Saving CeeCee Honeycutt Read Online Free PDF Page B

eyewitnesses, and each of them said the same thing: the Happy Cow Ice Cream truck came over a crest in the road and hit Momma so hard she was knocked clean out of her geranium-red satin shoes. A big-bellied policeman stood in our driveway and told my dad that Momma had died instantly.
    “I’m sorry to be delivering this terrible news. Real sorry. It happened so fast she didn’t feel a thing, Mr. Honeycutt—I can promise you that.”
    My legs turned liquid, and I grabbed hold of my bedroom window frame to steady myself. Red shoes? Yes, she was wearing her favorite red shoes.
    Ashen-faced, Dad glanced toward the house. For a brief, searing moment, his eyes locked with mine. A thousand unsaid words hung in the air between us. His voice broke apart when he turned to the officer and said, “Where . . . where did you say this happened?”
    “On Euclid Avenue, about fi fty yards west of the Goodwill store. The driver of the truck said she ran right in front of him. He didn’t even have time to swerve—”
    Dad held up his hand, palm thrust forward and fingers spread wide, as if trying to block any more words the policeman might say. “Good God,” he said, slouching on the porch steps with a heavy moan. “Good God Almighty.”
    The policeman pulled a toothpick from behind his ear and slid it into the corner of his mouth. “This is an awful shock, but I’ve got to ask you a few questions. Your wife was walking on the road wearing a fancy party dress, and she had a crown on her head. Now, I know she had a tendency to be a little . . . well, a little colorful at times. And I’m wondering, was she on any sort of medication?”
    Dad let out a low groan and shook his head.
    “Mr. Honeycutt, do you know where she was going all gussied up like that in the middle of the afternoon?”
    Dad hung his head and said no. But that was a big fat lie. He knew darn well Momma walked to the Goodwill store at least once a week, but I figured he was too embarrassed to tell the policeman why.
    This was the first day in almost three weeks that Dad had been home, and he hadn’t been in the house more than twenty minutes before the policeman knocked on the door. Though I teetered on the edge between feeling no emotion for my father and downright hating him, I was drop-to-my-knees grateful it was him talking with the policeman and not me.
    I moved away from the window, collapsed on my bed, and took several slow, deep breaths. A rush of blood thundered in my ears and a strange heat snaked through my veins until I got so hot and sweaty I thought I’d throw up. Just when I was about to run to the bathroom, I cooled down so fast I shuddered. Whoever it was that said life can change in the blink of an eye sure wasn’t lying. Less than two hours ago I had walked out of school with my year-end report card in my hand, feeling glad for the beginning of summer vacation. Now a policeman claimed my mother was dead, and I didn’t know what to believe or think, much less feel.
    The skin on my forehead tightened and my hands went numb, but not one tear leaked from my eyes. All I could do was stare off into space and imagine Momma flying through the air as the chiffon skirt of her beauty pageant dress billowed in the wind like a white gossamer parachute. I imagined her landing lightly on the side of the road, her dress splayed out prettily around her, and I could see her crinoline slip, full and stiff, standing up against the breeze—its lacy hem fluttering when motorists passed by.
    I could picture all that so easily, but I couldn’t picture Momma actually dead. Momma had always been the great pretender, and I half-expected her to twirl into my bedroom, giggle, and then flop on the bed and tell me that she wasn’t even hurt—that it was only something she’d done just for fun. I could almost hear her say, “I only did it to liven things up in this boring old town.”
    I sat up and looked out the window. It struck me as odd how my dad and the policeman