The Full Cleveland Read Online Free PDF Page B

day for nine straight days in a row.
    Matt and I looked at each other. Jesus.
    Mother said, “Each of your six pamphlets represents a novena to one special saint. I’d like you to read them all privately in your rooms, then we’ll meet again next Friday and pick a saint together, and pray for something together, as a happy family.”
    Matt said, “A happy family unit , right?” He looked around at the rest of us, “Remember, not just a happy family, you guys. A happy family unit.”
    Cabot said, “Could someone please get him to stop saying family unit like that?”
    Mother flicked her water glass, which now sounded like: Children. “All right. Now, before we adjourn for school, let’s start thinking of something to pray for together, as a family.” Faster than Matt could say family unit, she added, “Any ideas?”
    Luke said, “You mean we’re giving up on Dad?” For some time now we’d been told to pray to St. Anthony, Patron Saint of Lost Things, to ask God to help Dad and Clarine “find” the Catholic Church.
    Mother said, “No, no dear. I just thought it might be nice to think of something new, something fresh, to pray for.”
    We all looked around at one another. The fact is, I think we liked praying to St. Anthony that Dad and Clarine find a church. It was familiar territory. This new happy family thing sounded hard.
    Mother said, “So now let’s take a minute, be devout, and search our souls.”
    After looking around to see how to do it, everybody took a minute and pretended they were doing it.
    â€œOkay. Let’s hear some suggestions.”
    Luke raised his hand. “How about bowling balls? We don’t have any of those.”
    Cabot and I glanced at each other. But Mother seemed to consider it. She pursed her lips and frowned, which was her way of showing Luke it had been a real tough choice, about the bowling balls, but … no. “Honey, God can easily grant us a bowling ball. But wouldn’t it be better to pray for something a little more holy than a bowling ball?”
    Cabot giggled. “That’s funny. More holey than a bowling ball.” She looked around. “Get it?”
    It took a while. Then I said, “Get it everybody? Much more holy than a bowling ball.” I looked at Luke. “A bowling ball’s not holy, Luke.”
    Cabot said, “A bowling ball has holes , Luke.”
    Luke’s face suddenly lit up like Christmas.
    Matt whispered, “God.”

    â€œGirls.” Mother tapped her water glass.
    I raised my hand. “How about a blue Buick?” Not too original, no, but tried and true. Plus, she’d probably go for it, and then we could go to school.
    Matt snorted, “I’m not praying for any Buick.” He was fifteen now, and probably hoping we’d pray for Porsches. But he didn’t say so, instead he straightened up and said, very maturely, as if he were suddenly wearing a three-piece suit and a silk tie, “I’d like everyone to do it for boxing gloves.”
    Cabot said, “That sure sounds more holy than a bowling ball.”
    Mother’s mouth was suddenly all pressed together. “Matt, and when did you develop this desire for boxing gloves?”
    â€œI’ve always had it! I’ve said it a million times! I think I’ll go crazy if I don’t get some soon!”
    First I’d heard of it. But I believed him. He looked a little on the edge right now.
    â€œAsk Dad! He listens!”
    Mother narrowed her eyes. A lot, so he’d know. “Well, Matt, I’ve told you. I don’t want you boxing. Under no circumstances do I want you to box. Ever. Never. Period.”
    Matt crossed his arms and sank down so far he almost slid right under the table.
    It had been a while since the last Easter drive with Dad. We hadn’t gone this past year because of spring skiing. But I still remembered