Fadeaway Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

got up from the table and the newspapers and went to the table by the door that held the past copies of magazines like Life and the Saturday Evening Post. I had seen the cover before and wanted to see it again. It was right on top, where I’d left it. The cover showed a woman in red against a red background, a black wrought-iron fence in the foreground, and a black mailbox. She was mailing a letter, or probably a Christmas card, for it was clearly a Christmas issue. Light snow was falling, the flakes just a few white dots, coming down here and there.
    Mr. Gumbrel once told me the artist had done a lot of these illustrations for magazines. His name was Coles Phillips and he was famous for them. I went through the stack but didn’t find another of them. Red against red, the outline of her coat was invisible. She blended into the background.
    It was a trick of the eye, I guess. I could pick out the whole figure if I wanted to, if I looked at it in a certain way. Only there was something restful about seeing it as the artist intended, letting the red coat fade into its background.
    He called them Fadeaway Girls.

5
    I was too tired out from all of that thinking to put up with Delbert, but I had no choice, as Axel had “just left” to pick up a fare on Red Bird Road.
    I sat in sullen silence in the backseat, hoping that would discourage Delbert from talking, but of course it didn’t. I considered lying down in the well of the floor between front and rear seats to make him think I’d fallen out of the cab when he went over that last bump in the road.
    He was going on about the First National and my business there. “You come into money, ha-ha?” and “Maybe you was robbin’ it, well, I could’ve been drivin’ the getaway car, ha-ha.” And on and on, saying dumb things that made me feel like they were eating up the air that I needed for breathing, chomping all the oxygen out of it.
    â€œI had to get something out of my safe-deposit box.”
    â€œHuh?”
    In the rearview mirror I could see Delbert’s beady eyes narrow with suspicion. “Safe-deposit? You got valuables? I don’t believe you got valuables.” He gave a scornful snort.
    I was down in the seat now, playing out strands of hair to see the sun through; the sun turned their color, which according to Ree-Jane was mousy brown, to a kind of burnt umber. I had no idea what color that was; I just liked the sound of “umber.” And the sound made by “burnt” along with it. I didn’t care what it meant, really. I guess that was why writers like William Faulkner went around making up words.
    â€œWell?” said Delbert. “What valuables?”
    â€œDelbert, if I needed a safe-deposit box, I’d hardly be going around telling people what was in it.” By now, we were in Spirit Lake, coming up on Britten’s Market. “Stop!” I yelled.
    Delbert braked so hard it threw us forward.
    â€œGawd sakes alive!” he said, white in the face.
    I smiled. “I’d prefer to get out here.” I went into my change purse and brought out three quarters and handed them to him.
    â€œYou coulda just said you wanted me to stop.” Grudgingly, he thanked me for the quarter tip.
    Â 
    Mr. Root was still on the bench, Ulub still on his feet, his book raised high. I knew he was reading poetry.
    Mr. Root had set Ulub upon a course of reading aloud, thinking it would help his speech predicament. Ubub, Ulub’s brother, had been excused from this practice, as Mr. Root did not find Ubub’s speech problem nearly as bad. It was a little easier to understand Ubub, but not so easy that he couldn’t have stood a few lessons in elocution. As far as I was concerned, it didn’t make sense to put either one of them through this, but Mr. Root was determined. Of course, I will admit Mr. Root’s ear was more finely tuned than mine. He was the only person who could