Prayers and Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

pregnant. Melinda indignantly pointed out that the latest Tiger Beat magazine had profiled Linda McCartney, with no mention of a pregnancy. Nancy said Tiger Beat wasn’t a reliable source.
    Glancing at my mother across the table, I felt like I could read her mind. How had she raised such a mindless, thoughtless group of chattering, noisy girls? Lord knows she tried hard to teach us. She took us to Sunday school and church every blessed Sunday, she read us Bible stories and parables, she prayed with us morning and mealtimes and night. What more could she do?
    She caught my eye and smiled, reaching across the table to push my bangs from my forehead.
    “What’s the matter, Bethy? Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.
    I shook my head.
    “My stomach hurts,” I lied, glancing at Tracy sitting beside me on the picnic bench.
    My sister was not having any trouble with her dinner. She was on her second helping of Spam, licking ketchup from her fingertips. She met my eyes briefly, then looked at Mother.
    “Did you talk to Daddy today, Mother?” she asked sweetly.
    “No, honey,” Mother replied. “You know I talk to him on Saturdays.”
    “I hope he’s all right,” Tracy said, her brow creasing slightly.
    “Why, of course he’s all right, Tracy. He was just fine on Saturday. He said he was going up to Chicago this week. That’s just a short trip.”
    Tracy set her fork aside and used her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth.
    “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”
    She kicked me under the table as she said it, but her eyes never left her plate.
    Mother patted her hand.
    “He’s fine, Tracy. You don’t need to worry. Your daddy is just fine.”
    I rose suddenly, feeling like I was going to throw up.
    “What’s the matter with you?” Tracy asked. “You look like you’re going to puke.”
    “Tracy! Please don’t use that word!” Mother rose and came around the table to me. “Are you all right, Bethany? You do look pale.”
    “Can I be excused?” I asked, not meeting her eyes.
    “Surely, sweetheart. Why don’t you go lie down in your room for a while?”
    Before I could move, the door to the house swung open and Reana Mae burst in.
    We all stared in openmouthed amazement. In 1969 in the Coal River Valley, one simply did not burst into another family’s house—and we had never known Reana Mae to burst anywhere at all. But there she stood, red-cheeked and grinning.
    Then, noting my mother’s look, she stammered, “Oh, I’m sorry, Aunt Helen. I forgot to knock.”
    She backed toward the door, her cheeks growing redder by the minute.
    “Nonsense, Reana Mae. Come in, don’t be shy. Family doesn’t have to knock.”
    Tracy’s fork clanked against the pine floor.
    “But, Mother,” she protested, “you always tell us …”
    “Hush, Tracy,” Mother snapped. She walked toward Reana Mae, her arms opened. “Come in, sweetie, and tell us all about your day in St. Albans. What have you got behind your back?”
    Reana was clutching a wrinkled paper bag behind her.
    She ran into my mother’s open arms and they sat on the worn, plaid sleeper sofa.
    “I brought you something,” she whispered.
    She reached into the bag and pulled out a flat, white box tied with silver ribbon.
    “Why, Reana Mae, you didn’t need to bring us a present.” Mother smiled.
    She took the box from Reana, but before she could untie the ribbon, Reana said, “It’s a box of chocolates … from Fannie May’s. I knew you liked ’em.”
    “Well, yes, we do, Reana Mae. We surely do.” Mother kissed the top of Reana’s head. “Thank you, sweetheart. What a lovely thing to do.”
    Mother opened the box, and we could see the assortment of chocolate candies laid out so prettily inside.
    “Who wants a chocolate?” Mother asked, still smiling.
    Melinda and Tracy crowded in to choose a piece. Nancy hovered, declaring she would not have any. She didn’t want to gain weight before cheerleading tryouts in the fall.