"Navarro, Yvonne - The Cutting Room" - читать интересную книгу автора (Navarro Yvonne)

The Cutting Room
a short story
by Yvonne Navarro




"Daddy, down!"
Roger Nadab grinned at his two year old son's demanding voice and upstretched
arms. He lowered himself to a crouch and looked the boy in the eye. "Brian," he
said patiently, using his best teacher-to-pupil tone, "you want to go up, not
down. When I'm holding you is when you want to go down. Okay?"
The toddler smiled at him and pulled at the sleeves of Roger's shirt with chubby
fingers. "'Kay, daddy. Down?" The gray eyes that mimicked his mother's twinkled
and Roger had to laugh. "Up!" he cried as he swung the boy to his shoulders and
Brian giggled delightedly. "Let's go find your mom, okay?"
"Ma!" Brian agreed. For emphasis he tugged at a handful of Roger's hair as his
father piggy-backed him through the door and into the yard, bending his knees to
keep the child's head from discovering the top of the door frame. Roger spied
Miriam across the yard, kneeling in the midst of a tangle of vegetable plants
with some type of clawed mini-garden tool in hand. He ambled over with the boy
still on his shoulders and yanking at his hair like he was a horse in human
form.
"What're you doing?" he asked. "Hoeing?"
His wife looked at him and rolled her eyes. "Not hardly, Rog. A hoe is a full
sized tool with a long handle."
"Well, at least no one'll ever mistake me for a redneck," he said, raising his
brows at the sunburned skin on the back of her neck.
Miriam laughed outright. "With those glasses-н no way!"
"Ma, up!" Brian said gleefully.
"Down," Roger corrected. He lowered the toddler to the ground and wondered if
anything was left of his scalp besides smooth skin and a missed tuft or two of
hair. He watched Miriam for a few moments as Brian began to make a small path of
destruction through the plants.
"It's almost time for the news," he said finally. "Are you coming in?"
"Sure," she answered. Her fingers quickly snatched the garden shears out of
Brian's range. In the late afternoon sunlight Roger could see no difference
between this woman whom he had married and created a child with and the
fresh-faced girl he had pursued in his senior year of high school. The light
stippling through the trees made the shine of her thick blonde curls more
intense, until her hair resembled the fur of some strange, albino leopard; for a
second he felt a little breathless. She glanced up and caught his gaze, then
smiled. "And what's on your mind, mister?"
"Me?" Roger asked innocently. He offered his hand and she used it to stand. "I
don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure," she said. She tossed her gardening gloves next to the tools and scooped
Brian into her arms. "You get that look, you know?" Her eyes, pale gray and
almost washed out by the bright sun, glittered like colorless stones.
"Yeah," Roger said happily as he put an arm across her shoulders and they went
inside. "I know."