A Small-Town Homecoming Read Online Free PDF

plaster. Beyond the tall, grime-streaked window overlooking Third Street, a siren’s wail competed with the hum of passing traffic. Not the best place for raising a kid, but he’d had his own needs in mind when he’d signed the lease for an efficiency apartment two floors above the Karapoulis Travel Agency storefront.
    And if they moved away, there’d be no Neva a few steps down the hall to keep an eye on Rosie after school. “Rosie,” he called.
    No answer.
    He set the bucket of chicken on the table and headed toward his daughter’s room, pausing in the doorway. “Rosie.”
    “What do you want?” She sat slumped in her desk chair with her back to him, reading a note on her monitor screen.
    “It’s time for dinner.”
    “In a minute.”
    “Now.”
    The only part of her that moved was her finger on the mouse as she clicked to another screen.
    “Rosie.”
    “What?”
    “You didn’t set the table.”
    “I didn’t know what time you’d be home.”
    “I’m home now.” He held his breath and grasped forpatience, trying to avoid another fight. Another scene. There’d been far too many of both since her mother had dumped her on his doorstep. “And it’s time for dinner. Now. ”
    “Okay.” She clicked to a page with a picture of a wild-haired rock guitarist caught in the glare of a gigantic spotlight. A tidal wave of electronic noise flooded the room.
    “Turn that off.” He stepped through the door. “It’ll still be there after you’ve eaten.”
    “All right.” She blew out a martyred sigh and whirled in her chair to face him. “Chicken again?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Jeez.”
    “We can go to the store this weekend. You can pick out some things you like to cook.”
    “I’m not your slave.”
    “No. You’re my daughter,” he said, feeling foolish for pointing out the obvious. “And I want you to come and eat your dinner.”
    “I said all right.”
    He slid his hands into his pockets and watched her, waiting, praying she’d give in and walk through the door, promising himself he wouldn’t move a muscle or say another word until she did. He searched her face—that long, pale face dusted with her mother’s freckles and framed with his own dark hair—looking for the sweet, cheerful little girl he’d known so long ago. But she wasn’t there.
    “Are you just going to stand there all night?” she asked.
    “No. Just until you come to dinner.”
    She rolled her eyes and shoved to her feet. “Jeez.”
    He followed her back to the kitchen, dreading thenightly routine. Questions about homework, answers he didn’t trust. Conversation conducted in monosyllables and resentment hanging so thick in the air it seasoned every bite of food he swallowed. An argument about the cell phone, or bedtime, or something she wanted to buy, or whether a ten-year-old needed a babysitter—anything but the one topic he knew she really wanted to fight over: her mother, and when she was coming back to rescue her.
    At times, the pain was unbearable. He wanted to keep his daughter here, with him, wanted to get to know her again, wanted to break through the walls she threw up in his face, wanted his love to matter, to build solid memories for her to take with her when she’d grown and gone. He wanted to gather her close and hold her tight, to make her pain disappear, to feel her thin arms wrap around his neck and hug him tight, the way she’d hugged him so many years ago. A lifetime ago.
    But he couldn’t take away her hurt, and he couldn’t offer the comfort she wanted right now. All he could do was reach deep, deep down below his murky emotions and haul up another handful of patience and love. And pour his invisible offering over the sad and sullen child whose stony expression reminded him of all his failures.
    He asked her what she’d done at school that day, but she wasn’t talking to him tonight. So they sat in uneasy silence as they picked the meat from the bones.
     
    T ESS GLANCED up from her monitor two