The Junction of Sunshine and Lucky Read Online Free PDF Page B

nice, sun-warmed back step.
    â€œThat snake, he saw us, but he refused to skitter away. He acted like he was used to everyone being afraid of his angry-looking orange-brown stripes. He must have learned to expect it. Everybody who lives in this part of the country knows a copperhead when they see one.”
    â€œThey’re unmistakable,” I jump in, because my heart is racing. “Everybody knows a copperhead is poisonous.”
    â€œI saw those copper-colored stripes,” Chuck says, “and I was ready to run. But your mom? She reached out and grabbed that copperhead behind his head. Grabbed him, like there was no way that snake would ever hurt her.
    â€œAuggie, your mom stared that snake down. Stared, even while I was yelling at her to leave him alone. But she never budged. Stood there, like she was telling that snake something just by looking. And you know, when she finally put him back down, he slithered off as fast as his scaly belly would take him. Ran away, like he was scared of your mom. Probably was, too,” he adds with a chuckle.
    â€œI don’t think I’ve ever felt quite as safe as I did right then,” Chuck admits. “With your mom at my side, I knew whatever bad thing might come my way, it would take one look at her and run off, too.”

• • • 9 • • •
    My head buzzes like the beetle traps in Harold’s yard as I try to figure out why Chuck told me this story. There’s a reason for everything with Chuck, though. I try to take as many notes as I can, in my head, because I’m already betting that I’ll need to remember his story later.
    As we get closer to Serendipity Place, he says, “Let’s turn down Joy Boulevard. Take the long way to your house.” Chuck glances around while he walks, breathing deep like he’s in the midst of something wonderful.
    â€œAlways did love this neighborhood,” he says. “You know, these houses were built before electricity,” he adds, as though this is really something to admire. “Wires had to be put in later on.”
    Not that it really matters. It’s not like anybody in our neighborhood has a computer or even cable TV. We’re more like taped-together rabbit-ear antennas and antique everything. As we get closer to my house, at the corner of Sunshine and Lucky, it feels like we all have as much need for electricity as a camping tent.
    â€œLot of history in this neighborhood,” Chuck insists.
    Sure. History. As I stare at my own house, I think that “history” is cloth awnings over side windows, each of them dotted with giant mismatched patches of material. It’s duct tape on screen doors. It’s a whitewashed house with gray shutters, every inch of paint peeling like skin after a sunburn. It’s a fence made out of wrought iron so rusty, nasty orange grit comes off on my hand when I touch it.
    For the first time, it hits me that maybe the only fancy thing about my neighborhood is its pretty name.
    â€œSee you tomorrow,” Chuck says, swinging open my front gate. “At Montgomery.”
    â€œMontgomery?” I ask. My heart beats a little faster.
    â€œSure. We had to find a place to hold church services,” he says, his face turning as dark as a storm cloud.
    â€œIsn’t Hopewell getting fixed up?” I ask, feeling a tight, worried twist in my stomach.
    â€œOf course,” he says. “But we need a place to have church in the meantime.
    â€œI saved everything,” he goes on. “Even the tiny little broken bits from the stained-glass windows. Not sure what I’ll actually do with them, but—sometimes, when you love something, the letting-go can’t happen with a single sweep of the broom.”
    He forces a little strip of sunlight into his smile as he motions for me to walk through the open gate.
    â€œTomorrow then,” he says.
    And because I don’t know how to