Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series) (3 page)

Patrice handed her the
peeler. “Make yourself useful,”
s
he said before rolling more dough between her palms. “Why is it that I get stuck doing everything around here
?
Did you clean the toilets?”

Glory refused to acknowledge her sister’s testy frown, focusing on Patrice’s shiny gold necklace instead. A large opal-like pendant caught her eye.

“Whoa,” Glory said reaching for it. “Is that thing real?”

Patrice fumbled for it and quickly slid it beneath her shirt. “Did you clean the coop yet?”

“
Why
can’t
the twins do it when they get back?
”

The twins, Randy and Danny, were a grade ahead of Glory. They had been sent away earlier in the year to o
pportunity
school, a program for students with chronic discipline problems. Apparently, they had learned their lesson and
they
were ready to return to regular school.

“
Dad says
they’re going
to
be
digging fence holes all week, so quit your whining.”

“Er, what’s with the popcorn garland?” Glory inquired as she spied a partially
eaten muffin on the countertop. She pointed. “Yours?”

“No. You can have it.”

Glory shoved the whole thing in her mouth.

“Disgusting,” Patrice said with a curled lip. “You’ll never snag a guy that way.”

“Like you’re the exper
t, Miss Never-Had-A-Date.” Glory’s voice was muffled by the muffin.
“Besides I’d rather have jewels than a guy.”

“Play your cards right, lose a little weight, and in time I’m sure you can have both,” Patrice winked. “You could be pretty if you tried.”

“I want to be a geologist,” Glory reminded. “Don’t need looks for that.”

“But you need money to become a geologist and lots of it.”

“Don’t worry.” Glory
held
an index finger in the air. “I have a plan.”

“It won’t work unless you learn to play the game: beauty attracts money, money attracts beauty, and poor unattractive people never get ahead.”

“Are there any more muffins?” Glory
’s eyes
scoured the kitchen until resting on a blueberry delight hidden behind the flour bag on the island
.
She snatched it
up
and took a
huge
bite
,
savoring its wonderful sweet moistness against her tongue. “Mmmm.
” She chewed and talked at the same time. “
Remember how Mom used to talk about opening a bakery?”

“Listen up,” Patrice said, taking her annoyance out on the cookie dough with a big spoon. “Once you get a certain reputation in school
…
or uptown
…
it’s nearly impossible to shed. Time to stop acting like a backward hick before it’s too late. And, ew,
eat
with your mouth closed.”

“If people don’t like the way I act
—
” Glory paused to flick muffin crumbs off her chest, “
—
or eat, that’s their problem.”

“You’re hopeless,” Patrice shook her head
in exasperation
. “Speaking of problems,”
She
leaned over the counter.
“
Brandon’s in the woods chopping down a tree.”

“Why?” Glory gulped, already knowing the answer.

“Don’t be stupid—Father Winter’s Day is only a few weeks away.”

“
But Dad said
…
”

“
The tree is free
,
so maybe he won't get mad."

Glory swallowed. “Nice Dad
today?” she asked hopefully, trying to determine if Dad was drunk or sober.

Patrice shook her head. “No, it’s the Mean One.”

Glory set down the peeler and made for the
back
door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“When Dad wakes up and sees a tree in the house
,
I want to be as fa
r away as possible.”

“Get your
butt
back
in
the chair and keep peeling.”

“You’re such a
w
itch,” Glory said,
sitting back down.

A few minutes later George curled up in the corner with his favorite blanket to take a nap. The phone rang. Patrice answered. Glory
tried to figure
out who it might be
.
Patrice glared in her direction and took the phone call to another room
.

Glory set the peeler on the counter, inhaling deeply. Ahh
—
the aroma of cinnamon
,
nutmeg
, and cloves blended like fine perfume in a plain bottle labeled Allspice
.
She remembered the first Harvest Day after
Mom’s
funeral. The
cupboa
rds offered only dried noodles and spices. The fridge held nothing but condiments.
The day after the funeral
Glory had taken the bottle of Allspice to Queen’s Mesa. Once there she had sat
alone
in a r
o
cky tunnel sniffing
it
like an add
ict huffing paint thinner
.
Occasionally,
she still had the urge. The Allspice remained in her backpack, but like everything else around here
,
it had lost most of its flavor, but
Nana and Grandpa moving in had been a huge relief in so many ways.

They
ha
d been with them ever since
social services had threatened to split up the family
.
Even though Nana was half
-
blind, and Grandpa had
memory problems
, they kept the house running more than anyone
did
.
The way that they ditched them to
day to
celebrate the holiday somewhere else
really
stung
.
What was that about anyway?
Maybe it had to do with the way Nana had looked lately…extra
old and
tired.
There were long stretches of time where
she
didn’t cook at all
.

With Nana slowing down, her eyesight failing, and
Patrice
’s plans to move out
of the house
, Glory would be the lone girl holding the bag
.
The mere thought of it made her head hurt.

The oven buzzed
.

She looked inside. The center of the cookies looked pale and doughy, but the edges were crispy brown
.
Better ask Patrice what to do. She found
her
down the hall
in Nana and
Grandpa
’s bedroom
.

Patrice
sat on the edge of the bed facing the window, not noticing Glory in the doorway.
Her
voice sounded
s
oft and
syrupy
—phony
—
must be a guy on the other end.

“The timer went off,” Glory announced. “But I
can’t decide if they’re done.
”

Patrice spun around, her face wearing a guilty expression. “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded to know.

“Uh, a second
.”

“Sorry, I can’t talk now,” she said
cupping
the phone.
“Don’t forget to call me later.”

“Who was that?”

“None of your business,” Patrice snapped. She hurried to the kitchen
, pulling the cookies out of the oven, lecturing
Glory
about the evils of
spying on private telephone conversation
s the whole time.

Glory was about to defend herself when the back door swung inward.

In came Brandon,
the
oldest
Alley sibling
. A well-built teenager with light blue eyes
and
spiky blond hair
—
h
is tall physique
would soon rival
Dad’s.
Silver body piercing
s
adorned his ears, eyebrow and tongue. Swirly tattoos of barbed wire, skulls, and
mostly naked
women decorated his body
. At
the moment
,
only a few inky tendrils escaped his jacket.
He
backed into the kitchen, dragging a five-foot tall pine tree.
Oh, no, thought Glory, here we go.

“Dad’s gonna
have a hissy
,” she warned, but nobody listened.

Brandon propped the tree up in a corner. “Ahh,” he said, taking a loud sniff. “Smells just like I remember.”

Everyone fell quiet a moment. This had been Mom’s favorite time of year. Every room required a sprig of spruce somewhere. Those were happy times, better times.

“Well, since it’s here,” Glory said. “Might as well decorate
it.”

“It’ll make a
nice welcome home for the twins,” Patrice suggested.

“Right,” Brandon responded, eyes still glued to the tree.

He
pulled himself away to
disappear down the basement stairs
, emerging a few minutes later with
boxes of lights and ornaments. As much as she feared upsetting Dad, Glory began to relax as the
y
filled the tree with glittering lovelies. This is fun, she thought, happily threading popcorn garland. She circled it around the tree and stood back to admire her handiwork.