Consumption Read Online Free PDF Page B

gasp she made, and for a second all she could do was watch him.
    “Dad?”
    Things had either gotten a whole lot worse, or…She hardly dared to let herself hope.
    “Hey, honey,” she heard him say as he turned to her. “Aren’t you back early?”
    “They had a half-day today,” said Star. “End of school teacher workday or something.” She rode a wave of dizziness into a seat at the kitchen table, where she had not sat in a very long time.
    Her father approached. She watched with wide eyes as he set something in front of her.
    A bowl.
    “Think you could do me a favor?” he said.
    “What?” she said. Her voice was shaky.
    He cocked his head and frowned. “Can you give this a taste test? I think the basil might be a little strong.” The kitchen lights caught one of her father’s silver uniform buttons, sending it gleaming as he said it. He saw her looking at it. “It’s true, Star Bear. I’m going back to work. Part-time for now, but…” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll see how it goes. Now, care to taste?” He nodded toward the bowl.
    With a weak smile Star looked down at the bowl again.
    Her father had always loved to cook; it was he who made the family meals, never Star’s mother. Star had learned what little culinary skills she had from him, cherishing the Sunday meals that they’d make together. But since his wife’s death, Thad Williams had not made a single meal. Had been more interested in…other things.
    “Well?”
    He stood there, offering the spoon to her, as if nothing had happened. As if she’d walked through the kitchen door and found herself in the time Before
.
    Could she really do this?
Star wondered. Pick up the spoon, take a taste, let all the strangeness, all the hurts that had passed between them in the last months go unspoken?
    Star felt the sugary sweetness of the circus peanuts rising on a wave of bile in her gut. She picked up the spoon. Took a bite.
    There was a faint twinge of bitterness at the front end, but then that mellowed and blended into a delicious taste—of basil, of tomatoes, and an earthiness that she identified as mushrooms.
    “Heavenly,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Just heavenly, Dad, really.”
    Her father beamed at her, his whole face lighting up as it hadn’t done in months. “You think so?”
    “Absolutely.” Star took another spoonful and slipped it over her tongue, watching her father as she did so. He looked like a little kid standing there, so eager to please. And he looked happy.
    Star stood up, pushed the chair away, and walked over to him. She felt herself shaking, tears threatening to fall, but she swallowed them. With all her strength, she pulled her father close to her, hugging him. His smell was as familiar as her own breath.
    “Hey, Star Bear, what is it?” her father asked, sounding alarmed. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine,” said Star, breathing in that wonderful mix of Old Spice and food that was her father. Behind them, Star heard a thumping, and she turned to see Styx, her dog, her tail wagging eagerly up against the table leg.
    “I think that’s my cue,” said Star, pulling away from her father. She needed a breath, a moment to take all this in. “I’m going to take this one out to potty.”
    “I’ll finish up in here, then. I’ll get the pasta going and we can have an early dinner, how does that sound?”
    “It sounds great,” said Star. “It really does.”
    “Oh, and Star?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Leave the dog out, okay? She must have gotten into something. Whatever it is, it’s giving me a rash.” He touched his chest briefly, where now his badge was hanging.
    “Sure, Dad.”
    Star whistled for Styx and opened the kitchen door. The dog didn’t need to be told twice, and bounded out in front of her. Styx had lost her puppies the same time that Star lost her mother. Star wondered if the dog ever missed her children, ever grieved for them. Maybe she didn’t even remember them.
    She took one