Afraid to Die by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online

phone jangled as she walked into the house and she smiled when she saw Bianca’s face and number fill the small screen.
    â€œHey,” she said as she walked into the living room, where the Christmas tree, without an ornament or light, stood in the corner.
    â€œHi, Mom!” Bianca was breathless.
    â€œWhere are you?”
    â€œStill at the mall. Michelle and I just had dinner and I still have tons of shopping to do. So I was thinking it would just be easier for Michelle if we ... um, finished and I stayed over at Dad’s.”
    â€œFor the night?”
    â€œYeah. Michelle said she’d get me to school in the morning.”
    Pescoli tried to ignore the pain in her heart. “You’ve got your homework.”
    â€œWhat do you think?” Bianca said, copping an attitude for a second before adding quickly. “Of course I do. I’m finished with my report for English and I just have a little more algebra.”
    â€œSpanish?”
    â€œFinished.”
    She wanted to say no, and “get your behind home,” but that was just selfish and territorial on her part and wouldn’t help with Bianca’s attitude or her being involved in her father’s life. “Okay, then.” Ignoring a little hole in her heart, she added, “I’ll see you ... when? Hey, wait, is Michelle going to get you to school early? For dance team?”
    â€œYeah. She wouldn’t let me miss that. It’s important, she thinks. You know she was captain of her cheerleading squad when she was in high school.”
    And that was about two years ago, Pescoli wanted to say but bit her tongue, even though the fact that Luke’s current wife was still in her twenties bugged the hell out of her. “Okay, then let’s have dinner tomorrow. Seven. Good?”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œMaybe we’ll get lucky and Jeremy will deign to join us.”
    â€œYeah, right.”
    â€œI’m serious.”
    â€œWhat’re the chances of you and Jer both being home for dinner? Or me, either. Jeremy and I do have lives, y’-know. And face it, Mom, you’re always working.”
    That stung as it was the same accusation she’d heard from Santana on more than one occasion.
    â€œPoint taken. But let’s try. Tomorrow. Get our Christmas plans straight.”
    â€œFine. Whatever.” Sounding put-upon, Bianca hung up quickly and was off to do whatever was so important with Michelle, the pseudo-bimbo who seemed to be in the running for Stepmom of the Year. “Great,” Pescoli said to the dog, then decided to get over it. She rustled up leftover spaghetti, a spinach salad that had seen better days and half a glass of merlot.
    â€œCheers,” she told herself as she pulled out a bar stool, sat down and, while reading what she’d missed in the paper this morning, dug in. She thought of Santana again and realized he was right: She couldn’t live the rest of her life for her kids. Not that they would ever think so. And maybe she did work long hours, but her work mattered, damn it, and was for the good of the community. Besides, she loved it. Pronging a meatball as if her life depended on it, she turned her attention to the paper, then decided that soon, come hell or high water, her family was going to trim the tree. Together. Even if it killed them.
    She spent the next few hours dragging the Christmas decorations out of the attic, sorting through them, checking to see that strands of lights that worked last year still glowed brightly when they were plugged in. Once she’d separated the yuletide wheat from the chaff, she left the good ornaments and lights near the tree, threw away everything broken, and filled half a garbage bag with items to donate. She thought about baking cookies, decided it was too much work, then decided to either skim off some of Joelle’s goodies the next day at work or stop at the grocery store on her way home from work, where she