Neon Angel: A Memoir of a Runaway Read Online Free PDF Page A

want a drink, Dad? Are you thirsty?”
     
    “Are you hungry?” Marie interrupted. “We have barbecue!”
     
    I was pulling on my father’s sleeve. “Do you want to go for a swim? It’ll cool you off!”
     
    Dad couldn’t answer, he just smiled and kissed us, happily overwhelmed by all of the commotion. He looked at us like he never wanted to take his eyes off of us ever again. He took a step inside, and I said, “I’ll get your suitcases, Dad!”
     
    “Can you handle them, Kitten?”
     
    “Sure!”
     
    I reached down, grasped the thick leather handles, and prepared myself for the weight of the heavy cases.
     
    Except something was wrong.
     
    When I picked them up, they lifted easily. Far too easily. I started carrying them toward Mom and Dad’s bedroom, and with every step I took, they seemed lighter and lighter. An empty feeling started to grow in the pit of my stomach as I realized something terrible. Something that made me wish I hadn’t even woken up that morning. Something more terrible than anything that had happened since Dad left a month ago.
     
    I realized that the suitcases were empty. They weren’t meant for bringing things home. They were meant for taking things away.
     
    In the bedroom, I silently put the cases down. I walked over to Dad’s closet and opened it up. It looked sparse in there: Dad had taken a lot of his stuff with him when he left last month. I ran my hands across the remaining clothes—my father’s shirts, slacks, and sport coats. Taking the sleeve of one in my hands, I pressed it to my face. I breathed in, deeply. It smelled like my father’s Old Spice. A sweet-painful feeling came over me. I hoped silently that he’d leave this jacket here. I heard someone behind me and spun around, scared that I had been caught snooping, but it was only Marie.
     
    She was standing in the doorway, watching me silently. Her face was a mixture of confusion and hurt. She already knew what I knew, in that strange way that twins can pick up on each other’s thoughts. Finally she said, “What do you think he’ll take this time?”
     
    I shook my head slightly.
     
    “Do you think he’ll take his clothes?” Marie asked, walking toward me. “Or the furniture? Maybe even the car?”
     
    Suddenly full of self-righteous fury, I screamed, “Is that all you care about? The stupid CAR?”
     
    Marie looked hurt, and I immediately felt bad because I knew it was not Marie I was mad at. I was just mad, and scared, and I needed to vent. Marie just happened to be the one standing there.
     
    “No!” she said suddenly, her cheeks reddening. Then she added in a little voice, “All I mean is that if he only takes his clothes . . . then that probably means that he’ll still come back sometime. That’s all.”
     
    I looked away from her and said, “He’s got two suitcases. How do you think he’s going to take the furniture, genius?”
     
    “I know!” Marie said, coming over and standing inches from me. I felt her presence behind me, our bodies almost touching. I didn’t turn to look at her. “So that’s good, right? I mean, it’s not like he showed up with a U-Haul. If he’d had a U-Haul, then you know it’s bad news. But, I mean, he wouldn’t just up and leave like that! This is his house! His pool! The furniture is his . . . the business, too! People don’t just up and leave all of that stuff, do they?”
     
    I shrugged, but Marie carried on regardless.
     
    “No, if he just takes his clothes, then that means that he has to come back.”
     
    Marie was trying to sound strong and decisive, but every statement came out of her mouth sounding like a question. I sighed. I thought to myself, People DO just up and leave. He already upped and left. What’s going to be different this time? Instead, I said, “You’re right. Let’s see what he takes.”
     
    When Dad came into the bedroom to pack, he placed his glass down on the wooden dressing table without a coaster. I was about