The Days of Anna Madrigal Read Online Free PDF Page A

infant Shawna as a serendipitous wonder. Mary Ann, not so much. After seven years of trying, she gave up completely and made Brian a single dad. A happy one, eventually.
    Strangers tended to find this history confusing, but Shawna valued it greatly, and ached to know more about Connie. Mary Ann remembered little beyond the fact that Connie overused the word fantabulous . Brian said Connie cried after the sex the night they met, since nobody knew it was her birthday. He had cheered her up by sticking lit matches in a peanut butter sandwich and calling it a cake.
    Her dad was a very sweet man. Always had been.
    â€œDoing laundry?” she asked teasingly. “Did you get lucky?”
    â€œHar dee har har.”
    â€œShall I come there?”
    â€œNo. I’m on the way. Hang tight.”
    In less than a minute he was rounding the corner with a nylon laundry bag slung over his shoulder. That bag and his creased face and the muddle of snowy curls gave him the air of an old salt home from the sea—which, in effect, he was.
    He dropped the bag and enfolded her in his arms. She mumbled “Hey, Dad” into his shoulder, catching a whiff of wet wool and some piney-smelling shampoo. She felt a curious sense of homecoming here on this unfamiliar bluff. She hadn’t seen him for over a year, when he had parked the RV in Petaluma on his way to Cabo.
    â€œSo where is she?” she asked, wondering if her dad’s new squeeze was cowering in the RV at this very moment, having chosen not to admit her.
    â€œTaking a hike,” he said.
    She raised an eyebrow. “So soon?”
    He did not find this funny in the least. “It’s good for us,” he said soberly, unlocking the door and leading the way into the RV. “I do it all the time myself. This buggy gets a little cramped sometimes. Even if you’re—”
    He cut himself off. In love , she thought. He wanted to say it, but it would have been too embarrassing at his age to put that enormity into words. He had survived one happily-ever-after, but just barely, and Shawna knew better than anyone how love-shy Mary Ann had made him. Even after all these years.
    â€œI’ve got fizzy apple juice,” he said, dropping the laundry bag and opening the door of his mini-fridge.
    â€œThat’s okay. I’m fine.” She collapsed into one of the beige swivel chairs.
    â€œYou sure?”
    â€œYeah.”
    He settled in the other chair. “I talked to Anna last night. She sounded good.”
    Shawna shrugged. “She’s okay.”
    â€œWhat the matter?”
    â€œShe’s ninety-fucking-two, Dad.”
    â€œShe’s not sick, though?”
    â€œNo—just kinda . . . packing up.”
    He took that in glumly, saying nothing.
    She stroked the arm of the chair, comforting something inanimate in lieu of the more vulnerable human alternative. “We have to honor it, Dad. Anything else would just make her feel alone. We have to—”
    She didn’t finish, so he did it for her. “ ‘Drive her to the station and wave good-bye.’ ” He was quoting Mrs. Madrigal herself. Their long-ago landlady had hit them with that sobering train metaphor a few years back. They were not to make a fuss, she had told them, but she wouldn’t mind having “family on the platform.”
    Shawna sighed. “How can she be more chill than we are?”
    Her dad shrugged. “Always has been. About everything.”
    There was a long silence before she said, “Got anything stronger?”
    â€œStronger than what?”
    â€œApple juice.”
    â€œOh . . . sure, kiddo.” He sprang to his feet and pulled a bottle of scotch from the cupboard, filling a couple of café glasses and handing one to her as he sank back into the chair. “Number four on the Times list. Worth celebrating!”
    She knew he meant that, but something in his smile made her wonder if they