Barefoot: A Novel

Wel , there’s Chas Gorda, my creative-writing professor at Middlebury. The writer-in-residence, actual y. He had his novel, Talk, made into a film back in 1989. He might know somebody. I could ask him when I go back.

BRENDA

Would you? That would be great.

JOSH

Sure.

BRENDA

When do you go back?

JOSH

Two weeks.

BRENDA

Are you looking forward to it?

JOSH

(staring into the cottage, where—by chance?—MELANIE sits at the kitchen table reading the Boston Globe) I guess so. I don’t know.

BRENDA

(thinking, Horrible Didi was right. Something is going on between them. Something the rest of us were too self-absorbed to notice.) BRENDA smiles kindly at JOSH, remembering back to when he lent her the quarter at the hospital, remembering back to when they kissed in the front yard.

Maybe someday I’l be adapting one of your novels.

JOSH

(looking at BRENDA but diverted by something—someone?—inside the cottage)

You never know.

BLAINE

(eating a red Popsicle)

Popsicle juice drips down BLAINE’s chin in a good approximation of blood.

What are you doing?

BRENDA

Working.

BLAINE

On Dad’s computer?

BRENDA

Yep.

BLAINE

Are you working on your movie?

BRENDA

Mmmhmm.

BLAINE

Is it like Scooby Doo?

BRENDA

No, it’s nothing like Scooby Doo. Remember I said it’s a movie for grown-ups?

BLAINE reaches out to touch the computer.

Ah, ah, don’t touch. Do not touch Dad’s computer with those sticky hands. Go wash.

BLAINE

Wil you play Chutes and Ladders with me?

BRENDA

I can’t now, Blaine. I’m working.

BLAINE

When you take a break, wil you play?

BRENDA

When I take a break, yes.