The Sunflower: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

hundred million children living in the streets.
    PAUL COOK’S DIARY

    ONE WEEK LATER
    Of all people, why did this have to happen to Christine? Jessica thought as she pounded on Christine’s apartment door. Christine hadn’t answered her phone for two days. Now she wasn’t answering her door. “Christine, it’s Jessica.” She rapped again with the back of her hand. “C’mon, Chris, open up. I know you’re in there.”
    Christine’s next door neighbor, a squat, elderly woman with thinning, disheveled hair, looked out the crack the security chain allowed. The Price Is Right blared from behind her.
    “No one’s there,” the woman said. “No one’s been in or out for days.”
    “Her car’s downstairs,” Jessica said.
    “Didn’t say it wasn’t. But I haven’t heard a peep from that girl since that boy dumped her.”
    “Thank you for sharing,” Jessica said flatly. The woman’s eyes narrowed, then disappeared behind the door.
    Christine wouldn’t do something crazy, would she? Her chest constricted with the thought. “Christine, open up! Now!”
    Inside the apartment Christine lay in sweats across the top of her bed. A harsh sun streamed through the room’s partially drawn blinds, and she rolled from it toward her radio alarm clock. She had awoken to Jessica’s pounding, not sure where she was until consciousness flooded in thick and unwelcome. Today, especially today, she didn’t want to see anyone.
    She leaned out from the bed, her face inches from the dull glowing face of the clock. She groaned, then rolled to her back, covering her eyes with her forearm. It was already a quarter to one. Somewhere in her mind, fragments of an earlier schedule remained. She wasn’t supposed to be in bed. She was supposed to be standing in the church in her perfect gown, perfectly coiffed, with her perfect groom. She should have been Mrs. Martin Christensen by now.
    The thumping came again, followed by Jessica’s voice. “Christine, I’m going to call 911 if you don’t answer.”
    “I’m coming,” she shouted hoarsely.
    She rolled out of bed, pulling her long hair back from her face as she stood. Her room was a mess, cluttered with clothes and cans and Styrofoam containers. For the last week she had pretty much subsisted on Diet Coke, ramen noodles and licorice. She picked her way to the front door, unhooked the security chain and opened the door.
    The expression on Jessica’s face was a mixture of relief and anger. “I called you twelve times yesterday.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Can I come in?”
    “Yes.”
    Jessica stepped inside, surveying the room in awe. In all the time she’d known Christine she had never seen her apartment in this state. Christine was the kind of woman who fretted if there weren’t vacuum lines in the carpet.
    “Wow, this looks like my place.” Jessica shut the door behind her, then put her arms around Christine. Christine lay her head on her shoulder and began to cry, softly at first then growing into a sob.
    “I’m sorry, honey,” Jessica said, rubbing her back. “It’s not right.”
    When Christine’s crying slowed, Jessica stepped back slightly, and they stood forehead-to-forehead. “It’s going to be okay, honey. It’s all going to work out for the best.” She parted the hair from Christine’s face. “When was the last time you ate?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Oh, baby,” she sighed. “You go shower. We’re going out for lunch.”
    “I don’t want to go anywhere,” Christine said.
    “I know. That’s why we are. There’s a half-price sale at Lord and Taylor. You know how shopping brings you out of a funk.” She smiled, “And I have a big surprise for you.”
    “I don’t want any more surprises.”
    “Of course you don’t. But you’ll like this one. It’s a good surprise. Trust me.”

Chapter
Five
    A patient once told me that a trip to the mall was twice as effective as Prozac.
    PAUL COOK’S DIARY

    When Christine emerged from her bedroom, the