"Jay Lake - The Angle of My Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lake Jay)

I shook my head, waving my hands as if to push him away. That was enough for me to remember how
to fall. Head over heels, I tumbled into the yard at Granddaddy's feet. The last thing I saw was that little
photo of Momma and Daddy circling high on the wind, as if it knew the way to the astronauts in Heaven
without me.

* * *

My head felt like it was inside a bucket that kept rattling as someone was throwing gravel at it. I tried to
shake it clear, but that only made things hurt worse.

"Sit tight, Ronnie," said Granddaddy. His voice was sadder than I'd heard since Momma died. I opened
my eyes. We were in his truck, driving real fast down County Road 61 toward town.

"What happened?" It was a dumb question. I knew what had happened to me, but I couldn't think of
anything else to say.

"You fell off the roof."

"No, I--"

His voice was almost a growl. "You were sleepwalking and fell off the roof, Ronnie Marshall."
Granddaddy glanced away from the road and met my eye. "There won't be another word said once
we're done with the doctor, you hear me boy? Not ever."

The strange thing was, I didn't even get a whipping.

* * *

I stayed out of school three days with a concussion. Mrs. Doornie's protractor was smashed in my
pocket, and whenever I could get out of bed and sit up for a while, I tried to glue it back together. The
picture was gone, and so was my space shuttle eraser.

By Wednesday I was better, and that night Granddaddy made me come down to dinner instead of
bringing me soup in my room. After we said grace over the roasted chicken and buttered green beans,
Granddaddy picked up his knife, then put it back down. He stared at me, so I put my knife and fork
down, too. I didn't know what I had done wrong.

"Ronnie," Granddaddy said real slow, like he wasn't sure what he was saying. Except Granddaddy was
always sure of himself. "Your Momma..." He stopped, staring at the butter-and-pepper skin on his half
of the chicken. "She lost her Momma when she was a little girl."

He was quiet for a while, like I was supposed to answer. "My grandmother," I finally said.

Granddaddy almost looked relieved. "Your grandmother. She ran away from us, left me to raise your
Momma. And lose your Momma, finally."

He hadn't never cried when Momma was sick or when she died. They had to carry Daddy away from
the funeral, but Granddaddy had just stood at the grave with a face like a hatchet. I was real afraid he
was about to cry now.