The Casquette Girls Read Online Free PDF Page A

set up the generator in the morning.”
    I nodded with a jet-lag-induced yawn. “Definitely.” It was only 8:30 p.m. (3:30 a.m. Paris time), but I was so tired I could have slept through another hurricane.
    I agreed to sleep in the living room to appease my father’s fear that the back of the house might have structural damage, although I'm not sure it would have made a difference where we slept if the house did cave in. I didn’t mind, though – after the crow incident, I was still kind of spooked. Not that I would have admitted it.
    By the time I got back from a bottled-water toothbrushing, my father was snoring on the lov e seat. I sniffed an old afghan, and when the smell didn't make me scowl, pulled it over him.
    Lying in a heap of blankets and cushions on the floor, I felt better than I had in weeks. Just being home brought on a small smile. Although it quickly faded when I thought about Dad's studio. His schedule was erratic because of the bar, so it was hard for him to meet people outside of the nightlife, who he tried to avoid since he was solely responsible for me. The only thing that truly seemed to make him happy was his art.
    Why couldn’t that column have fallen into any other room in the house? Even my own bedroom would have been better. I wondered if any of his paintings or charcoals had survived. A sinking feeling inside told me, unlikely . At least his main medium was metal…
    I pulled out my phone and hoped a quick text to Brooke would go through.
     
    Adele 8: 57 p.m. Made it home. Able to sleep in the house. Full report tomorrow. xo.
     
    I was out cold before she had a chance to respond.

Chapter 4 G ris-Gris
     
    October 10 th
     
    My face stung. As soon as I became conscious of the muggy air around me, I remembered I was home.
    The storm boards on the windows blocked even the slightest crack of light from entering, masking any hints about what time it was. Based on the stiffness in my body, I guessed I had slept for at least ten hours. My phone told me twelve . Nice.
    The quick glow from the screen had also showed me that I was alone. How had I slept later than my father, especially considering I was on Paris tim e ?
    Curiosity finally pulled me up and to the front door.
    I squinted as the morning light poured into the cave-like foyer, and then stepped onto the stoop and let my forehead rest on the iron gate. The metal was cool. A breeze pricked my skin. Had the season already turned? Maybe we’d have a cold Halloween…? If we even have Halloween this yea r . The only thing harder for me to imagine would be a year without carnival season.
    A wave of guilt swept over me. There were tens of thousands of families who had lost everything, including each other, and I was worrying whether all the hours I had put into my costume would be in vain. I pushed the thought away, double-checked the bolt on the gate, and left the door open to maximize the natural light.
     
    * * *
     
    The sliding doors separating my father’s bedroom and studio were wide open. A squirrel bounced across the room, scavenging through the wreckage. I chased it out into the courtyard. His studio was now an open-air space, thanks to the damage to the back wall.
    It looked like a tornado had spun through. I guess one kind of had.
    Hundreds of sketches, inks, paintings, and brushes littered the studio space. Colorful dried pools of paint, resin, and other chemicals patched the wooden floor. A large oxygen tank had smashed into a wall and cracked the plaster all the way up to the ceiling. Iron patio furniture and a mass of leaves and other garden debris had blown inside through the hole. Then there was the culprit: the giant column lying in the middle. How the hell are we going to move this thing ? I wondered, failing to roll it even an inch with my foot.
    “Zeus, I think you dropped something,” I joked halfheartedly. The small smile made my claw-wound sting beneath the bandage.
    My father was sleeping on an old couch in the