Alone at 90 Foot Read Online Free PDF

with me sometimes.
    I wanted to jump in and stop her. Dad’s look told me: don’t. So while we watched her kid race round and round and round the table, she backed out of the garage and took off down the road with a familiar buzz.
    The call came half an hour later. The pickuptruck hadn’t seen her. The passenger’s side was crushed and the front axle broken. I thought Dad might cry on the spot. He didn’t, but went to get her, while I told her hyper kid to sit.
    â€œI don’t have to do what you say. You’re not my mom!”
    â€œMaybe not,” I said, and I waved a threatening finger, “but you move and you’re dead.”
    Okay, a little harsh, I admit. But I was truly fed up.
    After all Dad’s been through, he probably could have handled it. But it was her attitude that sucked. She didn’t have the least bit of guilt.
    He didn’t say a word when he walked in the door. He went straight to the bathroom, while she paced back and forth, breathing hard, smoking a cigarette. Finally, Dad came out.
    â€œYou’re mad at me,” she said.
    â€œI am not mad at you,” he answered, in this very soft voice.
    â€œYes, you are. I can hear it in your voice. You’re mad. Look, he didn’t see me coming. What more do you want?”
    Dad sat in a chair. I noticed it wasn’t his favorite. He drummed his fingers impatiently against the arms. “I am not mad at you. I simply am a little shaken up.”
    Lynette did not believe him. “Look. Could Ihelp it that he didn’t see me? Could I help it that you drive a car no one can see?”
    Dad, who was beginning to simmer, worked hard to hang back.
    â€œWho in their right mind would want to drive a car that small!”
    â€œYou did!” Dad finally slammed back. That was it; now on his feet, he’d put up with enough.
    The kid started screaming. I tried to control him, but the little creep bit me on the hand. Before I could stop him, he charged at Dad. He pounded on his legs. “Don’t you yell at my mom! Don’t touch her! Leave her alone, you jerk!”
    Looking suddenly puzzled, Dad caught him by the arms. He looked at Lynette, then over at me. I stood rubbing my hand. This was all too foreign to him. We had never been a fighting family and I don’t think he understood how quickly it had come to this. And to be honest, neither did I.
    â€œI wasn’t hurting her,” he said in this deadly calm voice. He led the kid to Lynette by the hand. “I think you should go.”
    And she did.
    Leaning with one arm against the door, Dad looked so broken I could hardly say I told you so. Instead, I started to snivel.
    He put his arm around me. “It’s okay, Pam. It was only a car. Let me take a look at your hand.”So, here I sit at the dinner table. Dad made this massive pot of chili, a decent mango salad and, wearing his “I love to cook” apron, served it all with some soft, doughy bread. Necessity has turned him into a passable cook.
    Jennifer Reid sits across from me, blowing daintily on her chili.
Phh
. She’s wearing one of those technical suits. Powder blue, with the big white bow of her blouse wrenched around her neck in this sadistic knot. I feel like I’m strangling just looking at it. I pull at the neckline of my sweater.
    â€œIt is such a pleasure to meet you, Pam.”
Phh, Phh
. “And you’re such a big girl. Your dad says you’re fourteen.”
Phh, phh, phh
. “And when is your birthday?”
    Big girl? My birthday? Oh, pleease, Ms. Reid, you’re kidding, right? I mean, that was a joke. I look at Dad. Is she for real? Dad is smirking behind his serviette.
    â€œNovember 15th.” Then I add, in this casual voice, “And when is yours?”
    My question catches her off guard, so that she forgets to
phh
and burns her tongue. I smile at Dad. He scowls back.
    â€œOh, it’s a month from today. June