The Last to Know Read Online Free PDF Page A

joy at the sight of her. She thinks better of it and heads toward Victoria first instead, bending to peek over her daughter’s shoulder. “How beautiful, sweetheart. Did you color that whole picture all by yourself?”
    “Uh-huh,” Victoria says proudly, holding it up. “Even Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper. See what color I made them?”
    “Blue.”
    “That’s because blue’s my favorite color. What’s your favorite color, Mommy?”
    “Green,” Tasha tells her absently, patting her dark head and thinking about Jane Kendall.
    “ Green? ” Victoria is clearly aghast. “But Mommy, you said it was red when I asked you yesterday!”
    “Oh, you’re right. It is red. I guess I just forgot,” Tasha replies.
    “You’re silly, Mommy.”
    “I know, sweetie. Let’s put the crayons away now. Hunter, it’s time to get ready for school.”
    “No!” Victoria shouts.
    Tasha sighs.
    Hunter obediently turns off the television.
    “Victoria, put the crayons away. Now. And Hunter, you go find your shoes.”
    “Can’t I color for a few more minutes?”
    “One more minute,” Tasha relents, because it’s easier, and because there’s time.
    Victoria happily picks up her blue crayon again.
    Am I spoiling her to make up for the fact that she’s the middle child now? Tasha wonders.
    Those parenting manuals her friend Karen’s always reading say that you should never change a no to a yes when you’re dealing with toddlers. They’re supposed to be learning that no means no .
    But no is so hard, sometimes. When sticking firmly to a no means facing a just-turned-three-year-old’s tantrum, and you’re exhausted and a long day looms ahead, and a woman you know has inexplicably vanished . . .
    Well, this is one of those times when no just isn’t worth it.
    Tasha goes over and picks up Max, trying to cuddle him against her. But he bounces excitedly in her arms, glad to see her. He always is. His little face lights up whenever she glances in his direction.
    Babies need their mommies so much, Tasha thinks as she plants a kiss on his downy infant hair that is barely visible.
    Poor little Schuyler Kendall. Where’s her mommy? And is she ever coming back?
    J eremiah Gallagher slips his denim jacket over a hook in his locker and pauses to admire it for a moment. Uncle Fletch bought it for him yesterday.
    “I thought you could use a new jean jacket, Jer’,” he announced, whacking Jeremiah on the shoulders in that old-buddy-old-pal way of his.
    “But I already have a jean jacket,” Jeremiah said—not a protest exactly, because he likes the new jacket. He wants it.
    It’s faded and worn and expensive-looking, unlike the one he already has, which is all wrong. Too stiff, too dark, too cheap.
    His stepmother bought that jacket for him just before she died. Ironically, the jacket he so disliked was one of his few belongings that survived the fire that killed Melissa; Jeremiah was wearing it that night because she insisted.
    Too bad it didn’t get burned up along with her, he thought later, a thought that was followed by instant familiar guilt.
    But he couldn’t help the way he felt. He didn’t like the jacket, and he didn’t like Melissa.
    Well, Melissa is gone.
    Now, so is the stupid jacket. Thanks to Uncle Fletch, who has a way of noticing things like that, Jeremiah has a jacket that makes him look like all the other kids at Townsend Heights High.
    Well, not really.
    But Uncle Fletch is working on that, too. He’s promised Jeremiah a trip to the eye doctor to see about getting fitted for contact lenses instead of glasses, which he has worn since he was three. And Uncle Fletch said Jeremiah can use his home gym equipment whenever he wants, probably hoping his nephew will build up some muscles and look more like him.
    As if.
    Jeremiah has never quite been able to believe that he and Fletch Gallagher are blood relatives. His father insists that Fletch is his brother and that Jeremiah wasn’t adopted. But how is it that a