Club Storyville Read Online Free PDF Page B

care that they were trying to prove each other wrong.
    “There is surely a Heaven, though,” Ariel made sure to tell Nan every time. “And it will be a better life than this one. That, I believe.”
    Nan would smile when Ariel said that, believing the words instinctively, deep down in her very being. Ariel’s smile came slower, though, and I didn’t know if she had any faith at all in what she was saying, or simply didn’t have the heart to tell an old woman at the end of her life there may be nothing beyond it.
    I t was the middle of March when the heat wave rolled into Richmond. Waking that first morning, it was like someone had tossed hot stones on me as I slept, and even Ariel suggested we stay indoors and try to keep ourselves cool.
    Nan was insistent, though, that she get her daily time outside, and it was only as I watched her slide the blanket from her lap and lay it over the arm of her wheelchair for the first time since summer that it occurred to me Nan was cold all the time anymore and could appreciate the too-hot day the rest of us cursed for making us uncomfortable.
    Under the shade of Nan’s favorite maple, the one that gave the most impressive showing in autumn when its greenery gave way to deep, glossy red, Ariel and I shared the bench next to Nan in her wheelchair. Listening to them talk about President Roosevelt, I was happy to listen to their voices going back and forth, as always. When the details about the New Deal started to sound too much like something I would hear in school, though, I decided it a good time to go inside and bring us all some lemonade to ward off the early push of summer.
    “What are they talking about out there?” The heat had no impact on Mama’s nosiness as she paused in picking the dead limbs from the shrubs against the side of the house. Glancing in the direction I came from, her curiosity failed to give her the power to see what was going on past the budding foliage of Nan’s flower garden.
    “Sunday’s sermon,” I lied, and Mama gave a sniff of disapproval, because she knew Ariel didn’t like church, even though she went with us every Sunday in case Nan needed her, and she thought that meant Ariel was a damned heathen.
    If there was ever a contest to judge true belief in God, though, Nan would beat Mama by a Lord’s mile, and she didn’t seem to think Ariel’s dislike of churches was going to do anything but give God a laugh when Ariel met Him in Heaven and He proved her wrong.
    With no way of knowing I was telling her anything but the truth, Mama didn’t have any more questions for me, and I was free to go about my business while she went back to worrying about the business taking place on the other side of Nan’s mountain laurel.
    S tepping around that sprawling shrub a few minutes later, three glasses of lemonade balanced on Nan’s silver tray, the fabric of my shirt clung to my skin and I was certain the air had grown more humid in my absence. When I looked up, though, to see Ariel pull the hem of her shirt free and slip the fabric over her head, it stilled completely, until the atmosphere in the garden was too thick to draw breath.
    Ariel’s sleeveless chemise sticking to her chest, her sweat turned it almost see-through, but Ariel didn’t seem worried about modesty as she lifted her hair off her neck with one hand, fanning herself like a fancy lady with the other.
    At Nan’s raucous laugh in response, I should have been happy. It had been so long since I’d heard her sound like the Nan I grew up with, so strong and full of life. If I could have focused on it, perhaps I would have been happy. The tray trembling suddenly in my hands, though, I could concentrate on nothing but the cream fabric soaked against Ariel’s chest, the way her neck curved so perfectly into her shoulder, and, feeling suddenly faint, my sole focus was on not breaking anything else over her.
    When Ariel finally noticed me standing there, she smiled, and that only made it more