Where You Are Read Online Free PDF

dead, I guess. He quit sleeping at night years ago, instead staying up and messing around on his computer until the sun came up, and then going to bed and leaving Mom to get me off to school or whatever. I turn the light back on.
    In the kitchen, Mom is clearing the right side of the sink of soggy waffles and dirty dishes. She glances up at me, then runs her forearm across her brow and sighs heavily. “I swear those children were raised by wolves.” I smile as she shuts off the water and dries her hands. She pulls the knife out of the peanut butter jar and shakes her head. I screw the lid on as she drops the knife into the sink and opens the dishwasher.
    â€œSorry, Mom,” I say, helping her unload the dishes. “I would have cleaned up for you, but Dad wanted me to clean the fish tank.”
    She stops and looks at me for a moment, then musses my hair. “How was your day? Did the kids like ‘Jingle Bells’?” She withdraws her hand and looks a little guilty for touching me. It’s an echo from my touch-me-not days in junior high. I regret now making that stand.
    Did the kids like “Jingle Bells”? Her question actually makes me laugh, just a little. “ ‘Jingle Bells’ was a total bust,” I tell her, “but otherwise it was okay. I stayed after school and made up my calculus test. I made a one hundred, sort of.”
    â€œSort of?”
    â€œYeah. Mr. McNelis helped me through it.”
    She smiles and hands me the silverware basket. “Since when do you need help with a calculus test?”
    I don’t respond, but I can feel her watching me as I sort everything into the plastic tray in the drawer. She takes the basket from me and hugs it to her chest. “I’m so sorry you have to go through all this.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Mom. I’m sorry the rug rats keep trashing the house.”
    She smiles.
    â€œWhere did you go?”
    â€œThe families we adopted picked up their holiday bags today. I was going to miss it, but they were shorthanded and since your aunt Whitney was here—is that pee on the floor?”
    â€œApple juice,” I say, grabbing the earlier abandoned paper towels. “At least I hope it’s apple juice.”
    Mom sighs and rubs her eyes. “What else happened while I was gone?”
    You don’t want to know.
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    Later, I haul the Scotch pine and the boxes of decorations into the house, and as we decorate the tree together, I fill her in anyway.
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    I can’t sleep. Even though the volume is fairly low, I can still hear the TV in my parents’ room. And then there’s another noise, like Dad is fumbling around for something on his bedside table. It’s always this way. I don’t know how Mom gets any sleep.
    It’s been two days since Dad had his last MRI, since his neurologist confirmed what we all suspected—the cancer is out of control. Dad pushed for more chemo, more radiation, bone-rattling, anything. When the doctor told him no, he’d gotten irate, and when Mom tried to calm him down, he’d turned on her. She called me at school, and Ms. Lincoln sent me home early. Aunt Whitney and Aunt Olivia were already here, crying with Dad in his room, assuring him they would take care of him. And Mom, she was furiously cleaning the baseboards in the kitchen.
    He’s going to die at home. It’s what he wants. A hospice nurse is coming tomorrow. Aunt Whitney says they’ll do whatever they have to to keep him comfortable until the end.
    I wonder if there’s a hospice for the family.
    A goddammit sets my heart pounding. The clock reads two AM . I lie still and listen and piece together what happened.
    Mom, yelling: “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
    Dad, crying: “I’m sorry.”
    Mom, more calmly: “Just stop. I’ll get it. I’ll get it. Why didn’t you ask for help?”
    Dad: Incoherent.
    Mom: “Oh, for God’s