Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Ash got his mom settled in the passenger seat, then crouched in the back of the van with Bruce and directed Truman. They pulled up in front of a picturesque cottage with a wraparound porch, a chimney, and white-painted clapboard siding. But as they approached the front door, the details came into focus. The paint was peeling, the porch sagged, and several boards’ ends had popped up. There were parts of the siding that looked rotted, and the front door opened with a wailsome squeak.
Inside, the house was open and airy, but even at first glance, something was off about it. There was a hand mixer in the magazine rack, a pile of folded clothes on top of the mantel, and a decorative birdcage with a single dusty light bulb inside.
Ash bustled around the house, putting things quickly to rights and talking to Julia all the while. Was she warm enough? Did she know what she wanted for dinner? What had she and Marjorie been talking about?
It was a perfectly choreographed ballet, and Truman stood there, holding Bruce’s leash and feeling useless.
“What’s your name, dear?” Julia asked him as he followed them into the kitchen.
“Truman.”
“Like Truman Capote,” she said with an engaging smile.
She twisted her hair up and secured it with a pencil. She was really quite beautiful.
“Yup.”
It was always preferable to get Capote over Harry S.
“I read Breakfast at Tiffany’s when I was thirteen, and I wanted to run away to New York City.”
Truman grinned. “I know what you mean. I saw the movie in college, and it made me wish my life was glamorous like Holly Golightly’s.”
“Oh, no,” Julia said, brow furrowing in a way that made Truman worry he’d upset her. “Holly Golightly’s life isn’t glamorous. It’s an eggshell of glamour with nothing inside: easily shattered and impossible to fill. She’s miserable. Don’t you remember the end?”
Truman did not, in fact, remember the end.
“She’s the cat, dear. We’re all the cat. Poor slobs with no names.”
“I didn’t like that movie,” Ash chimed in.
Julia turned to him and cupped his cheek. Then she winked at Truman. “Ashleigh hates charming people.”
Truman was about to laugh, but Ash said, “They’re slick and glib and I don’t trust them.”
“Should I be…insulted by that?” Truman had always rather thought that being charming was positive.
“No, because you’re not.”
Well, that answered that question.
Julia seemed to have recovered from her concern about Ash, but as he boiled pasta and defrosted sauce from the freezer, she peppered him with questions about when he got his new couch and whether Marjorie was a good roommate.
Truman couldn’t be sure, but he thought Ash was just making things up. From what he could piece together, Ash had once lived in the house Marjorie now owned. In her confusion over him not showing up when he usually did, Julia thought she was supposed to go to his house and ended up there.
Confusion aside, Julia was lovely to talk to and told stories that Truman thought might be at least fifty percent fiction—she seemed to have a love of literature and movies and to shift seamlessly from her own experiences to those she’d read about or watched. Still, dinner was entertaining, and Ash seemed to relax once they’d sat down.
In the middle of a monologue about In Cold Blood, Julia trailed off, her eyelids heavy. “Ashleigh?” she said. “Did Claire get home yet?”
Truman watched as Ash’s face aged ten years without moving.
“No, Mama. She’s not coming home tonight.”
“She’s not?”
“No, she’s out of town.”
Confusion flickered on Julia’s face for a moment, but it was her attempt to hide it that was heartbreaking.
“Of course, I know she’s out of town. You don’t think I know where my own sister is? She’s visiting that boy. I don’t like him. He’s too old for her.”
Ash nodded. “Yeah, I don’t like him either.”
Julia’s face smoothed back out into a serene mask, but her eyes were far away and they stayed that way.
After dinner, Ash settled Julia in front of the TV, putting on an old movie that she liked. “I’m gonna go get some sleep, Mama,” Ash said.
Julia cupped his cheek.
“You do that, sweetheart. You look very tired.”
“I am,” Ash said. His voice cracked.
They got their coats and boots on as she stared at the television, but as they opened the door, she called, “Capote!”
“Uh,” Truman said. “Yeah?”
“The Clutters thought they were safe because nothing like that had ever happened before. But there’s a first time for everything.”
Truman blinked. It was a common cliché, but in the context, he found her words chilling. “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he said.
“Okay, goodnight, Mama,” Ash said and quickly shut the door. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Hey, hey. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. What do you mean?”
Ash shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind. Sorry.”