Pleasantville Read Online Free PDF Page A

ago. Most days, he holds his head up for her , keeping a promise he made long ago: to get right in hismind, for her and for their kids, the two of them more beautiful than he feels he deserves.
    The radio station is still running a postgame analysis of the general election when Jay turns onto Westheimer, about a block from Lamar High School, pulling into the parking lot of the dry cleaner across the street. He lets his daughter walk the rest of the way on her own. KCOH is heated up this morning, taking calls in the run-up to Person to Person , its daytime talk show, Phil Donahue for black folks. There’s no shock about Clinton heading back to the White House, so today’s topic on 1430 AM is closer to home: the runoff next month between Axel Hathorne and Sandy Wolcott. The question: How the hell did Dallas get a black mayor before Houston? “It’s 1996, people,” the host, Mike Harris, says, before the station cuts to a wrap-up of the morning’s big news.
    The story of the missing girl has already played twice.
    By the seven-thirty segment, she has a name: Alicia Ann Nowell. Jay reaches for the volume. Ellie has her books in her lap. She reaches for the door handle but doesn’t move right away, pulled in by the story as well. According to the radio, the girl, a Houston native, did not come home Tuesday night. Early reports indicate she was last seen in the neighborhood of Pleasantville, at the corner of Ledwicke and Guinevere, a few miles from her home in Sunnyside. At the mention of Pleasantville, Ellie turns and looks at her dad. Jay is tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, his brow creasing deeply. The story ends with an emotional plea from the family for information. Jay can hardly make out the mother’s words, so choked and garbled are they with panic and tears. It’s already been two days. “My name is Maxine Robicheaux. Alicia Nowell is my daughter. Please, please, if you have seen my child, please call your local police station, tell somebody something, please.” The news reporter goes on to describe Alicia as eighteen and black. She was lastseen in a long-sleeved T-shirt, blue. Her ears are triple pierced on both sides. “I have to go,” Ellie says, opening the car door.
    Jay turns off the radio, watching as she starts toward the school.
    She stops suddenly and runs back to the car, her hair springing loose from the collar of her jacket. She favors Evelyn, Bernie’s sister, more than her mother, but more than anyone else she looks like Jay’s sister, Penny, who lives in Dallas. Ellie is fairer than either of her parents, redbone they used to call it in the country. She has freckles across her nose and forehead, and her eyes are the very color of her aunt’s nickname, copper and full of fire when she laughs or sings, which she does when she thinks no one is listening. It’s Ben who is the spitting image of his mother, down to the dimple in his left cheek. Jay rolls down the passenger-side window so Ellie can lean in and tell him, “Ms. Hilliard wants to see you.”
    â€œWhich one is that?”
    â€œThe principal.”
    â€œWhat’s that about?”
    She shrugs and then waves, saying she’ll get a ride home with Lori’s mom, adding that Mrs. King said she could pick up Ben too. “Bye, Daddy.”
    â€œElena,” he calls after her. But she’s already gone, swallowed up by the crowd of teenagers moving across the street. It’s mild outside, but bright and sunny. Across Westheimer Road, Jay can hear the snap of the halyard against the school’s metal flagpole. He traces his daughter’s movements as long as he can, but eventually loses sight of her in the crush of students, at least a dozen of them wearing nearly identical puffy Starter jackets, girls tucked inside their private cocoons, trapped somewhere between childhood and the coming chrysalis. Jay can still remember the day Ellie was born, can