Blue-Eyed Devil Read Online Free PDF

visit soon. He never did. That was fine with Gretchen — she hadn’t expected him to. She had supported herself and Churchill with a job at the telephone company. Mammaw never found them, and it was doubtful she had even looked.

    Years later when they figured Mammaw was too old to do them any harm, Gretchen had someone check on her. They found out she was living in a pitiful mess, with piles of trash and varmints all in her house. So Gretchen and Churchill had her put in a nursing home, where she happily bullied the other residents and the staff for about ten years until she passed. Churchill never did go visit her, but Gretchen had from time to time. She would lakeMammaw out to the local Luby’s, maybe off to Beall’s to buy some new housedresses, and return her to the nursing home.

    “Was she nice to you when you took ‘er places?” I once asked Aunt Gretchen.

    The question had made her smile. “No, honey. She didn’t know how to be nice. Anything you did for her, she felt she was entitled and deserved even more.”

    “Well, why’d you go take care of Mammaw and visit her, after all he’d done? I’d have just let ‘er rot.”

    “Well . . . ” Gretchen had pursed her mouth thoughtfully. “I figured she couldn’t help the way she was. She was broke when I got her.

    The past few years had slowed Gretchen down quite a bit. She’d become a little forgetful, a little querulous. She moved as if her joints weren’t banded together as tight as they should have been. There was a new translucent quality to her thinned-out skin, blue veins showing underneath like a diagram sketch that hadn’t been fully erased. She had come to live with us since Mother had died, which pleased Dad since he wanted to keep an eye on her.

    Bringing Carrington into the house seemed to have given Gretchen a much-needed jump start. No one could doubt the two of them adored each other.

    Dressed in pink and purple, her pale golden hair caught in a high ponytail with a huge sparkly bow, Carrington was the picture of nine-year-old haute couture. She was carrying the bridal bouquet, the smaller version that had been made for Liberty to throw. “I’m gonna toss this,” Carrington announced. “Liberty can’t throw near as good as me.”

    Gretchen came forward, beaming. “You were the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen,” she said, hugging Liberty. “What are you going to wear for your going-away outfit?”

    “This is my going-away outfit,” Liberty replied. “You’re wearing pants?”

    “It’s an Escada suit, Aunt Gretchen,” I said. “Very stylish.”

    “You need more jewelry,” Gretchen told Liberty. “That outfit’s too plain.”

    “I don’t have much jewelry,” Liberty said, smiling.

    “You’ve got a diamond ring the size of a doorknob,” I remarked. “That’s a great start.” I grinned at Liberty’s wince of embarrassment over the engagement ring she thought was too big. Naturally my brother Jack had compounded her discomfort by nicknaming the diamond the “pet rock.”

    “You need a bracelet,” Gretchen said decisively, holding out something in a little velvet pouch. “Take this, Liberty. A little something jangly to let people know you’re in the neighborhood.”

    Liberty opened the pouch carefully, and my heart contracted as I saw what it was: the gold charm bracelet Gretchen had worn forever, strung with charms from all the exotic places she had gone in her life.

    She had promised it to me when I was five years old.

    I remembered the exact day — she had brought me a junior tool kit complete with a leather belt with loops and pockets. They were real working tools, including a C-clamp, an awl, saw, pliers, level, hammer, eight wrenches, and a set of Phillips-head screwdrivers.

    As soon as Mother had seen me strapping on the tool belt, she had gone bug-eyed. She had opened her mouth, and before a single syllable came out, I knew she was going to tell Aunt Gretchen to take the gift back.