Do Not Pass Go Read Online Free PDF Page B

Deet.
    As soon as they were in their bedroom, P. J. asked, “Is Mom mad at us?”
    â€œNo, silly,” said Deet. He couldn’t think of anything to head them off, so he said, “She’s just worried about something.” Both girls blinked at him, stony faced. He was sorry he’d said that, because Mom never worried about anything, so it certainly wasn’t going to reassure them that everything was all right. So he said sternly, “Get into bed by the time I count three or I won’t read anything!”
    Jam jumped into her bed with mock-fearful screams. P.J. arranged her bears in the certain way she said they liked to sleep, while Jam contorted her pillow into the right shape. Deet pulled the book of fairy tales from the shelf by the door. It didn’t have any illustrations, so he could sit in the corner by the window and read until they fell asleep, and they wouldn’t be continually asking to look at the pictures.
    He started with the first one in the book, about the twelve dancing princesses, who always reminded himof Barbie dolls themselves, thinking of nothing but parties and dances. Ordinarily he would read the story with sarcastic asides, but tonight he read woodenly, not knowing a word he read. Jam fell asleep halfway through, but P.J. was still awake, so he read the one about the Pied Piper. It took another fifteen minutes before P.J. fell asleep. He wished he could read forever and never stop. As soon as he stopped he was going to have to know what was happening to them.
    By the time he’d finished reading, his knees had stopped feeling so shaky and a hard, dead feeling had taken over his stomach. He closed the book and looked at their clean little faces and felt a stab of sorrow that he couldn’t protect them from whatever dreadful thing was coming.
    He shut the door to the girls’ room and went to look for his mother. She wasn’t in the kitchen. He found her sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her stomach and rocking back and forth. The pot was on the floor by her feet, and she had the dish towel wadded against her mouth.
    â€œWhat was that call about? What’s wrong?”
    She didn’t look at him, just kept rocking. Mom, who never stopped talking, unable to speak. He put his hand on her shoulder and shook her, his voice husky with panic. “Mom, tell me. Is Dad hurt?”
    She took a deep shuddering breath and looked at him at last. Then she began to cry silently, the way Jam did when she scraped her knee or something, her mouth square. And just like Jam, when she stopped crying she could hardly speak for the hiccupy gasps, so Deet wasn’t sure he heard her right.
    â€œHe’s been arrested! He’s injail!”
    â€œJail,” said Deet, as if he’d never heard of it.
    She dropped the dish towel and doubled over again.
    â€œThey caught him with drugs on the way to work. They pulled him over for a headlight, and they found drugs.” She rocked in anguish, her head nearly touching her knees.
    The headlight. Who would drive in ice fog, in the dark long winter nights, with one headlight out? Dad would. Deet had worried about it. “I’ll get to it tomorrow,” Dad had said. A surge of fury made Deet’s head throb. Stupid.
Stupid
.
    Then it hit him what she’d said. Drugs? Dad? That couldn’t be right. There was no way his dad would have anything to do with drugs. He didn’t even drink, just a beer every once in a while.
    â€œIt’s a mistake, Mom,” Deet told her. “Dad wouldn’t do drugs. That’s crazy.”
    She looked at him. “It’s not a mistake.”
    She covered her face with her hands and began to cry again.
    All those classes they’d had in school about drugs. He’d never even gotten the names straight. It had seemed to have nothing to do with him. How you could tell if someone was using drugs. The eyes. Change in disposition. Some other stuff