The Late Child Read Online Free PDF Page A

on going through for the rest of her life, was undoubtedly a lot worse.
    â€œHarmony, we better start making calls—we should probably inform your family first,” Juliette said. She got a mug of tea for herself—the only lemon in Harmony’s refrigerator was pretty runty but at least it was a lemon, and then she brought the Portaphone over to the couch and pulled up a chair for herself.
    â€œIf you’ll just tell me the numbers I’ll dial and then you can talk,” she said.
    â€œI guess I ought to call Gary first,” Harmony said. Gary was her best friend—maybe by now he was her only real friend—and he had known Pepper all her life. Gary was sort of an honorary uncle; he had always thought Pepper was totally beautiful. It was going to break his heart when he heard that Pepper was dead.
    â€œIf I were you I’d call your family first,” Juliette said.
    â€œI know you don’t like Gary, he does get bitchy at times,” Harmony said, remembering that Gary and Juliette had had words one time, at a party Harmony had been attempting to give. It had been Eddie’s fifth-birthday party; Eddie’s birthday parties were about the only parties Harmony attempted to give. From Eddie’s point of view the parties were a big success, but from Harmony’s point of view things were more complicated. It was plain that Juliette wasn’t crazy about calling Gary first.
    â€œNo, Gary and I made up, we’re civil,” Juliette said. “I just think you ought to call your family first—it would be more appropriate.”
    Harmony suddenly realized what Juliette meant: she meant she should call her family in Oklahoma first—her two sisters, her brother, her mother and father.
That
was the family Juliette was talking about. Juliette was from Iowa herself—of course she would know what was appropriate and what wasn’t in times of grief.
    â€œI don’t see them very often—they weren’t real close to Pepper,” Harmony said. But then she took the Portaphone from Juliette and without thinking about it another second called her sister Neddie. Her sister’s real name was Grace, but for some reason she had always been called Neddie. It had been so many months since she had called her sister that Harmony was a little surprised to find the number still in her head. Maybe it was because Neddie, who lived on a farm near Tarwater, Oklahoma, had had the same phone number all her adult life—in the same period of time Harmony had had at least thirty phone numbers.
    â€œIt’s three a.m., who’s calling?” Neddie asked; she was always matter-of-fact in phone conversations.
    â€œI’m sorry, Neddie—I’m confused,” Harmony said. “My feet are all cut up, and Pepper’s dead.”
    â€œI’m coming, Sis,” Neddie said. “Me and Pat will get ourselves to the airport and be there as soon as we can. What’d the poor child die of?”
    Pat was Harmony’s other sister’s nickname—her real name was Hope. She worked in the bank in Tarwater and had for many years.
    â€œNeddie, she’s cremated, that’s as far as I got in the letter,” Harmony admitted. “The letter’s out in the yard. I guess I’ll try to read it in the morning.”
    â€œIf she’s dead, she’s dead,” Neddie said. “It’s a tragedy for this family. Have you got a friend with you, hon?”
    â€œJuliette’s with me, you met her,” Harmony said. “She hasn’t even been home to take her tux off—she’s here, a foot away.”
    â€œDoes Eddie know?” Neddie asked.
    â€œNo, I was a coward, I didn’t tell him,” Harmony said. “I just made him macaroni and cheese and put him to bed. It’s important that he get a good night’s sleep.”
    â€œIt’s important that you get them feet tended to, too,” Neddie