All Over Creation Read Free Page B

it between her thumb and forefinger, narrow her eyes, and drag deep. Then she’d hand it back the same way. When the sun set, taking her shadow with it, she’d sit on a large chunk of black stone at Yummy’s feet. They’d continue to smoke until the tip of the cigarette glowed red against the indigo sky. Yummy would take a foot out of her sneaker—she’d stopped wearing socks that summer—and place it, storklike, against the inside of her thigh. It’s a yoga pose, she told Cass. Her bare feet were long and slender. She wore a silver ring on her second toe, where dirt collected.
    Cass had a brainload of pictures like that, even now, twenty-five years later.
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    â€œYou don’t have to keep on with it,” Will said. “If it gets too much.”
    He was sitting at the table with his morning coffee, looking over some specs on seed potatoes for the spring. He put down the pages and watched as she bundled up a few eggs, still warm from the chickens, tucking them in next to a bread loaf.
    Cassie shrugged. “Jeez, Will. What else do I have to do with my day?” The sarcasm was lost on him.
    â€œThere’s always plenty to do around a farm—”
    Cass straightened her back, rotating her fists into her kidneys. She eyed her husband, the stolid, broad-shouldered bulk of him, and tried to breathe away impatience. Of course there was plenty to do. Too much. There always had been, and ever since she and Will had bought up the last of Fuller’s acres, and she’d taken on the old man and his crazy wife, there was more to do than ever.
    Cass sighed and went back to her packing, slipping a small jar of preserves in with the loaf. It wasn’t worth the breathing for an answer.
    Will knew when he’d got something wrong. “I didn’t mean to criticize,” he said, catching her wrist as she passed. “It’s real sweet of you to look after them.”
    That’s right, thought Cass. She looked down at his wide face. His hair was pulled back tight into a blond ponytail and fastened with a rubber band. She gave it a tug, then bent to plant a kiss on the top of his head. I am sweet. Why not? You could always count on Will to find the good in things. But if this was comfort, it quickly passed. Because it wasn’t just about sweet, although some sweetness did enter into it. Curiosity? Pity? Cass pulled away and went back to her packing. Resignation. Too many years spent as a potato.
    â€œMaybe you should write to that daughter of theirs,” Will said. “Tell her she has to come home.”
    â€œSure thing.” Never mind that she hadn’t heard a word from Yummy in close to twenty-five years, or had any idea where she lived. “That’ll make her hop right to.” She gave Will a look as she headed out the door. “You don’t know Yummy Fuller.”
    â€œYummy, yummy, yummy, I got love in my tummy,
    And I feel like a-lovin’ you. . . .”
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    It was her theme song. You could almost hear it playing in the corridors at school when she walked by. Pigtails swinging. It stuck in your head. Cass could still catch its boppy little melody on the cold fall wind. She swung her basket onto the passenger’s seat of the Suburban and set off down the road.
    The screen door at the Fullers’ house had slumped off its hinges, and the mesh was clogged. The aluminum was dull and spotted with age. The old Japanese woman shuffled through the kitchen. She peered up through the dirty screen.
    â€œYes? May I hel-pu you?” After fifty years in Idaho she still spoke with the deliberateness of a foreigner, carefully pronouncing words, lining them up one after another, and launching them tentatively into the air.
    â€œHi, Momoko. It’s me, Cassie. Can I come in?”
    The old woman backed away from the door and held it open.
    â€œYes. Plee-su.”
    All the lamps in the house were off, and the shades were