Far-Flung

Far-Flung by Peter Cameron

Book: Far-Flung by Peter Cameron Read Free Book Online
Authors: Peter Cameron
anything else. She doesn’t take any interest in fixing the place up. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
    “Yes,” I say.
    “I’m thinking that if I get a few things, start her off, you know, she’ll make an effort. Her husband’s just as bad. They lie on the bed, watch TV, and eat frozen food. Oh, she has a microwave, too.”
    “Would you like something to drink?”
    “No, thanks,” she says. “Are you selling these pots and pans?”
    “Everything,” I say.
    “How much do you want for these? Are they genuine Revere Ware?”
    “Yes,” I say. They were my wedding presents. “Twenty dollars?”
    “That sounds reasonable.” She takes the pots out of the cupboard and arranges them on the kitchen table, stacking them inside of one another. “Listen,” she says. “Do you think I could come back with my daughter? Maybe seeing all this stuff, might, you know, excite her.”
    “Sure,” I say.
    “But I’ll take these pots now. Are you sure just twenty? For the whole set?”
    “Yes,” I say.
    The woman opens her bag and rummages in it. It’s shaped like a little wooden picnic basket. She hands me a twenty. “Here you go,” she says. “Maybe I’ll come back this evening? With Debbie? Would that be O.K.?”
    “Sure,” I say.
    I walk her to the front door. Carly’s back in the front hall. We both step over him. He sighs.
    I stand inside the door and watch the woman drive away. Then I take the twenty and put it, along with all the other money I’ve made, in the empty dog biscuit box I keep on top of the refrigerator.
    I haven’t been sleeping much nights, so I take a nap. Carly joins me. We are awakened by Ellery, home from school, playing his stereo: the soundtrack from Carousel. Ellery has strange taste in music.
    I knock on his door, and when he doesn’t answer I open it. He’s lying on his bed, on his back, his sunglasses on. He wears different ones. I forgot to mention that to the guidance counselor. Surely it’s not as obsessive if he changes them? The worst are the mirrored ones. The wraparound ones he has on now are thin and curved, so you can’t see his eyes, even if you sit beside him and make an effort.
    “Hello, Ellery,” I say. I turn the music down: “June Is Bustin’ Out All Over.”
    “Hi,” Ellery says.
    Carly, ignored, noses his chest. “Hello, Carly,” Ellery says.
    “How was school?” I ask.
    “Wonderful,” says Ellery. “I learned a lot of new things today.”
    “I was there,” I say.
    “I know,” says Ellery. “Fiona Fitzhugh told me. She said you had your skirt on backward.”
    “I didn’t have my skirt on backward. It buttons up the back.”
    “Are you sure?” asks Ellery.
    Suddenly, I’m not sure. Have I been wearing it wrong all this time? “You can wear it either way,” I rationalize.
    “What were you doing in school?” Ellery asks. “Signing up for the bake sale?”
    “Is there going to be a bake sale?” I stupidly ask, before I realize he is being sarcastic.
    Ellery moans.
    “I was seeing Mrs. King. And the nurse. The male nurse.”
    “I didn’t know I was diseased,” says Ellery.
    “About your sunglasses,” I say.
    “Ah,” says Ellery.
    “If you don’t stop wearing them, they’ll put you on ICE,” I say, proud of myself for remembering this vernacular. Maybe it makes up for my bake sale faux pas.
    “People say it’s actually cooler in ICE. You can put your head down on the desk and sleep if you want.”
    “Then it would suit you,” I say. Ellery smiles, but not being able to see his eyes, it’s hard to interpret this smile. I guess it’s a mean little smile, though.
    “And you’re doing irreparable damage to your retinas,” I say.
    “They can transplant retinas, now, can’t they?” Ellery asks.
    I think this is a smug remark, especially with poor Carly sitting here with her egg-white eyes. “If you were Carly, you wouldn’t say things like that,” I say.
    Ellery turns away from me, onto his side, so he’s

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