Sweet Jiminy Read Online Free PDF

armful of azaleas, sitting in her porch chair smiling. And there was Lyn baking biscuits, and carrying a stack of towels, and gazing out the kitchen window. But mainly the Polaroids were of Bo. Willa looked up from them and out into the night again, willing headlights to appear.
    She hadn’t waited up for someone to come home since her daughter was a teenager, and she felt out of practice. And a little ridiculous. First of all, waiting for her daughter hadn’t ever kept her out of trouble, nor had it forged the meaningful, long-term relationship Willa had always assumed she’d enjoy with her offspring. Secondly, and more to the present point, her granddaughter was twenty-five and therefore didn’t have a curfew. But she was a young, uncertain twenty-five, spending time in a place she didn’t understand, and Willa felt apprehensive. Jiminy and Bo had been thick as thieves lately, but they generally called it a night at a decent hour. It was now nearly eleven. What could they be doing?
    She dialed Lyn, who answered the phone sounding surprised.
    â€œLyn, it’s Willa. Have you heard from Bo?”
    â€œNo, ma’am. What’s the matter? What’s happened?”
    Willa felt guilty for introducing that note of panic into Lyn’s night. But at least she wouldn’t be the only one worrying now.
    â€œNothing, it’s just Jiminy’s not back yet and it’s getting late. You don’t know where they went?”
    â€œBo’s staying at his friend’s this summer, not with me. And he’s grown now, so I don’t ask too many questions.”
    Willa knew this was a reasonable position, but still, it angered her.
    Lyn waited for Willa to say something more. She could feel the tension on the line; could sense that she was being blamed for Jiminy’s whereabouts. And though she liked that odd little girl just fine, there was only one Jiminy she’d ever wanted to be responsible for, and that Jiminy had been taken from her. She didn’t have the energy for another, even if she was Willa’s granddaughter.
    She heard Willa suck her breath in between her teeth. It sounded chilly and impersonal, the whistle of an ill wind. When she spoke again, her voice was tight and controlled.
    â€œBo’s not into any bad news now, is he?”
    There was none of the loose warmth that Willa’s vowels normally slid around in—they seemed mired in something cold and congealed.
    Lyn took a moment to reply. Was Bo into any bad news? Of his own accord? More than the everyday bad news he had to swallow and shoulder and wade through and wear down? Nothing more than that. No, Bo wasn’t into any bad news. Not the kind Willa was intimating. Lyn kept her calm.
    â€œNo, ma’am, he sure isn’t. He’s studying for the imp-cats, you know.”
    â€œThe MCATs,” Willa corrected testily.
    Willa knew Lyn knew all about the MCATs. Knew she wasn’t actually correcting her, but merely pointing out the slight speech impediment that crept into Lyn’s pronunciations when she got agitated. Which was rare—Lyn was usually too disengaged to get at all riled, so her speech stayed steady. Willa felt cruel for having caused the distress, and petty for mocking its consequences.
    â€œYes, ma’am. Imp-cats. M . . . CATs,” Lyn said.
    â€œI just didn’t expect them to spend so much time together,” Willa continued.
    She was trying to explain, but was only making it worse.
    â€œMmm-huh” was the reply.
    â€œWell, I’m sure she’ll be back soon. Will we be seeing you Thursday?”
    â€œMmm-huh.”
    Willa walked herself around the kitchen to try and straighten herself out. She’d offended Lyn, she knew, and she’d confused herself even further. What could she do to make it up? Maybe a yellowcake. Lyn always loved yellowcake.
    She’d just cracked an egg and shaken away the unpleasant memory of cracking a fertilized