J.M. Dillard - War of Worlds: The Resurrection Read Online Free PDF Page B

declined. She didn't trust herself not to spill it down the front of her silk blouse before Dr. Jacobi arrived.
    If they had just told her what type of project they'd hired her for ... At least then, she wouldn't be nervous and consumed by curiosity.
    It didn't help that Debi had burst out crying at the breakfast table in the morning. Suzanne had been too busy searching for the box boldly labeled: kitchen/ coffeemaker. top priority ! to notice the storm clouds gathering. She was now convinced that it was still in the moving van on its way to Oregon, or else sitting forlornly in the empty house back in Canton; after several desperate minutes she realized she had to give it up or be late her first day on the job. She ran her fingers through her long dark hair and sank stiffly into the kitchen chair, trying to remember where the aspirin was packed. A sniffle came from the other end of the table.
    "Deb?" She had to stand to see her; the kitchen table was littered with half-emptied cardboard boxes. Miraculously, Deb had managed to find her clothes and was dressed for her second day of school. "Are you okay?"
    Another sniffle. "Yeah, I'm okay, Mom," Debi said miserably into her cornflakes. "I'm just.. . tired."
    And then the dam broke. Suzanne was just tired and aching enough to join her. Between sobs Deb managed to get it all out. It was her second day of sixth grade at the new school, but she didn't ever want to go back. She didn't like any of the other kids, they all dressed weird, not like home at all, and they thought she was a geek. Nobody would sit with her at lunch... .
    "Honey, did you ask anyone to sit with you?" Stupid question to ask an eleven-year-old girl; she knew it the moment she said it.
    "Mom ... I can't ask anyone I don't know. They're supposed to ask me. .."
    You mustn't be so shy, Suzanne almost said, then bit her tongue. She couldn't blame Deb for taking after her mother (personality-wise, at least. Physically, Deb was the spitting image of Derek). Suzanne could still remember what it felt like; she'd spent junior high with Coke-bottle glasses, a mouthful of braces, and only one close friend, an outsider like herself. "I'm sorry, Deb." She walked over to stand next to the girl, stroked her hair, and felt a pang of guilt. Poor Deb. Today, when she got home from school, the strange new house would be empty because her mother would still be working. "It's no fun starting over; I don't much like having to start a new job myself today. But these kids won't remain strangers forever. Who knows? Maybe you'll make friends with some of them."
    "I doubt it." Debi stared down into her cereal, her long blond hair hanging perilously close to the bowl; a tear dripped into the milk.
    Suzanne knelt down next to her. "I'm not trying to be mean, but you have a choice: you can either sit here and cry about it, or you can tell yourself it's going to get better. To tell you the truth, I'd just as soon cry with you, but I've got to go get dressed for work."
    "I'm sorry, Mom." Deb looked up at her mother; her voice rose tremulously. "I guess I'm just tired, and I sort of. .. miss Dad a little."
    Suzanne gave her a fierce hug and swallowed back tears. She wasn't going to think about Derek now, or she would cry from sheer outrage at the way he treated his only daughter. She had stayed in Ohio for Debi's sake so that the girl could be close to her father . .. but most of the time Derek didn't bother to take advantage of his visitation rights, sometimes even forgot to come pick up Deb on the scheduled weekends. Debi adored him, and when he did show up, with his tall blond good looks, he charmed her into forgetting how he'd hurt her. Just like he did with your mother for all those years... .
    She pushed the thought out of her mind and stood up, feigning cheerfulness. "Now, quit crying into your cornflakes, kid, or they'll get soggy. Eat your breakfast, and when you go to school today, be sure to notice what the kids are wearing. Maybe