Cures for Hunger Read Online Free PDF Page B

trying to keep my voice under control, though it sounded too loud and whiny and on the verge of tears.
    â€œIt’s late. You should’ve told me before.” He spoke slowly, as if to
hold back his anger, and I forced myself to swallow and answer as calmly as I could.
    â€œI didn’t know,” I said. “I just realized.”
    He sighed as if relieved that I hadn’t started crying, and the tension seemed to release from around him. Hazing rain gathered on my face as I tried to read his expression. I’d always felt that he liked having me along. We used to laugh together, and he’d tell stories whenever I wanted, but that almost never happened anymore.
    â€œCome on,” he said. “I’ll order you a pizza.”
    I followed him back between the trees, and in the space before the trailer, with the colored lights and chrome coffeemaker, the music and the blue tarpaulin tied up above the door, he shouted to Helen and told her to order me a pizza.
    â€œWhat kind does he want?” she called through the slit in the sliding window.
    â€œWhatever. He’ll eat anything.”
    He looked down and tried to smile, lines around his eyes. He hesitated, then said, “Why don’t we get your room set up?”
    We went inside, down the narrow hall of fake-wood paneling, to a flimsy door. A mattress lay on the floor, an upside-down plastic milk crate next to it, a lamp on top. He flicked the space heater on, and its front began to glow red. The air smelled of burned dust.
    â€œIs this okay?”
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    â€œYou can read in here. Helen will bring your pizza. Then you can sleep.”
    â€œOkay,” I told him, concentrating on keeping my voice steady and unbothered.
    He stared down, not looking into my eyes, just seeing, as if I were something he’d found on the roadside and he didn’t know what to do. Then he forced a big smile.
    â€œGoddamn it!” he said with the exaggerated enthusiasm he used when he flashed money or bought employees beer. “We should decorate your room, shouldn’t we?”

    He looked around, and in the closet, on a shelf, found a battered magazine. He opened it, and a long piece of paper, with a picture of a woman, folded out from the middle.
    â€œWhy is that page so long?” I asked, and took an easy breath, feeling that he might be normal again, that we were about to do something fun, and that if I were patient, there’d be another chance to ask about going salmon fishing.
    â€œIt’s called the centerfold,” he said and pulled the page free, the paper popping off the staples. There was a nail in the wall, and he pressed it through the top of the centerfold and stepped back.
    A dark-haired woman wore a long blue shirt. It was open in the front, and her nipples stared out from the white skin where she wore her bathing suit. There were shelves behind her with old, serious-looking books.
    â€œDo you like it?” he asked.
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Is she in a library?”
    He leaned close, furrowing his brow. “I guess so.”
    â€œIt’s strange that she’s in a library, isn’t it?”
    â€œWell, I never thought about it . . .”
    â€œWhat books do you think she’s reading?”
    One lay on the floor, next to a blue sandal that had fallen off her foot.
    â€œI don’t know. Anyway, she can keep you company tonight.”
    â€œCan I take her home and put her up in my room?”
    â€œAh . . .” He lifted a hand and scratched his beard. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
    I understood. My mother wouldn’t like it. This would definitely have to be a secret, too. So I hesitated, then asked, “Do you think we can go salmon fishing for my birthday?”
    He stared down. “You don’t give up, do you?”
    â€œIt’s because I really wanna go. It’s important.”
    â€œOkay,” he said.