That Old Black Magic Read Online Free PDF Page A

to say a word that anybody can understand or feed himself. But it was tough, man, to hear the actual diagnosis.”
    Falkner waited for Wuzzy to share the information.
    â€œConnor has cerebral palsy.”
    â€œOh, Wuz. I’m so sorry, buddy.”
    â€œMe, too.” Wuzzy sighed heavily. “Sometimes I just get so damned mad at Carla for dying. I’ve been busting my hump, trying to keep this place going while making sure things are covered at home. You can’t imagine how tough it is to find good child care and have it running pretty much round the clock. I never know when I’m going to be able to get out of here at night, and somebody’s got to be there. Between paying for baby-sitters, therapists, and uncovered medical bills, I’m tapped out, man. I’m drowning in debt I’m never going to be able to repay.”
    â€œDon’t say that, bro,” said Falkner, shaking his head. “That’s why everybody is getting together for the fund-raiser on St. Patrick’s Day, guy. The whole neighborhood wants to help you, Wuzzy, and that was even before we knew about the CP diagnosis. I’m sure we’re going raise a nice piece of change. You’ll be able to whittle down some of those bills.”
    â€œGreat. Then we can hold another fund-raiser after that for the twenty-thousand-dollar power wheelchair the doctor says Connor should have. And another fund-raiser after that for God knows what Connor will need next. It’s never going to end.” Wuzzy closed his eyes and rubbed them.
    â€œI don’t know how you do it, Wuz.”
    â€œWhen it’s your kid, you do what you have to do,” said Wuzzy wearily. “But if anybody had ever told me that this would be my life, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

Chapter 9
    P iper was famished when she awoke from her nap. She decided to get up, explore the neighborhood, and find a place to eat. She changed into a clean white short-sleeved V-neck shirt and cropped black yoga pants. She grabbed the floppy straw sun hat she’d folded inside her suitcase and placed it atop her head as she walked out the door and down the stairs to the street.
    She didn’t have to travel very far. The welcoming storefront of Muffuletta Mike’s was just down the block.
    As Piper walked inside, she surmised that the place was part restaurant, part delicatessen, part butcher shop. One long wall was taken up with a sprawling glass-front refrigerated case housing all sorts of meats and cheeses waiting to be sliced. There were aisles of shelves lined with balsamic vinegars, oils, rice, pastas, salts, and seasonings. Customers sat eating sandwiches at several round tables to the side of the room.
    â€œWhat’ll it be?” asked the teenager behind the counter.
    â€œI’m not sure,” said Piper. “What’s in a muffuletta?”
    The young man recited the ingredients. “Salami, pepperoni, ham, capicola, mortadella, Swiss cheese, provolone, and olive salad.”
    Although the ingredients were things that Piper rarely ate alone, much less all together, she decided to go for it.
    â€œOkay, I’ll have one of those, please.”
    â€œQuarter, half, or full?”
    â€œAh . . . half, I guess.”
    The teenager wrote up the ticket and attached it alongside the row of other orders above the workstation where an older, heavier version of himself was busy making sandwiches. As Piper waited, she heard the teenager talking to his father.
    â€œSo? Can I have tomorrow morning off, Dad?”
    â€œTommy, I already told you. You have to open the shop for me tomorrow. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Don’t be so lazy.”
    â€œIt’s not fair,” Tommy protested. “None of my friends have to work before they go off to school.”
    â€œSo what? If your friends’ parents want to spoil them, that’s their business. I don’t think it’s