The Storyteller Read Online Free PDF

looks startled. “Oh, no. This is just a place to keep all my thoughts. They get away from me, otherwise. If I don’t write down that I like your kaiser rolls, for example, I won’t remember to order them the next time I come.”
    “I think most people could use a book like that.”
    The driver of the Advanced Transit bus honks twice. We both turn in the direction of the noise. I wince as the beams of the headlights flash across my face.
    Josef pats his pocket. “It’s important to remember,” he says.
     • • • 
    One of the first things Adam told me was that I was pretty, which should have been my first clue that he was a liar.
    I met him on the worst day of my life, the day my mother died. He was the funeral director my sister Pepper contacted. I have a vague recollection of him explaining the process to us, and showing us the different kinds of caskets. But the first time I really noticed him was when I made a scene at my mother’s service.
    My sisters and I all knew my mother’s favorite song had been “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” Pepper and Saffron had wanted to hire aprofessional to sing it, but I had other plans. It wasn’t just the song my mother had loved, it was one particular rendition of it. And I’d promised my mother that Judy Garland would sing at her funeral.
    “News flash, Sage,” said Pepper. “Judy Garland isn’t taking bookings these days, unless you’re a medium.”
    In the end, my sisters went along with what I wanted—mostly because I framed this as one of Mom’s dying wishes. It was my job to give the CD to the funeral director—to Adam. I downloaded the song from the Wizard of Oz soundtrack on iTunes. As the service began, he played it over the speaker system.
    Unfortunately it wasn’t “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” It was the Munchkins, performing “Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead.”
    Pepper burst into tears. Saffron had to leave the service, she was so upset.
    Me, I started to giggle.
    I don’t know why. It just spurted out of me, like a shower of sparks. And suddenly every single person in that room was staring at me, with the angry red lines bisecting my face and the inappropriate laughter fizzing out of my mouth.
    “Oh my God, Sage,” Pepper hissed. “How could you?”
    Feeling panicked, cornered, I stood up from the front pew, took two steps, and passed out.
    I came to in Adam’s office. He was kneeling next to the couch and he had a damp washcloth in his hand, which he was pressing right against my scar. Immediately, I curled away from him, covering the left side of my face with my hand. “You know,” he said, as if we were in the middle of a conversation, “in my line of work, there aren’t any secrets. I know who’s had plastic surgery, and who’s survived a mastectomy. I know who had their appendix out and who had surgery for a double hernia. The person may have a scar, but it also means they have a story. And besides,” he said, “that wasn’t what I noticed when I first saw you.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    He put his hand on my shoulder. “I noticed,” he said, “that you were pretty.”
    He had sandy hair and honey-brown eyes. His palm was warm against my skin. I had never been beautiful, not before everything happened, and certainly not after. I shook my head, clearing it. “I didn’t eat anything this morning . . .” I said. “I have to get back out there—”
    “Relax. I suggested that we take a fifteen-minute break before we start up again.” Adam hesitated. “Maybe you’d like to borrow a playlist from my iPod instead.”
    “I could have sworn I downloaded the right song. My sisters hate me.”
    “I’ve seen worse,” Adam replied.
    “I doubt it.”
    “I once watched a drunk mistress climb into a coffin with the deceased, until the wife dragged her away and knocked her out cold.”
    My eyes widened. “For real?”
    “Yeah. So this . . . ?” He shrugged. “Small potatoes.”
    “But I laughed. ”
    “Lots of people