His Eyes Read Online Free PDF

No, seriously. You know how I got that great paying job? Well, I need to go to it but I can’t because of your dinner. You know, the ones I’ve told you about...the ones Mom makes for you. The best solution I’ve come up with is to try to rush the meal. I mean, what family is so dysfunctional that it can’t eat, say, a half-hour early? Don’t answer that. So, if you’ve decided it’s time to be nice to your little sister, show up. Tonight. Love, Amy.”
    My car squealed as I pulled into the tiny driveway of our house. I’d almost deluded myself into believing that Mom would be hard at work in the kitchen. I threw open the front door and, tossing my messenger bag in the general direction of my room, began to search for her. Well, she definitely wasn’t in the kitchen. I shouted her name to which there was predictably no response. She tended to lose track of time, especially when I needed her to do something.
    I headed to our backyard—which was no typical backyard. My mom, in her non-working state, had time to build her own personal Eden. Literally. The yard wasn’t large, but it had every kind of plant. I wound my way through the maze of green, careful to step on as few petals as possible. Finally, I found my mom crouched behind a rosebush. She was humming, smoothing the soil with her hands, and had absolutely no idea I was behind her.
    There was no way not to scare her when she was in her own little world, so I simply yelled, “Mom!”
    She jumped. Using a dirt-covered hand as a shield against the sun, she looked up at me with jade eyes and smiled. “Hi, honey. Welcome home. I was planting some new tulip bulbs near the bushes. I didn’t think we had enough of them bloom this year, did you?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know. Hey, I was thinking of making spaghetti and tomato sauce for dinner. What do you think?”
    “Sure. That’s sweet, wanting to make dinner for your brother.” My stomach tightened; I hated when she talked like that. She gestured with her hand. “Why don’t you look over there? There may be some early tomatoes you can use for the sauce.”
    Tomato sauce from scratch? No way. “You know, Mom, I think Dad bought a jar of Prego—”
    Mom looked at me as if I’d stomped on a butterfly. “ Amy Rose ! All those preservatives—”
    “It will be okay, Mom,” I pleaded. “Just for one meal! I’ll use the organic spaghetti....”
    She frowned and pushed her graying hair from her face. “I guess, but if Charlie comes and doesn’t like it—”
    “Then I’ll make something else. I swear!” I quickly kissed her sun-warmed forehead and bounded toward the house. “Thanks!”
    I hurriedly threw a pot of water on the stove to begin boiling and dumped the sauce into a pan. The meal was so easy to prepare, I figured that it could be ready by 5:30 p.m., when Dad usually came home. I even diced a few cloves of garlic and threw them into the sauce, hoping to appease my mom. Just when I thought I would be okay, Mom bounced into the kitchen. “Look! I found some ripe strawberries! We can make a pie!”
    Honestly.
    * * *
    By the time Dad walked through the door, the kitchen was a mess of flour and red strawberry juice. I admit, the house was beginning to smell delicious—but I need to leave soon! I heard Dad drop his briefcase on the linoleum. He came into the kitchen, his blue eyes smiling at my figure, which was drooped over one of the kitchen chairs. He pulled off his tie and breathed deeply. “What are my girls up to?”
    He wrapped his arms around my mom’s waist and kissed the brown sugar off of her cheek. She laughed, “We’re making spaghetti and strawberry pie. You know it’s Charlie’s favorite.”
    A pained look swept over my dad’s features, but he returned her smile. “Wonderful!”
    To see my parents standing there, they would have seemed like an odd couple; him in a black business suit and her in a white kurta with palazzo pants. The mystery, however, ended there. He had