Earth Colors Read Online Free PDF Page A

“It’s under K for Krehbeil.” She pulled the instrument out of her pocket and handed it to me. “I’ll be an hour, maybe two. I’ll—We could get together at dinner …”

    I said, “Gotcha covered, Faye. You go have dinner with your client. You can’t be Mom and Amelia Earhart simultaneously.”
    “Thanks,” she said nervously, then shook her head, turned, and hurried off down the sidewalk toward the museum.
    “Take the car,” I said. “The museum is almost a mile from here.”
    Faye pivoted and headed in the other direction, toward where the battered sedan she had inherited from her late husband waited.
    I went back to the room and fed the baby, then gave her a bath and laid her out on the bed and tickled her. She flailed her arms happily and giggled, then twisted around onto her hands and knees and spent several minutes trying to dodge past me so that she could experiment with gravity by making a kamikaze dive off the bed. I lay back and scooped her up in my arms and sang to her awhile, then bundled her up with a fresh diaper and jammies and began the long process of walking her to sleep. I did not have the magic spell that only Faye could weave on her: a nice drink of breast milk.
    The evening proved very long. The baby simply would not take a nap, even when I put her back in the backpack and walked her down the street in search of a pizza, my PB&J ingredients having gone to the museum in
    Faye’s car. At long last, at eight P.M., I had just gotten her to sleep when Faye’s cell phone rang, waking Sloane right back up. The only thing worse than a baby who won’t go to sleep is a baby who’s had a five-minute nap and won’t go to sleep again . I knew that at least another half-hour of walking the little girl up and down inside the tight confines of the room lay ahead of me, so when I grabbed the phone and answered it, I was unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. “What?” I snarled.
    The male voice on the other end of the line was not familiar, nor was it sober. “Faye?” a man said, thoroughly drunk. “I’m sorry to call you li’ this, bu’ he’s got his phone switched off, and you’ve got to stop him!”
    “Who’s this?”
    “S’me. Oh, Faye, don’ let him do it!”
    “Who’s ‘me?’ And ‘do’ what? And who’s ‘him’?”
    “‘He’ is precious Willie , tha’s who! If he messes with tha’ painting, it’ll kill her, it’ll simply kill her! Jus’ like it killed Aun’ Winnie!”
    “Listen, mister,” I said. “You just woke the baby, and you sound like you’re about a quart into your cups. Why don’t you call back another time, okay?”

    The man’s bawling shifted to a different register. “Oh, Faye, I’m so sorry ! I didn’ know ! ’Course, it’s late there, innit! I forgot about the time zones. You’re two hours behind me, aren’t you? No, wait, tha’ would be two hours earlier than me, right? No, ahead …”
    I hate drunks. In fact, I detest them. “Whether you’re ahead or behind would depend on where you’re calling from, now, wouldn’t it?” I said nastily. “And if you drink any more, you’ll not only be behind , you’ll be late .”
    “Pennsylvania,” he replied, managing to make the word sound like a tire going flat. “I have a nice li’l apartment now in Moun’ Choy. You should come and visit . It’ll be like old times , back in college . And you bring that husband of yours. And ohh … you’re a mommy now! Bring the baby . I’d jus’ love to see the baby. You know I love the li’l babies.” He started to blubber. “Bu’ I’ll never have one of my own, will I, because they don’ let faggots adopt!”
    “Listen, this isn’t Faye. And Tom’s dead.”
    “Faye, honey ? You didn’t tell me!”
    I was sorry I’d brought up the subject. “She’s not here right now, so call back—”
    “Oh, Faye, now you’re not even talking t’me? And I though’ we were friends .”
    “Okay,” I said, “we’re bosom