A Straight Line to My Heart Read Online Free PDF

whole state?’
    She ignores my excellent joke. Another witty gem wasted.
    â€˜That was a very early one. You keep watching in that same area and see what happens.’
    With every new ultrasound the image becomes clearer. I gradually see miniature hands and feet and toes. And then, when I stare really hard, a chubby face appears, looking like one of those Valentine’s Day angels.
    â€˜Creepy, eh?’ says Kayla.
    Yep. Creepy and incredible.
    â€˜Okay,’ she says. ‘So, what did you have to show me?’
    I reach into my jeans and take out an envelope. Inside is a washed-out photo. My little piece of treasure. I hand it to her without explanation.
    She glances at it then back at me, making comparisons. Same eyes, she decides, same mouth.
    â€˜This has to be your mother.’
    â€˜You got it.’
    She studies the photo again.
    â€˜Yeah, it’s obvious now. You’re her. She’s you.’
    About two months after this photo was taken, I was born and Mum died – clean swap. Caring about someone I never knew doesn’t make sense, but that’s how it is. This photo means a lot. There must be some invisible mother–daughter wiring that runs from her image in a straight line to my heart.
    â€˜My mum’s name was Julia.’
    She’s standing outside a small white house, hands laced together, smiling for the camera.
    â€˜And see her huge tummy?’
    â€˜It’s hard to miss.’
    â€˜Well, that’s me. Photogenic, aren’t I?’
    â€˜Yeah, you were at your best then. It’s all been downhill since.’
    â€˜Thanks, Kayla. You’re so full of compliments.’
    She takes a closer look at the photo.
    â€˜Where’d you get it from?’
    â€˜Reggie found it when he was cleaning up some old papers – he doesn’t want to leave a mess behind him when he dies.’
    â€˜You should tell him to get a life.’
    â€˜I do – all the time. Anyway, I think the photo must have been there ever since I was fostered. It’s all I’ve got of my mum.’
    She turns it over to look at the back. It’s got names and a date. Even a house number and street.
    Forty-one Beamish Street, Surfers Paradise.
    As soon as I saw that I copied the address into my journal. Bumped the type size up to twenty-four. Changed the colour to red. All in bold.
    â€˜I’m going there one day. Put flowers on Mum’s grave. I owe her that.’
    â€˜Sounds like a good plan to me.’ Kayla nods as if to underline it. ‘I know you think about your mum a lot. How about we go there together? Be heaps fun.’
    I wanted to ask her but had been afraid she wouldn’t be interested. If she’d turned me down, no amount of shrugging would have made it look like I didn’t care.
    Ever so casually I tell her, ‘Hmm. I suppose that would be all right . . . okay, let’s do that.’

Soon it’s time for Harrison to go back into training – that’s potty training. Kayla leaves me in charge while she goes to make a snack, even though I tell her I don’t think I ever want to eat again after my experience in nappy hell. She gives me instructions.
    â€˜Read a story to him. There’s a pile of picture books next to his potty.’
    â€˜Doesn’t he want privacy?’
    She comes back into the room just to fold her arms and stare at me. Okay. I get it.
    â€˜Praise him for sitting there. If he does anything, go crazy. If it’s a poo, really go mental. You have to clap and he gets a sticker. And for God’s sake call me so I can look at it, too.’
    â€˜Are you sure I can’t make the snack?’
    Kayla likes to call this stuff Motherhood Guidance. I think the term she’s looking for is Aversion Therapy.
    Before long Harrison has some success and I call in Kayla to be a witness, measure and tag it – whatever. And then both of us run around the house like demented