The Vineyard Read Online Free PDF

glass. “I have to read twenty pages.”
    â€œTwenty?”
Twenty pages was daunting for a ten-year-old dyslexic. “Of what book?”
    Tess held it up—a geography text.
    â€œO-kay,” Olivia said, trying not to sound discouraged. “Why don’t you start while I change? We’ll do what’s left together.” She picked up the mail and sifted idly through it on her way to the closet.Halfway there, she turned and sank into the sofa. In her hand she held a letter that had no return address, only a Chicago postmark. It was enough.
    Her heart started to pound. Okay. The handwriting looked different. But it had been four years since her mother had written. All sorts of things might have happened to explain the change. The woman might have broken her wrist and be wearing a cast. She might have lost one arm in an accident. She might have had a stroke. She might … just might be so nervous about writing to Olivia that her hand was shaky.
    Olivia ripped up the flap and immediately swallowed down a sharp disappointment. Her last letter was inside the envelope, unopened. She unfolded the note with it and read,
“To whoever’s writing these letters—you keep sending them to this house, but there’s no Carol Jones here. Don’t write again. She isn’t here.”
    Olivia bent forward and hugged her knees. This address was the most recent she had, so either her mother had moved right after mailing the last letter or had mistakenly put down the wrong return address—“mistakenly” being the important word. Olivia refused to believe it was deliberate. She refused to believe that her mother didn’t want any contact at all. Granted, her last letter had been short and noncommittal, but she hadn’t told Olivia to get lost. She had never done that. She simply had gone off on her own a week after Olivia’s high school graduation. As she saw it, at that point her obligation was fulfilled. Other mothers felt that way. It wasn’t so bad.
    The bottom line, though, was that if Carol hadn’t received her recent letters, then she didn’t know where to reach Olivia now, either. So maybe she was trying. Maybe she, too, was mailing letters and getting them back. Olivia had had the post office forward mail from her old apartment to this one longer than they usually allowed, but that time had long expired. What to do now?
    The phone rang. Tess started to rise, quick to do something other than read, but Olivia snapped upright, pointed her back to the chair, and went for the phone herself.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œJust me again—I’m getting ready to leave here and head for the gym—I probably won’t be home until eight, and then there’s the news on CNN, and by the time I’ve had something to eat it’ll be late—but I need to know if tomorrow night’s a go.”
    Olivia pushed a hand into her short hair and held on. “Tomorrow night?”
    â€œThe North End Bistro.” It was a new Italian restaurant, open barely a month. He had heard good things about it and was rushing to get there, as if it would close if he didn’t go soon.
    Olivia figured that if the restaurant closed so soon, it wasn’t worth eating at. “I can’t, Ted. Weeknights are hard. I’ve told you that.” Tess needed homework supervision. Besides, Olivia came home from dates with Ted feeling competitive and tense. Nothing about him was laid-back. Nothing.
    â€œThey don’t have a reservation open on a Saturday night for three weeks—that’s how popular this place is—I’m telling you, Olivia, now’s the time to go.”
    Suddenly irritated, Olivia said, “If it’s that popular, it’ll be here in a month. Make reservations then, Ted. Tomorrow night’s bad.”
    â€œOkay—okay—I’ll hold the reservation just in case you change your mind—so call me later, will