Antonia's Choice Read Online Free PDF Page B

measured my steps to the family room, trying not to work myself into a lather. Ben was sitting straight up in front of the TV with his hands over his ears. It wasn’t hard to figure out whether it was the
Power Rangers
or me he was trying to shut out.
    I went to the television, snapped it off, and stood in front of it. Before he could let out the first wail, I squatted down to his level and said, “March, Pal. No arguments. We’re eating in the kitchen. You can either get in there or I can carry you.”
    It was a cheap shot, I knew, but it worked. He scrambled up from the floor and threw himself out of the family room, through the breakfast room and up onto the stool. Anything to keep from being touched by me. That part was harder than the screaming and the back talk. It was almost as hard as the “I hate you’s.”
    I shoveled a slice of pizza onto his other plate and put it in front of him. Then I dove into conversation before he had a chance to protest that there was too much cheese or not enough cheese or the wrong kind of cheese.
    â€œBen, what’s up with you, Pal? Why are you mad at me?”
    â€œâ€™Cause you left me,” he said.
    â€œI know that much. We’ve had this conversation thirty million times.”
    â€œNot thirty million.”
    At least he looked at me then, though it was with a certain amount of disgust.
    â€œOkay, twenty million,” I said. “And you always say I left you at the babysitter. But Ben, I had to leave you. I
had
to go to work.”
    â€œI hate that you left me. That’s all. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
    The thunderheads were forming in his brown eyes already.
    â€œThen let’s talk about your soccer team,” I said. “You want to go on the Web after supper and see the uniforms and stuff?”
    â€œUniforms?” The chance of thunderstorms lessened a few percentage points. “What color are they?”
    â€œI can show you on the Web. Eat your pizza and your apples and stuff.”
    â€œYou just tell me.”
    â€œTake two bites and I will.”
    Ben went for his plate and stopped. “Hey,” he said. “It’s a face.”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    I held my breath and tried not to inspect him too closely as his little face decided what to do. Then slowly he began to smile.
    He smiles just like Chris,
I thought.
It takes him half an hour to get all the way to dimples.
    Except for his dark hair, also inherited from his father, Ben looked like me, right down to the small nose, the brown eyes, the inevitable overbite. But the smile was unmistakably Chris’s, dawning on his face as slowly as a sunrise. It gave me an ache.
    â€œDid Nana do that?” Ben said.
    â€œNo—I did it.”
    â€œNo you didn’t!”
    â€œYes I did! You little scoundrel. I know how to cut things up, too!”
    â€œI hate when you cut things up! Don’t cut things up!”
    â€œOkay, fine! Ben, there’s no reason to freak out about it. Just say you don’t want—”
    â€œI don’t want it! I don’t want it anymore!”
    I could only stare at him. It wasn’t just a tantrum that was being thrown here. My son was bordering on terror.
    â€œOkay, Pal,” I said. “I won’t cut anything up ever if it scares you this much.”
    He was starting to shake, and I reached for him. He recoiled and threw himself off the bench, still screaming, and tore for the family room. He had the television on before I could get there, and he sat on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, rocking back and forth. Iwatched him until he stopped shivering. He only ceased to scream because his voice was giving out.
    â€œAre you all right, Ben?” I said.
    â€œYes. I wanna watch TV.”
    â€œYou do that, Pal,” I said—because I had no idea what else to say.
    I sank into one of the chairs. My jaw was so tight my head was starting to pound,