Only a Monster Read Online Free PDF Page B

he’d had to do it alone today. No wonder he was tired. She looked down at the floor. Her guilt felt like a live thing inside her. She’d hurt Mr. Solt yesterday. She’d hurt Nick. She might not have intended to, but she had. Was this what monsters did?
    As they exchanged more awkward small talk, the air felt heavy with unspoken things. The conversation they weren’t having seemed louder than the one they were.
    Joan drew her knees up. Around them, the house got quieter and quieter, until even the settling creaks of the floor seemed to still. They were the only ones left in the house.
    Across the room, the late-afternoon sun splashed against the half-dusted painting. “I didn’t finish dusting the frame,” Joan realized. There was half an hour of work left on it. “I’ll do it before we go.”
    Nick’s voice was gentle. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
    Tomorrow. Joan didn’t know how to think about tomorrow. She could barely imagine tonight. She let her head fall back against the wall. The painting was nearly life-size, but from here it looked like one of the miniatures. It was a portrait of a man in Regency-era hunting clothes. He was standing under an oak tree, chin at a haughty tilt.
    Nick followed Joan’s gaze. “Astrid calls him Hottie McTottie,” he said, and Joan was surprised into a laugh. To be honest,though, she’d always thought the man in the portrait looked more cruel than anything. There was a corpse of a fox at his feet, and the tip of his shoe was on the fox’s neck. The artist had painted his eyes as cold and predatory. “They say he once owned the house,” Nick said.
    Joan pictured all the empty rooms around them. “Can you imagine what it must have been like when just one family lived here?” she wondered. “So much space.”
    Nick looked up at the ceiling: a series of skylights, interspersed with silver stars against evening blue. “I can’t imagine growing up here,” he said. “My family had a tiny place when I was small. Eight of us in a two-bedroom flat.” He sounded more relaxed as he said that—more like they were having a normal conversation.
    â€œEight?” Joan said, surprised. He’d spoken a little about his brothers and sisters before, but Joan hadn’t realized there were so many of them.
    â€œThree brothers and two sisters,” he said. “My brothers and I all slept in the TV room until I was seven. But we didn’t mind. It was nice, you know? Cozy.”
    â€œYeah,” Joan said, thinking of when she stayed with Gran. She liked Dad’s serene house, but she liked living with the Hunts in summer too. She always had, anyway. She wasn’t sure how she felt now. She closed her eyes for a moment. The back of her throat felt tight with tears.
    Nick hesitated. Joan could tell what he wanted to ask. She braced herself, dreading the question. But Nick just shiftedslightly so that they were sitting closer, their arms touching.
    They sat like that while Joan collected herself. “What’s your family like?” she managed.
    Nick hesitated again. She could feel his eyes on her. “We didn’t have much, growing up,” he said. “My parents taught us to look after each other. To be good to each other. To help people in need. I believe it—I believe we should help people if we can.” Someone else might have had a self-mocking tone—to show they knew it was hokey. But Nick just said it. Like he meant it.
    Joan looked down at her hands—the hands that had stolen life yesterday. She’d always believed that too. Earnestly, like Nick. She wanted to be like that. She’d thought she was like that.
    After that conversation with Gran, Joan had felt as if she was turning into something she didn’t understand. Now, talking to Nick, she wondered if there might be a way to find herself again. To just be Joan. Could she,