Jake Read Online Free PDF Page A

dressed-up look, Mrs. Buttermark dressed like Mom.
    She goes to yoga class with Mom. She does Tai Chi, which is like karate, only a lot slower and without all the falling down. Mom says Tai Chi is too hard on her knees, that’s why
she
doesn’t do it—so most of the time Mrs. Buttermark doesn’t seem like an old lady at all.
    She turned the heat up and gave the soup a stir.
    “I have to feed the fish,” I said, remembering.
    She turned the heat way down and said, “Let’s go together.”
    I used my key but I was glad she came along. It was weird to go into our apartment knowing I’d be leaving in a few minutes. To know Mom wasn’t coming home for a while. The fish hurried to the surface, like they’d missed me.
    Mrs. Buttermark put water in an empty can so I could water the Christmas tree. She did the dishes we left in the sink. There were only two plates and glasses, forks and a frying pan. It didn’t take long. I got my pajamas and toothbrush, and then we were outta there.
    “Better stir the soup,” Mrs. Buttermark said as wecrossed the hall again to her apartment. After she put a hot bowl of soup in front of me, she called somebody named Ben, who turned out to be a doctor. He knew a lot about broken legs, from the sound of things, and promised to make a couple of calls about Mom.
    Then Mrs. Buttermark hung up and told me Ben would call over to the hospital and if there was anything we ought to know, he’d call us.
    She clicked one fingernail on the counter, a sign she’s thinking.
    She called someone named Larry and told him what happened. I had no idea Mrs. Buttermark knew so many guys she called by their first names.
    It’s what I always suspected. People lead a whole life I know nothing about while I’m in school all day. Mrs. Buttermark asked me, “Where’re the car keys?”
    I shrugged. “Mom opened the car with them before she fell.”
    “Somebody from the supermarket mall probably picked them up,” she said into the phone. “Or they’re at the hospital.”
    She listened for a second.
    She said, “Tell them you want her car parked over here in our building’s lot. They can leave the keyswith the superintendent. And if they don’t have the keys, tell them the transmission is in perfect working order. We don’t want it wrecked.”
    Mrs. Buttermark saw my eyebrows raise over this. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “The people at the supermarket will think Larry is your mom’s lawyer, which is probably a good thing.”
    When she got off the phone, I said, “Is he
your
lawyer?”
    “I guess he would be if I needed one. He’s my bridge partner.” She put on water for tea. “Do you want some cheese and crackers to go with that soup?”
    “Nah. It’s good.”
    “Cheese and crackers are good too,” Mrs. Buttermark said.
    “I’m almost full,” I said. “I might have room enough to squeeze in some apple pie.” Mrs. Buttermark is never out of apple pie.
    She put a slice of pie on a plate for each of us. We moved away from the counter to this little round table where Mrs. Buttermark looks out the window while she eats.
    We looked at her Christmas tree too. It’s small, but it’s good. When I was little I loved all the tiny old-fashioned toy ornaments. There are pearly glass ballsyou can see yourself in, in miniature. Even the tinsel is extra-thin and short, so it doesn’t hang down off the tree too far.
    I’d begun to feel better, enough so that I had stopped worrying for a few minutes. I hoped that was okay.
    “Ben hasn’t called,” I said.
    “No news is good news,” she said. She didn’t look worried either.
    “I guess so.”
    “What do you and your mom do on Saturday nights? Watch TV?”
    “Play chess.”
    “Chess?”
    “Yeah.”
    She put a hand on her hip. “All these years of living across the hall from you, how come I don’t know you play chess?”
    I shrugged. “Maybe because we play on a table in Mom’s bedroom. The tabletop is the board and