Dust Eva Everson (story reading txt) 📖

drive to the porch. I glanced up at his face as I waited for an answer, noting the sharp features in the glow of the front porch light and the scant bit of moonlight filtering through the tall pines that swayed in a breeze. “No,” he said, drawing out the answer with a smile. “Not yet anyway.”

The door opened then, and I jerked to see a young man and woman bathed in light from the foyer and the front porch. “There you are,” Westley’s brother said as he strolled across the wide brick porch, then skipped down the four steps to the walkway. “I was beginning to worry.”

Westley released my hand and the two brothers grabbed each other in a manly hug, backslapping and laughing like two old army buddies who’d made it through the war and finally found each other after years of separation. When they released, Westley turned to me and said, “Paul, this is Ali. Ali, my brother Paul.”

I reached out my hand, then drew it back, and stuck it out again. “Hi, Paul,” I said.

He took my hand in his before drawing me close. “Come here, you. We’re about to be family.” Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders and squeezed while the scent of English Leather and the faint hint of consumed wine teased my nostrils. When he let me go, he stepped back so I could get a good look at him. Like Westley, his features were sharp, but even more handsome. Where Westley’s hair held natural curl, Paul’s was straight and slick-black. Kohl-dark lashes lined eyes that were blue enough to be named and given their own place in a Crayola box. When he smiled, I was met by straight pearl-white teeth. Unlike Westley’s, which were not exactly crooked, but not exactly straight either. And, where Westley’s chin came to a slow point, Paul’s was square and held a deep cleft.

“Hi,” I finally stammered, wondering how it was that, even with seeing photos of Paul and DiAnn, the matte one-dimensional illusions had done nothing to prepare me for the Greek-like reality of him. “Hi,” I said again only to have Westley come up beside me, slip his arm around my waist, and laugh.

“She’s tired. She’s not used to all this,” he said as though I were a girl of sixteen.

“Gracious, you two,” DiAnn said from the porch. She neither smiled nor frowned; she simply stood. I stared up at her. Her legs were dark and shapely, shown off by a short silky skirt. My eyes climbed up from there—the flat of her stomach, the round of her hips, the tiny waist and the ample breasts made prominent by a tight-fitting V-neck sweater. “Give the girl a break and y’all come on up here. We’re letting the mosquitos in, sure as I’m standing here.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief, moved out of Westley’s grip and climbed the steps to her. “I’m Allison … Ali.”

Bright eyes smiled while her lips stayed noncommittal. “Hello, Allison-Ali. I’m DiAnn. Come on in.” She jutted her chin toward the brothers still on the walkway. “Why don’t you two get the luggage so we can get these two settled and have some supper?”

Supper was barbecue chicken, asparagus, and corn on the cob, all hot off the grill. DiAnn pulled garlic bread from the oven not two seconds after we stepped into the kitchen as if she’d somehow managed to time our arrival. “What can I do to help?” I asked, terrified she’d ask me to cook something. But Mama had insisted that I do exactly that—offer. “You know little about cooking, but you can at least offer,” she told me.

DiAnn noted four glasses and a pitcher of tea on the counter as she tucked a strand of her blond chin-length hair behind one ear. “Just get the ice in the glasses, if you will.”

We spent most of the meal listening to Paul and Westley playing catch-up; the bond between them such that I felt a pang of jealousy. I’d never had this kind of relationship with Julia, not even as children. Any hope of connecting to her had been pretty much ruined when she married. At least as far as I could tell. But, maybe one day …

After we’d cleaned up the kitchen, while Westley and Paul sat in the living room and continued to jabber on, DiAnn asked if I’d like to see my room. I nodded, then followed her up a back staircase to a wide hallway with doors opening left and right. “Bathroom is right here,” she said pointing, “so I put you in the guest room across from it.”

I followed behind her as she flipped on an overhead light revealing a small bedroom with light-pink painted walls, a twin bed located close to the nearest wall, an antique hope chest under the window and a bentwood rocker sitting diagonally in one corner. “I hope this is okay. We set this up for Heather when she visits.”

I smiled. “I can see that,” I said, pointing to the pink floral and quilted spread with matching dust ruffle. “Pink is Heather’s favorite color.”

“For such a tomboy, she can be such a girl.” DiAnn nodded toward the single-door closet. “Westley and Paul must have brought your luggage up.”

I blew out a pent-up breath, feeling tired and ready for bed even though it wasn’t much after nine o’clock. “Do you mind,” I asked, “if I take a shower and get ready for bed?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I’ll head back downstairs and let Westley know.”

She left the room and my brow furrowed. DiAnn, who had one of the most beautiful peaches-and-cream complexions and the largest sea-green eyes I’d ever seen, seemed nice enough, but almost as if she had reservations about me. Or, perhaps, Westley and me. The two of us. Together. Then again, I told myself as I lifted my small suitcase and laid it across the arms of the rocker, I had only just met her. Perhaps, with time,