Cheri on Top Read Online Free PDF Page A

for a moment and tell herself that Viv must have meant well. Somebody probably told her that having Mr. Bojangles in the front yard wasn’t exactly acceptable these days, and this was her way of evolving. Still … the expression “shoot me now” didn’t even begin to cover it.
    Cherise was back in Bigler.
    “Oh, now just look at you!” Viv hollered, holding her arms out wide, her striped blouse bursting at the buttons. “Come on up here, Cheri! Hurry up, now! I’ve missed you something terrible!”
    Granddaddy Garland held on to the railing and took a cautious step down. “Look who it is! The new publisher of the Bugle !” He held his arms out, too. “Get up here and give us a hug.”
    Cheri hurried toward them, and was immediately encased in kisses and squeezes. Aunt Viv smelled the same as she always had—a combination of Jean Naté, vodka, and sausage gravy with too much pepper. Granddaddy felt like a collection of bird bones under his short-sleeved dress shirt. Cherise was startled at how skinny he’d become—all the Newberry brawn was gone.
    “Are you sure you’re not sick or anything?” Cherise escaped the hugs so she could study Granddaddy. His eyes were watery. Skin hung in crinkled swags from his cheeks and jowls. “Are you okay?”
    “Lord-a-mighty!” His laugh was the same, and it rang out through the tree branches. “Hell no, I’m not okay. I’m about to turn eighty stinkin’ years old! I’m falling apart! And there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it!”
    Viv grabbed Cherise by the elbow and pulled her toward the front door. “Garland, you’re going to scare the girl before she even gets unpacked.” Viv’s arm went around her waist. “We’re all getting old, sweetie, but we’re healthy as can be expected. The Newberrys live long lives, you know. Always have, and always will.”
    Cherise had just barely stepped over the threshold when those words came out of Viv’s mouth. She wouldn’t correct her, of course. There was no need. Right there on the foyer wall hung Cherise’s father’s high school graduation portrait, and he was gazing down at them, a sardonic glint in his eye, gently reminding them that he’d bucked the family trend.
    Loyal Newberry sported a buzz cut in the colorized photo, along with a bow tie and Buddy Holly glasses. He possessed a smile that could knock the wind out of a person.
    By thirty-one, he was dead, along with Cherise’s mother, Melanie, and the Newberry girls came to live with Aunt Vivienne in the pink house on Willamette. Cherise had been seven. Tanyalee, five.
    The official story was that the couple just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Cherise knew better. It was her fault they were dead. She’d even heard Aunt Viv say as much. Cherise often wondered if her life would have been different if only she hadn’t chosen that particular night to sneak downstairs and eavesdrop on the grown-ups. Would life have been easier if she’d never overheard that particular conversation, those particular words?
    “Now you come on in here and relax yourself some,” Viv said. “I’ll get you a sweet tea and a slice of peach cobbler.” Though Viv was only a few years younger than her brother, she was still a sturdy woman, and she shoved Cherise down into the armchair by the side window. This wasn’t exactly unexpected. Viv had never gently “guided” anyone toward anything, whether it was a chair, a meal, a prom dress, or a man.
    Cherise looked around the front parlor. She could have been inside a time capsule. The same white lace sheers hung at the bay windows. The same Hallmark Precious Moments knickknacks adorned the side tables. The same embroidered doilies were laid upon every upholstered head or armrest in the room.
    Granddaddy situated himself on one end of the sofa and shook his head. “She’ll never change,” he said, wistfully. “Thinks she’s in charge of the whole damn world.”
    Viv called out from the kitchen.