The Lonely by Ainslie Hogarth Read Free Book Online

soldiers. She stood up suddenly, the teacup in her lap tumbling down the front of her skirt and performing a loud pirouette on the porch before it came to a complete stop.
    â€œEaster, for god’s sake, would you quit dragging that bag? Lift it, girl, use your arms! You’re going to gouge a hole in my lawn!”
    The Mother stopped abruptly and picked up my bag with her other arm. I clung to her tighter.
    â€œYou should let her do that herself.” Phyllis picked up the teacup from the porch as she continued. “She’s got two working arms, doesn’t she?” She placed the teacup on a small round table next to her chair. “She knows what to do.”
    Then she pulled an eyebrow up ever so slightly.
    For Phyllis to even attempt to move an eyebrow indicated a depth of seriousness I’d not yet encountered. The Mother seemed to swallow the last millisecond of time on earth, reversing it, like how a videotape jerks backward when it’s paused. The suitcase was suddenly back in my hand again and The Mother spoke to me through a forced smile: “Be careful, honey.” We started to walk again. I did my best to control the hair-trigger plastic wheels but it was hard.
    â€œSorry, Mom. Did you stain your skirt?”
    The Mother was always apologizing to Phyllis the Fucking Bitch.
    â€œNo, I don’t think so,” Phyllis replied.
    And she got a funny look on her face, like The Mother should have known that already. Phyllis never stains her clothes because all she consumes after two o’clock p.m. is hamster-sized sips of vodka.
    â€œWell, sorry anyway.”
    â€œIt’s fine, dear.”
    All the while I’d been pulling my unpredictable suitcase as slowly as possible, trying my best not to touch Phyllis’s lawn, the flat green beast seeming to snarl at me whenever I moved too close for comfort. Tiny steps, as slowly as possible, inch by inch, wormlike, the sound of the wheels thundered like an old engine idling.
    Phyllis and The Mother watched silently with widening eyes until The Mother gave my arm a little tug and laughed nervously and said, “Come on, dear, we haven’t got all day.” But I couldn’t make myself go any faster. I had to be as careful as possible.
    The Mother, forcing laughter, grabbed my suitcase again and pulled me up to the steps quickly. Then she said to Phyllis,
    â€œSo we’ll be back on Friday night.”
    â€œI know, I know, you’ve told me a thousand times now, dear. It’s not like I’m going to forget an event that I’ll likely be looking forward to in half an hour.”
    â€œDon’t talk like that, Mom. She’s not going to bug you. And you can just let her do whatever she wants, okay? She’s not the kind of kid to take advantage.”
    â€œI know. She’s a very good girl. Go.”
    â€œAll right.”
    The Mother squatted down, my fingers still suctioned to her cool white arm.
    â€œEaster. Let go.”
    I let go of her and a fat tear rolled down my cheek.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Easter? It better not be that you have to stay with your grandmother, because if it is, I think I’m going to lose it.”
    â€œYou can’t leave me with her, Mom. You can’t. She hates me.”
    I tried to control my volume so that Phyllis couldn’t hear, but the tears made it very difficult, forcing my voice up into shrillness as unpredictably as my suitcase moved over the bumpy walkway.
    The Mother stroked the hair from my hot face and held it behind me in a ponytail. Let cool air onto the back of my neck and through perfectly puckered lips blew a stream of chilled breath over my face, bringing creaminess back into the angry red blotches. She said,
    â€œLook, I’m sorry, Easter. She doesn’t hate you. She’s just not good at making you think otherwise. I know this might seem awful right now, but I promise the next five days will fly by. And when we get