Heavenly Read Online Free PDF

Dad snagged her into his arms.
    "Let's go," Mom snapped. "Abria's getting antsy."
    Of course. Let's bow to Abria. All hail Abria, queen of the moment, ruler of our lives. I let out a loud sigh so Mom and Dad would hear my displeasure, then turned and went out into the bright, sunny Sunday morning.
    Winter air nipped at my exposed skin, and I shuddered, wishing I was back in my toasty bed, sleeping.
    In the car, Luke leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Man, I'm so tired."
    No doubt residual weed in your blood," I smirked. "You wanted me to wive so you could squeeze in as much time to sober up as possible." Luke sniffed. "I wouldn't get too close to them if I was you."
    I cupped my hand over my mouth for a whiff of my own breath. Sure enough, the sour stench made my face crinkle.
    Luke looked over with a lopsided grin. "Lush." "Okay, so neither one of us is perfect." "Thankfully."
    "But I'm not addicted, there's a difference," I said. "I'm not addicted. I smoke socially."
    "Yeah," I laughed, "but it becomes addicting when all your friends do the same thing."
    "So you're saying Britt and all your friends don't drink?"
    "No, they do. But not every time we're together."
    "Then they're missing out." He closed his eyes again.
    "No. They know when it is and is not appropriate. You and your friends on the other hand only need a lighter and you
    light up."
    "Because we know how to relax. That's your problem, Z. You're too uptight, even with the booze."
    "I am not uptight." Frustration bubbled in my veins. "You don't know anything."
    "Whatever."
    I flicked on the CD player and raw guitar licks grated the air. So much for Mom's efforts to bring peace to Sundays. I
    peered through my rearview mirror, saw Mom and Dad in the car following us and felt anger and guilt collide inside of me.
    They'd die if they knew I drank. Die. In their eyes, I was the oldest child and the rock. I was the rock, all right. The rock everybody else climbed all over. Zoe, do this. Zoе, help with that.
    I may have felt distant from them now, but my childhood had been full and lovely, with lots of sunny days and
    complete immersion in adoration. Clouds had shadowed our lives only after Abria came onto the scene.
    Why did she have to be in our family? This question nipped at me continually, an ugly, itchy rash that never went
    away, just moved to another part of me. Countless times I'd been unable to answer the question with what reason resided in
    my head, "One of God's mysteries," our Pastor had once murmured—in what he thought was comfort—to my teary-eyed
    mother.
    Mystery? It doesn't get much more mysterious than a child who doesn't have any sense of danger. A child who eats
    poop because it's there. Who can't stand having her hair brushed, or won't wear anything but tight-fitting clothes even in the burning heat of summer. A kid who can't stop mumbling nonsense. Or one who can't speak at all, as some are inclined. Kids
    who scream and tantrum for no apparent reason. A child you can't reason with. A kid whose brain is wired to do nothing else
    but self stimulate with repetitive behaviors that make them look like loons.
    A child who doesn't understand what I love you means.
    I blinked back tears. Layers of my heart peeled away. I pictured my mother's face and the sorrow she wore because
    her baby wouldn't look at her, would never know her name—not Mom, not Debbie—nothing.
    And she would never say I love you, too.

    Church was on the opposite side of the street and I pulled into the center lane, signaled, and waited for traffic to clear
    before driving into the packed parking lot. The white building with its steeple reaching heavenward should have brought me
    some relief but I only got angrier. Why had God done this to us?
    I parked the car into a spot and killed the engine, waking a snoozing Luke who jerked upright then rubbed his hands
    down his face.
    "We're here." I got out and looked around the lot for Mom and Dad's car. My searching gaze