The Tiger Rising Read Online Free PDF Page B

was laughing about, without dropping his hand, without stopping, Sistine laughed, too.
    Then Rob remembered the name of the feeling that was pushing up inside him, filling him full to overflowing. It was happiness. That was what it was called.

By the time they made it back to the motel parking lot, it was dark outside, and they were both laughing so hard that they could barely walk.
    “Rob?” said his father. He was standing at the door to their room. The blue-gray light from inside seeped out around him.
    “Yes, sir,” said Rob. He dropped Sistine’s hand. He stood up straight.
    “Where you been?”
    “Out in the woods.”
    “Did you finish up all them jobs I told you to do?”
    “Yes, sir,” said Rob.
    “Who you got with you?” his father said, squinting into the darkness.
    Sistine drew herself up tall.
    “This is Sistine,” said Rob.
    “Uh-huh,” said his father, still squinting. “You live around here?” he asked.
    “For now,” said Sistine.
    “Your parents know you’re out here?”
    “I was going to call my mother,” said Sistine.
    “There’s a pay phone down in the laundry room,” said Rob’s father.
    “In the laundry room?” Sistine repeated, her voice full of disbelief. She put her hands on her hips.
    “We don’t got a phone in the room,” Rob said to her softly.
    “Good grief,” said Sistine. “Well, can I have some change at least?”
    Rob’s father reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He balanced the money in the palm of his hand, as if he was preparing to do a magic trick, and Rob stepped forward and took the coins from him and handed them to Sistine.
    “You want me to go with you?” he asked her.
    “No,” she said. “I’ll find it. Thank you very much.”
    “Rob,” his father said as Sistine marched away, swinging her arms, “what’s that girl doing in your clothes?”
    “She had on a dress,” Rob said. “It was too pretty to wear out in the woods.”
    “Come on in here,” his father commanded. “Let’s get that medicine on your legs.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Rob. He walked toward the room slowly. His happiness had evaporated. His legs itched. And the motel room, he knew, would be as dark as a cave, lit only by the gray light of the TV.
    When his mother was alive, the world had seemed full of light. The Christmas before she died, she had strung the outside of their house, in Jacksonville, with hundreds of white lights. Every night, the house lit up like a constellation, and they were all inside it together, the three of them. And they were happy.
    Rob remembered, and as he remembered, he stepped into the motel room. He shook his head and scolded himself for opening his suitcase. Just thinking about all the things that were gone now seemed to make the darkness darker.

Rob sat out on the curb in front of the motel room and waited for Sistine to come back from using the phone. He had her green dress wrapped up in a grocery bag. He had tried to fold the dress up neatly, but folding a dress turned out to be an impossible task and he finally gave up. Now he held the bag out and away from him, so that the grease from the medicine on his legs would not stain it.
    He was relieved when Sistine finally walked toward him out of the darkness. “Hey,” he said.
    “Hi.” She sat down on the steps next to him. “How come you don’t have a phone?”
    Rob shrugged. “Ain’t got nobody to call, I guess.”
    “My mother’s coming to get me,” Sistine said.
    Rob nodded. “Here’s your dress.” He handed her the bag.
    Sistine took it and then tilted her head to look up at the sky. Rob looked up, too. The clouds had shifted, and there were clear patches where the stars shone through.
    “I can see the Big Dipper,” Sistine said. “I like looking up at things. So do my mom and dad. That’s how they met. They were both looking up at the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel and they weren’t watching where they were going and they bumped into