Waking Anastasia Read Online Free PDF Page B

returned to the task and carefully lifted up the old black-and-white photo of the stately, walled home. Beneath it was an old, almost ancient camera. Though intrigued by the camera, Jerry took a close look at the photo. “Very nice. The old family homestead, maybe?” He placed it to one side, carefully removed the camera and put it next to the photograph. Beneath the camera was a copy of William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience . Its dark cloth cover was stained and torn, but the phone rang before he could take a closer look, to see how extensive the damage was. He put it back in the shoebox and went in search of his cell phone. He found it on the fourth ring, hidden beneath a dropped t-shirt.
    “Talk to me.” Jerry returned to packing while talking on the phone. “Oh. Hi, Mom.”
    “What? No, Mom, I told you not to expect me in Toronto this weekend—I have plans.” Distracted, he stuck the envelope, the photo, and the camera back in the shoebox, placed the shoebox into a larger box, and then padded in and around it with clean clothes from a pile on a worn chair.
    “Well, if you must know, my drug dealer is due any minute now with the fifty keys of heroine I ordered. My pregnant, teenage, prostitute girlfriend and I are going to spend the afternoon cutting the stuff with laundry soap and putting it all in little baggies so we can give them away free to the Sunday School kids tomorrow morning. Rabbi Schmuck and Mahatma Sherpa are going to help.” He shoved a box out of his way and sat heavily on the couch.
    “No? What’s not to believe? You’re right. I was lying . . . she’s not pregnant, the Rabbi is, and it’s not my baby. Fine, Mom. I’m still packing. I told you that I have to be in Victoria by Christmas to start the new job.” Seeing a recently opened bottle of vitamin water, he grabbed it and took a gulp.
    “Mom, I could tell you the absolute truth, and if it didn’t fit with your view of how your world should be, you’d disbelieve it. Look, I love you, this chat is fun, and I’m glad you called, but I really can’t talk right now. How about I call you tomorrow after breakfast? A quick call before I leave.” He rolled his eyes and took another drink. “Of course I’m not brushing you off. Yes, I’ll call. Tomorrow morning. Bye, Mom.”
    He hung up. “Holy shit, that woman drives me nuts. I need a run before I explode.” He checked his watch. “Forty minutes until dinner downstairs. Thirty minutes of pulse-pounding stress-relief and then ten minutes to clean up. Easy peasy.” Changing quickly into his Gortex winter running gear, he was down the stairs and out the door in record time. He turned right and headed south, setting the countdown timer on his watch for fifteen minutes. With every pounding step along the snowy sidewalks and gulping breath of cold air, Jerry felt his frustration with his mother fade. He let his mind slip into run-mode, counting steps in tens, then counting breaths in fives. The houses slipped past, unnoticed. The only thought that inserted its way into his running mind was an image of the cover of the book from his great-grandfather. Why would he keep a stained and damaged book?
    His pace was steady until his watch beeped at him, then he picked up the pace and began to make his way back home. He pushed himself hard, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His pulse pounded in his ears and it felt great, not even a hint of a headache. By the time he ran up the stairs and let himself into the apartment, he was soaked with sweat and felt great. He even had five extra minutes to get cleaned up for dinner. With so many boxes already packed and taped shut, the shoebox’s antique contents stood out. He didn’t dare put it away until he’d had a shower, but he couldn’t resist taking another look at the book of poetry sitting innocently in the bottom of the box. He leaned over and squinted for a better look, but a big glob of sweat dropped off