Cauchemar Read Online Free PDF Page B

the years since, that had eaten into her. “Come have some lemonade,” she offered.
    â€œNothing reminds me of this place quite like the offer of drinks,” Sarah Anne said. “Sweet tea, lemonade, or a stiff drink if you look like you’ve had a day.” She kicked at something in the long grass, overturning the flattened body of a sparrow.
    Hannah immediately bent down to touch the bird, but Sarah Anne held up a hand. “It’s dead.” Sarah Anne’s dispassionate voice startled Hannah, and when she looked up, Hannah saw that her eyes were guarded, lashes like shutters. “I should go.”
    The tightness in Hannah’s chest coiled and her breath caught. She had the sense that her one chance at making amends was slipping away.
    â€œThis is my address,” Sarah Anne said and passed Hannah a folded piece of paper. “No telephone yet, but drop by anytime.” Their fingers touched over the paper, and Hannah felt a static shock.
    Hannah opened her mouth, wanting to atone for everything that had happened. But there were too many words, too many apologies.
    â€œTake care of yourself,” Sarah Anne said as she turned away, and Hannah heard the echo of her mother’s earlier warning.

    Sleep eluded Hannah for most of the night. The trill of laughter seemed to hide just beneath the wind chime’s ring, and she could make out a deep moan as trees swayed laboriously outside her window. There were creaks on the stairs and at first, she thought it was Mae lighting candles and leaving food on white china plates as she’d been doing for years. It took just a few seconds for her to remember.
    When sleep finally came, it pulled her down deep and hard. Hannah woke at dusk, after a long night of flailing in bed like a landed fish. She’d lost a whole day, but even when her eyes opened to fast-fading golden light, she remained in bed. There was nothing and no one to lift herself up for. She held the reins of time and it was horrible.
    But yearning sounds came from her belly and drew her to the kitchen. She pulled out the heavy load of casseroles from the fridge. There was a bland-smelling lasagna, a mess of beef spaghetti, and a diluted gumbo with three crawfish curled meekly into commas.
    She remembered Mae’s blackened catfish, seared in paprika, garlic, and thyme and slathered in butter, wine, and lemon.
    â€œYou sear it first,” Mae had told her, lifting up the black iron skillet to waft the smoke. The kitchen turned hazy with it. “Go on, pick out the spices.”
    â€œGarlic,” Hannah said, covering her mouth. Her eyes felt like they were leaking curry.
    â€œThat’s easy. What else?”
    â€œThyme,” Hannah said, coughing.
    Mae smiled, unperturbed, and put down the skillet. She lifted a bouquet of crackling dried thyme and cupped her hands around it. “Smell that. Remember it. It’s a generous herb, flavorful but not overpowering. It does a dish good. Put it in a tea and it’ll cure a cough. The Greeks said it gave people courage.”
    Hannah looked up into Mae’s dark eyes. “Is that why you’re always putting it in everything?”
    Mae pressed her warm lips against Hannah’s forehead. “Don’t read too much into it. It’s just tasty.” Then, “The Egyptians used it to embalm their dead” whispered against her skin.
    â€œI’m gonna die if I don’t get out of this kitchen,” Hannah moaned.
    â€œNow watch,” Mae instructed. She dropped a chunk of fresh butter into the pan, then drizzled white wine over it. The sizzle filled the room. “Squeeze a lemon. Go on.”
    Hannah did as she was told, leaning in to smell the trickle of citrus.
    â€œBut take it off the heat quickly. You just want to warm it up a bit. Then pour it over your catfish. The sauce is like a balm over the wound.”
    â€œThe wound?”
    Mae held out the skillet, the catfish dark