Covet (Clann) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the road. Then we headed for my home.
    Nanna’s home.
    “Have you called Mom?” I asked, my croaky voice forcing me to clear my throat.
    “No.”
    “Then don’t, not yet. I don’t want her to hear while she’s driving.”
    He checked his watch. “She should be home in half an hour or so.”
    Neither of us spoke again until we reached the house.
    Every window of my home was dark when we pulled up onto the short, pine needle-blanketed driveway. The descendants had closed the front door but not locked it behind them after taking Nanna against her will. As we entered the house, I cringed, sure the place would be wrecked by a magical fight. But they must have snuck up on her and knocked her out before she had a chance to react. Everything was just as I’d last seen it.
    I turned on the living room lamp, grabbed a handful of towels from the linen closet in the hallway and gave Dad a couple so we could dry off. I would change later, after Mom came home. I was afraid to go to my bedroom before we talked; I might give in to the urge to fall apart again.
    I sank down onto the piano bench, the only furniture in the room that wasn’t upholstered and wouldn’t get wet from my clothes. Then I toed off my soggy sneakers and peeled off my soaked socks, trying to find any mental distraction that I could.
    The house was so silent. It was hardly ever this quiet around here. Usually Nanna would have the TV on in the dining area so she could listen to it while cooking in the kitchen or crocheting in her rocking chair. Or she would be in the living room on the piano, filling the house with hymns as she practiced for church.
    I turned to face the upright piano, laying my hands over the keys, feeling their cold, smooth surfaces, so like my skin right now. I’d never noticed before, but the keys in the center around middle C had rougher spots on them from being played more often than the ones at the far ends. I touched the surfaces where Nanna’s fingertips had worn off the finish. Nanna had tried to teach me to play, but I’d never managed to read music well.
    There was a cracked, leather-bound hymnal still open on the sheet music ledge. The last thing Nanna had played was “Amazing Grace.” One line seemed to jump off the page at me….
    I was blind, but now I see.
    I had to get up, get away.
    A truck engine rumbled up to the house and died, quickly followed by the slam of a door. Dad and I shared a look.
    Mom was home.
    I wasn’t ready for this.
    My fingers knotted and unknotted, twisting around each other countless times in the few seconds it took her to reach the front door and open it.
    Mom blew in like a tiny tornado. “Savannah! Good grief, you’re soaking wet. Did you shower with your clothes on?” Stepping over the threshold, Mom closed her hot-pink-and-brown polka-dotted umbrella, gave it a quick shake over the cement stoop, then rested it against the fake-wood-paneled wall.
    She turned to face me, arms open wide for her usual welcome-home hug. But I couldn’t move. My legs seemed locked into place. Her gaze darted to the right, and her smile faded. A tanned hand drifted up to fluff her frizzy bottle-blond hair. “Oh. Hello, Michael. I thought you would just drop Savannah off.”
    He nodded his greeting.
    Frowning, Mom shut the heavy oak door behind her. “So where’s Nanna? You didn’t call, so I assumed—”
    “Mom, you should come sit down,” I interrupted, dreading her reaction and yet needing to get this over with.
    She blinked a few times and then eased into the upholstered rocking chair, making its sagging springs creak in protest. Kneeling at her feet on the worn-out green-gold carpeting we’d tried a million times to convince Nanna to let us replace, I held Mom’s hands and tried to figure out how to tell my mom I’d caused her mother’s death.
    “Mom, Nanna’s…”
    “Oh no,” Mom whispered, her hazel eyes rounding. “They killed her, didn’t they? Didn’t they?” Her voice rose to a