Object of Desire Read Online Free PDF Page A

when we’ll see each other again.”
    â€œDon’t say that, Danny! We’ll see each other every week!”
    I grunted. “I hate high school.”
    â€œYou haven’t even started it yet.”
    â€œI know, but I still hate it.”
    â€œDanny, I have to go. My mom is calling me.”
    â€œOkay. Don’t be late.”
    â€œGood-bye, Danny.”
    I hung up the phone. The timer over the stove pinged.
    â€œCake’s done,” I called to my mother as I ran upstairs to my room, pulling Chipper’s underpants out of my armpit and stuffing them into my drawer. I threw myself onto my bed and lay there with my hands behind my head, staring up at the ceiling. On my wall were posters of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. On my floor was a pile of nearly one hundred record albums, which had tipped over, sending Andy Gibb, Hall & Oates, and Peter Frampton sliding across the orange shag carpet. Orange was my favorite color. I’d chosen it because no one ever picked orange.
    The window was open, and there was a slight breeze moving the flimsy brown and white checked curtains. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew a car door was closing, and I could hear my aunt Patsy’s voice in the driveway.
    I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and headed back downstairs.
    Mom was propping an electric fan on the windowsill to cool off the room as Nana and Aunt Patsy came through the front door.
    â€œDanny off the pickle boat,” Nana said when she saw me.
    It was what she’d always called me. I had no idea what it meant, but ever since I could remember, Nana had been calling me “Danny off the pickle boat”—just before she’d grip my shoulders and leave a big, wet red kiss on my cheek. It was no different today. Her perfume, as ever, was heavy and spicy. Nana’s scent would often linger for hours after she left. Mom sometimes had to open a window.
    Adele Mary Horgan Fortunato, better known, to me, anyway, as Nana. Stout and silly, a crazy little jingle perpetually on her lips. Danny off the pickle boat. Here comes Becky in her BVDs. Sing a song of six-packs and a pocket full of beer. Nana often made no sense at all, but she always made me smile.
    Beside her stood Aunt Patsy. Her daughter. Dad’s older sister. Patricia Ann Fortunato. Never married. An old maid. And now Aunt Patsy had cancer. When Mom spoke of it to the neighbors, her voice always dropped to a whisper on the word. “Patsy has cancer. They had to take one breast and then part of another. It doesn’t look good.” And she’d make the sign of the cross.
    Today Aunt Patsy looked very gray and drawn. She wore a bulky sweater even on hot days so that she could cover up her uneven chest. When she smiled at me, her teeth seemed too big for her face. “Happy birthday, honey,” she said. “Are you excited to be starting high school?”
    â€œYeah,” I lied, accepting the shirt box she was offering me, wrapped in green and blue paper. I knew what it was even without opening it. A white collar shirt from Sears. Probably a tie, too, for me to wear to school.
    â€œWhere’s Becky?” Nana was asking. “Beckadee, Beckadoo?”
    â€œGod only knows,” Mom said. “I can only hope she’s downtown, picking up the balloons I ordered for Danny’s party.”
    â€œBut her car’s still in the driveway,” Aunt Patsy observed.
    â€œI know, so she must be off with Chipper. Maybe he’s driving her down.” Mom was unfolding a string of silver paper letters that spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY . “I haven’t seen her since this morning. I told her not to forget the balloons, and she’d better not! I’ll have her head! ”
    â€œMom, please don’t pin up that HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign,” I said.
    Mom looked at me as if I were mad. “Why not? It’s your birthday.”
    â€œIt’s