t have tea on their minds. I grabbed the gun and a box of shells and turned to leave.

“Whassup?”

It was Munster, standing in the doorway grinning over at me. I turned in surprise.

“Peter and I are going away for a day or two. I hope we don’t need this,” I answered holding up the shotgun.

“Going where? For what reason?”

“None of your business.” I almost felt bad for putting it that way.

“Lemme’ go with ya’.”

“No. Stay here with the rest of them, or take Cyn for a wild ride if you want. We’re going alone.” With that I walked to the doorway, brushing his chest with my shoulder. He followed me outside, continuing to throw questions at me. Peter was at the truck, standing there with the door open.

“Just-stay-here, Munster Gardella. We’ll be back. Go find Cyn or something. This doesn’t concern you.”

Right as the words left my mouth, and Munster stopped as if I’d punched him in the nose, Charles and Cynthia and Jack appeared on the porch. Cynthia bounded down the steps and came to a halt at Munster’s side.

“What’s going on?” she asked him.

“I ain’t thinkin’ they’re off to find pheasants.” His answer was laced with humorous affection. What a change in those two.

Cynthia ran to me, just as I was placing the box of shotgun shells on the floorboard, trying to get out of there before another flurry of questions slowed us down.

“What are you two doing?”

“Just going