The Night Wanderer Read Online Free PDF

in shape in time. Your grandmother sure can’t stay down there, and my room ain’t really fit for guests.”
    â€œSo I’m being penalized for having a nice room? That is so unfair. Gimme a couple hours, I could make your room really nice.”
    â€œI’ve thought this out, Tiffany. Why do I have to explain everything to you all the time? I’m the father. You are the daughter. So for God’s sake, do as I say for once.” He looked at her expectantly.
    For a moment, there was silence, then as always Granny Ruth tried to find quiet ways of changing the subject. “Your father says this man’s from Europe. That will be exciting. One of them far-off places. I wonder if he likes paashkiminsignan .” Her word for pickles. Granny Ruth put down a small plate of pickles on the coffee table in front of them, taking a blandly yellow cauliflower for herself. One of the quirks Tiffany found puzzling was her grandmother’s fondness for pickles. Dill, bread and butter, mustard, baby gherkins, all kinds. There were jars and jars of the stuff along the wall in the basement. Across from what was going to be her new room.
    She uttered the unavoidable. “This blows.”
    Now finished with the groceries, Keith hoped to end the conversation. “It’s only for a few days. Quit whining. You’ll live, so you can stop being so damn dramatic. I would suggest you get started right now.” More softly, to his mother, he added, “I’ll make some tea.”
    Tiffany looked down at the printed email in her hand. It was the second note for her of the afternoon, and neither one had perked up her day. Some stranger, some foreign person was going to be sleeping in her room. As they often said in math class, not only did it blow, it blowed cubed. At least she wouldn’t be alone down there. She was going to be sharing the basement with a host of spiders. Spiders and pickles, every teenager’s dream. And who the hell would want to stay at a bed and breakfast on a Native reserve anyway? The guy must be pretty desperate.
    The email read:
    Dear Mr. Hunter,
    I understand that you might be in a position to help me. I will be visiting Otter Lake on the 14th of this month, and I am in dire need of a place to stay. I have been informed that you have a spare room of convenience. I would be delighted to discuss accommodation arrangements with you. I do not need much in the manner of comforts, just a place of privacy. I will contact you when I arrive. Again, I am in your debt.
    Pierre L’Errant
    Pierre L’Errant . . . sounded French. She hoped he wouldn’t be too weird.

THREE
    T IFFANY SAT in her room—well what had been her room and now would belong to some stranger from Europe while she wasted away her existence twelve feet below—and sulked. School sucked. Life in this house sucked. The only shining light was her new relationship with Tony. Tony Banks. She even liked his name. Tony B., she sometimes called him.
    Whatever damage being forced to sleep in a basement caused Tiffany, Tony was sure to be able to make her feel better. He always did. He would tell her stories of the places he’d been with his parents. Florida sounded so exotic. He talked of his plans for the future (and possibly theirs), while most of the guys on the reserve thought the future meant just this coming weekend. Tony provided the umbrella that shielded her from the dark cloud hanging over her house.
    Tiffany would have to figure out something special to do on their one-month anniversary this coming Thursday. What would be a decent one-month anniversary present? Something Native like moccasins (too expensive), or something white people might like . . . stationery maybe (too boring). She would have to think about it.
    While she pondered these ideas, carefully ignoring the history book on the pillow in front of her, she massaged her tender, blistered feet. Tiffany applied some lotion on them in