His mother shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. But I need to leave the state. I’m going to die if I’m anywhere near here.”
Patrick couldn’t believe his eyes as his father nodded briefly. “Okay.”
His life… such as it was… fell apart. His father sold the garage, and his mother began packing. Patrick panicked - not only were his parents abandoning him, he was going to lose his stuff, the things he could touch. He’d been reading his way through the novels on his bookshelf, and now they’d be gone. He’d rediscovered a book Ginny had given him for his birthday last March, some book about world religions, and he was twenty pages into it. If they left and took his books, he’d go insane. What would he do in this house with no one… and nothing? Or worse yet, strangers?
He hid things. His mother emptied his desk, shoving books into a box, and by night Patrick secreted them away. He hid his book on religion and his Bible in the basement behind the washer and dryer. Other books disappeared under the stove and behind the refrigerator. There was a spot under the insulation in the attic that served as a secret repository of the things that meant the most to him - a cigar box filled with sea glass and stones and other random things he’d collected over the years, his copy of The Turn of the Screw and a collection of short stories by Edgar Allen Poe. A box of photos precariously balanced in the fireplace, above the damper. His records and record player were harder to hide, but he did it. There was a perfect spot under the stairs in the basement - he’d used it to play hide and seek with the neighbor kids when he was younger. It was full of cobwebs and dirt, mouse droppings and spiders, but Patrick didn’t care. Those things couldn’t hurt him or even touch him. He pushed his treasures all the way back, praying his mother wouldn’t get motivated to check the spot.
His car disappeared from the driveway one day, although he had no idea where it went. He hoped she was with someone who would treat her right, take good care of the motor. The missing car was like a hole in his heart... one more thing to piss him off or freak him out or bum the crap out of him.
His parents left on a Friday, two weeks after Halloween. Patrick spent the morning following them around the house. His father’s hair stuck out in the back, and Patrick wanted to smooth it down, so it wasn’t the last thing he’d remember about his dad. His mom wandered around the house rechecking drawers and closets, the slip hanging below her plaid skirt.
Mrs. Stout, the next door neighbor, hugged Patrick’s mother in the bare living room and received a set of keys with a sad smile.
“Just check the mail now and then, and I’ll send you some money for Jimmy to mow the lawn.”
“You’re sure you won’t sell? It’s a shame for this place to sit empty.” Mrs. Stout squeezed his mother’s arm and looked around.
“Come on, Ma, change your mind.” Patrick stood beside her, pleading with his eyes. Deep down, he thought they’d stay at the last minute… stay with him.
“I can’t live here, but I can’t let anyone else live here either. Not yet. Maybe one day.”
Patrick groaned.
“Are you ready, Arlene?” Patrick’s father smiled, a grin as empty as the house, from the front door. The crisp smell of fall air wafted through the door, bringing with it a few crimson leaves from the tall trees in the front yard and the smell of smoke. One of the neighbors must have been burning lawn clippings or something.
“No, not really. But let’s go.”
“Wait!” Patrick ran to his mother, draping his arms around her carefully and breathing in her powdery scent. They’d come back; they had to. This wouldn’t be the last time he’d see them – it just wasn’t right. “I love you, Mom.”
She shivered and reached across herself to grasp her own arms. “I love you, Patty,” she whispered. “I miss you.”
Patrick gasped and allowed his arms fall to his sides. He knew she hadn’t heard, but the thought made the space where his heart used to beat ache.
“Dad, don’t go.” His hair still kicked out in the back, and his shirt collar was folded oddly.
“Come on, Arlene. We need to get on the road.”
Mrs. Stout kissed his mother on the cheek and edged around his father at the door. “Call me when you get to Florida.”
His mother paused and looked around again, face tired and drawn. Without another word, she walked out the door, closing it firmly behind her.
“Stay!” he called, hoping by some miracle they’d hear him.
Patrick watched out the picture window in the living room as his father helped his mother into the car. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear his dad looked straight at him, turning to face the house before climbing into the driver’s seat.
To read more of Between Seasons by Aida Brassington go to:
aidabrassington.wordpress.com
Acknowledgements
As anyone who brushes against me creatively understands that it takes a village to help me through my process. I can be a little needy and everyone in my village has an important role, from idiot (me) to Mayor (undecided) that helps me get from the spark to the finished product. Thanks to my readers who had to muddle through the early messy drafts; Alicia, Tracie, Rachel, and Liz. My Betas; Vanessa, Jessica and Beth. Alice for the final edit. Sam for the cover and all the other stuff (there is too much stuff to describe.) Kirsten for the hand holding, one plot point at a time. For Mo. Just because. Adonis for his little blue car I see barreling down the street, probably held together with duct tape. Special thanks to CA for being supportive and my girls for letting me steal time from them to hide in my cave and get this accomplished. But seriously, I owe Barb for her help, beyond measure, during my freakouts and tantrums and rants and worries and for knowing that one day during the zombie apocalypse you’ll move over and let me share your igloo.
About the Author
Angel Lawson lives with her family in Atlanta and has a lifelong obsession with creating fiction from reality, either with paint or words. On a typical day you can find her writing, reading and trying to get the glitter out from under her nails.
Angel can be found at www.angellawson.com and on twitter at @LawsonWrites
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
BetweenSeasons
Chapter One-Between Seasons
Acknowledgements
About
Wraith Page 24
