A Trick of the Light Read Online Free PDF

myself?”
    Mike: “What?”
    Mom: “A month ago I was at a museum with your father. He didn’t want to go—said he was too busy—but he went. At one point I thought he was right beside me and I started talking to him. But it was a pole. I was standing next to a pole and I thought it was my husband. Then, when I started talking to him for real, it was like I was still talking to the pole.”
    She gazes at her reflection for the rest of the ride. Mike stares at her reflection, too, and has no idea what to say.
     
    The client lives right near the new shopping center, in a tall red-brick apartment building with tiny square windows that casts a shadow over the street. As soon as Mike and his mom get off the elevator, a short woman with spiky black hair greets them.
    Woman: “Hi, Mrs. Welles! I didn’t want you to get lost! I’m in six-G and some people knock on six-C—the letters look so similar. I’m Megan, but please call me Meg!”
    Mom: “I’m Regina, but please call me Gina.”
    Meg (glancing at Mike): “Is he with you?”
    Mom: “This is my son, Mike. He wanted to come.”
    It bothers Mike that his mom lies so easily about why he’s there. And Mike can’t lie at all.
    Mom: “No extra charge for an assistant.”
    Meg: “Great! Well, come on in—don’t be shocked—here’s the closet.”
    The closet is so stuffed, the door can’t close—it’s just pushed to the side. Cartons, papers, and clothes on hooks spill out the door. Mike notices the rest of her place looks fine.
    Meg: “Gina, are you shocked?”
    Mom: “Nothing shocks me.”
    Meg lets out a breath like she’s been holding it in all this time.
    Meg: “Great! That closet . . . it always gives me a drowning feeling. It’s ruining my life. I can’t have people over. I’m too embarrassed.”
    Mom: “What’s in the cartons?”
    Meg: “The cartons?” She sounds like she has no idea who put them there.
    Mom: “Let’s have a look.” She sticks her hand inside a carton and pulls out a flyer. “Sale at DSW. Twenty percent off.”
    Meg: “Might come in handy!”
    Mom: “First rule: nothing will ever come in handy. As for this, it expired six months ago.” She reaches in again and pulls out a trophy.
    Meg: “That belongs to my aunt. She won it playing poker in Atlantic City. She had a full house, ha-ha.”
    Mom: “You mustn’t get overly attached to objects. You’ll get rid of it, of course.”
    Meg (uncertainly): “Of course.”
    Mom: “First rule: there’s no room in your place for someone else’s possessions.”
    Meg: “But . . . that’s the second ‘first rule.’”
    Mom: “Yes, I know. Each rule is so important, it’s the first. Before returning the trophy to your aunt, you may take a picture of it and keep the picture in an album.” She reaches into a pile and pulls out a sheet of paper. “Let’s see . . . you’ve got a shopping list here, and a little key, taped to the bottom.”
    Meg: “That’s my safe-deposit key! I was looking all over for it! What a blessing you’re here.”
    Mom: “For heaven’s sake, don’t keep the important stuff with the unimportant stuff. Safe-deposit keys shouldn’t be taped to shopping lists. Now, have you worn these pants in the past three years?”
    Meg: “I’m not sure.”
    Mom: “First rule: when in doubt, throw it out.”
    Meg: “Yes, ma’am.”
    Mike’s mom goes through a few more items, first quickly, then slower, then pausing on a loosely knitted scarf. She pokes at it and her fingers go right through. It unravels a bit. Mike stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He doesn’t know why his mom insisted he come along.
    Mom (almost to herself): “You must master the chaos so the chaos doesn’t master you.”
    Meg (smiling): “Is that another first rule?”
    Mom: “What?”
    Meg (still smiling): “Mastering the chaos so the chaos doesn’t master you?”
    Mom (staring blankly at Mike): “What’s she talking about?”
    Mike: “It’s a