Don't Make Me Beautiful Read Online Free PDF

in even more.
    The boy looks up to say something and stops, his mouth open and the words he was about to say unspoken.
    The ball rolls down the grout between two tiles and makes its way slowly towards the kitchen.   For a couple seconds, that’s the only sound in the house.
    Then the boy screams.
    He scrambles back out of the doorway and onto the porch.   Getting to his feet, his face pale, he stares for another moment at Nicole and then turns and runs.
    Without saying another word, he flies down the stairs and across the front yard, soon disappearing around the corner two houses down on the other side of the street.
    Tears well up in Nicole’s eyes.   He looked and sounded so sweet.   He’s just a little boy who wanted his baseball, and now he’ll probably have nightmares for a month.   She doesn’t really know what she’s crying about exactly, but it doesn’t matter.   What’s done is done - her face, the ball, the window… Nothing she can do will change any of it.   Maybe the tears are for the powerlessness that has become the sad, sorry theme of her life.
    Closing the door most of the way, she looks over her shoulder.   The ball has finally stopped at the entrance to the kitchen.   She walks over to it slowly and uses her feet to kick it once again until it’s at the entrance.   Opening the door very carefully, she uses the bottom of her foot to push it over the threshold.   It rolls just a foot and stops in the middle of the porch.   She worries about leaving it there, knowing if John comes home he’ll see it or maybe even trip over it.   A small smile appears at that thought, but then goes away immediately as she thinks about what he’d do after he got up.   No.   I hope he doesn’t trip.   Seeing him go down would be fun, but then the aftermath wouldn’t be at all.
    She considers getting a broom to move the ball away from the doorway when a movement at the corner of the street catches her eye.   The little boy is hiding next to some bushes in the neighbor’s lawn.
    Relief washes through her.   She shuts the door and stands still behind it, waiting while breathing slowly and calmly.   Minutes later, she hears the soft padding of sneaking feet on the steps, then shortly thereafter, the sound of them running away.
    Opening the door a crack, she sees that the ball is gone and the little boy is streaking away.   Down the sidewalk he goes and around the corner until he’s out of sight, running like there’s a monster from his worst nightmares chasing him.
    She smiles sadly as she goes into the kitchen to get the garbage can.   Maybe if she cleans up all the glass and removes all the obvious signs of the window breaking, John won’t notice and she’ll be spared giving an explanation.   Even one night’s delay is worth the effort, painful as it might be.

Chapter Eight

    BRIAN’S READING THE LATEST SPORTS news online when Liam bursts into the side door and runs through the kitchen and into his room.   He’s going so fast, it’s like the hounds of hell are at his heels. Brian frowns as he hears first one door opening, then another, and finally one slamming shut.   His son is on a tear, and if Brian doesn’t find out what’s going on, there will probably be a mess to clean up later.   Sometimes the little guy gets a bit too wild, although not as often as he used to.   This is the first year that he’s actually been calm and rational on a regular basis, enough to have a semi-adult conversation, but Brian’s not naive enough to think that a six-year-old boy is going to be mature all the time.   Breakdowns and cry-fests are still a regular part of the program.
    Getting up from the kitchen stool, he closes his computer putting its operating system to sleep.   He walks down the hallway towards the bedrooms, stopping at the end of the short corridor and looking from his own room to Liam’s.   The master bedroom door is open, and he could have sworn he closed it to keep the room