The Chair Read Online Free PDF Page A

looked mid-thirties, reddish brown hair, jeans, and a faded T-shirt with a photo of three boys ironed onto it that said, “Sane Women Stop at Two.”
    “Do you promise?”
    “Yes!” The boy bounced on his toes as he pulled on his mom’s hand.
    The woman released him and the boy stared up at her as if to show her he meant to keep his word. His blond hair was cut short and his brown eyes were full of energy.
    “Hi, I’m Corin, welcome to Artifications. Have you been here before?”
    “No, this is our first time.”
    “Can I answer any questions?”
    The woman motioned toward the boy who wandered toward the back of the store. “He can’t run because of his asthma.” She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Not that he should be running in a store anyway, but there’s something about the aisles of a store that make him want to race up and down them.” A wave of sadness swept over her face and in that instant she looked fifty.
    “I remember loving to do that as a kid.”
    “Me too.” The woman shrugged and sighed.
    “That has to be tough.”
    She gave a glum smile. “It’s especially hard on him because his two older brothers are both basketball players and he’d love to be one too. He wants to follow in their sneakers, but with his asthma there’s just no way.” She sighed again and brushed back her hair. “He can’t even play baseball, which is his favorite sport. So when there are game days or basketball practice like this afternoon, my husband goes with the two older ones and we look for places to go while his brothers play.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Us too. It’s all he’s wanted to do since he was little.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Brittan. I’m Tracie.”
    “Nice to meet you.” Corin stepped toward the small refrigerator next to his sales counter. “Would you like a bottled water?”
    “No thanks.”
    He watched Brittan’s head swivel from left to right as he strolled down aisle two gazing at the antiques. “How old?”
    “I’m not sure you should be asking how old I am.”
    Corin smiled. “I meant . . .”
    Tracie burst out laughing. “I know, I’m just being silly. He’ll be seven in two months.”
    A joyful shriek came from the back of the store. “Hey, Mom! Look!”
    They turned as Brittan streaked down the aisle with a Boston Red Sox game program from the 1950s wrapped up in thick plastic. “Look at this! Can we get it?”
    “You can’t run like that, Brittan!”
    Seconds later the boy reached the end of the aisle and stumbled to his knees in front of them, wheezing in and out like a plugged-up vacuum cleaner. A moment later he crashed onto his side and gasped for air.
    Corin staggered back and sucked in two quick breaths.
    Out of air.
    He was fine.
    The kid is out of air.
    Plenty of air to breathe all around him.
    Relax.
    Corin laced his fingers and squeezed but his hands still shook.
    “Brittan!” His mom skittered over to him, fell to her knees, and jammed her hand into her purse. “Where is it?” She turned to Brittan. “Do you have your inhaler?”
    She didn’t wait for an answer. She continued to rummage through her purse obviously looking for one.
    “Mom,” Brittan wheezed, “I’m okay.” The boy took an inhaler out of his pocket, placed it in his mouth, pumped it three times, then fell forward on his hands and continued his labored breathing.
    His mom pulled him up and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Relax, you’re going to be okay. Deep breaths if you can. Relax, Brittan.” She turned to Corin. “I’m sorry about this.”
    Corin slowed his breathing and blinked. “What?”
    “I’m sorry this happened in your store.”
    “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
    But he wasn’t fine. The anxiety waterfall rarely buried him except right after having the dream. He wasn’t used to having it attack in public. He ran his hands over the top of his head and forced out a smile. “What can I do?”
    She glanced around the room. “Can he sit