A Friend at Midnight Read Online Free PDF

the Velcro on his little sneakers, fastened them tight and carried him downstairs. Nate hated being carried downstairs. He liked bumping down on his padded bottom.
    In the kitchen she filled a sippy cup with milk and handed it over.
    She could not believe Michael had hung up on her. She
really
could not believe that she was the one who had to call Dad and demand action. If anything had ever been Mom’s job, this was it. Lily would rather skewer Dad for barbecue than talk to him.
    â€œWiwwy okay?” asked Nathaniel anxiously.
    Her little brother was not yet two years old and he was worried.
    How come Dad wasn’t worried? How could he have driven away? No parent would do that!
    And surely their father, their own biological, chemical, neurological blood father, surely Dennis Rosetti had not said out loud to his little boy: You’re not the son I had in mind.
    Lily crushed Nathaniel in the hug she could not give Michael. Then she strapped him into his high chair and gave him a Fig Newton. He liked to peel away the cookie part and mash the fruit part and, when the tray was a disgusting mat of crumb, jam and smear, put his face down and lick it up. Michael encouraged this style of eating.
    After he left to live with Dad, Michael had not called home every day. He hadn’t called every second or third day. They had to call him and he never had anything to say. It was unlike Michael to have nothing to say.
    School had started a week earlier for Michael down there than it had up here. Michael wasn’t willing to discuss school, either. Michael was average in class, struggling with reading, worried by arithmetic, but still, he loved school. He loved the other kids and the teachers and the teams and the activities. Reb used to sit with him, reading aloud the sports section in the newspaper for reading practice, using her finger to follow the lines of print because Michael was embarrassed to use his finger.
    Lily had accidentally left the portable phone in the crib upstairs. She called Dad on her cell. Her hands were so swollen with rage that her fingertips barely fit on the tiny buttons. On the fourth ring, he answered it, his voice relaxed. “Hey, Lils,” he said, knowing her from his caller ID.
    She could see him perfectly: handsome and lean, with a tousled casual look on which he spent a lot of time. Loafers without socks, sunglasses hooked on his shirt, always a jacket but never a tie. Very blue eyes, so he looked like a sled dog. He was in marketing. He could sell anybody anything.
    â€œTell me,” said Lily fiercely, “that you did not drop Michael off at the airport without a ticket.”
    â€œLet Kells buy the ticket.”
    â€œWhat does Kells have to do with it?” she yelled. Her fury filled the room and oozed down the hall and up the stairs. Nathaniel wasn’t touching his cookie. He was staring at her in fear. “Did you tell Michael he isn’t the son you had in mind?”
    â€œHe isn’t.”
    â€œHow dare you!”
    â€œIt was an experiment, Lily. It didn’t work.”
    â€œHe’s your son, not an experiment!”
    â€œWhatever.”
    She tried to calm herself but nothing came of it. “What happened?” she screamed.
    â€œHe was a hell of a lot of work for very little return,” said her father. “I’ve been trying to find my own space for a long time now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to pour myself into fruitless ventures.”
    As simple as that. Little boys took time and attention. Money and effort. A man could be doing more interesting things. So Dad could stay casual and handsome and blond, while Michael had to carry this with him all his life: He was worth nothing to his own father.
    â€œI hate you!” Lily screamed into the phone. “You are not a father!”
    â€œOh, cut the drama.”
    â€œI will never use that word ‘father’ again, Dennis Rosetti! I