Anastasia on Her Own by Lois Lowry Read Free Book Online Page A

reassuring to know that her parents would win.
    "Sam, don't scratch," she said, glancing at Sam, who had stopped driving his truck across the floor in order to scratch a chicken pox spot on his neck.
    "Well, I itch," Sam said matter-of-factly.
    "After dinner I'll give you a bath in baking powder, like the doctor said." Then Anastasia thought about it. "Or did he say baking soda? Are they the same thing?" she asked her father.
    He shrugged. "I suppose so," he said gloomily.
    "Dad, cheer up. We have all these good leftovers for dinner: hot dogs, chicken, and hamburger. Quit looking so depressed. Why did you even say that, that you had a date? If you were joking, why aren't you laughing?"
    "Anastasia, I wasn't joking. Annie's back. This afternoon I got a phone call at my office, and it was Annie."
    "ANNIE!" Anastasia sat down and stared at her father. He
wasn't
joking, then. Even Sam stopped scratching and looked up with interest. Even Sam knew about Annie.
    Annie had been Dr. Krupnik's first love. It had been years and years ago, before he ever met Anastasia's mother. But he had dedicated his first book of poems to Annie—it was still there, on a bookshelf in the study—and when Mrs. Krupnik showed her husband's poetry to people, she never bothered taking that book down.
    Annie was an artist. They still had one of her paintings hanging in the living room. Every now and then, Mrs. Krupnik would say, "I wish you'd get rid of that, Myron."
    And Dr. Krupnik would glance at the painting and say, "Annie was a fine painter. She was a fine person, too. You'd like her, Katherine."
    Katherine Krupnik would make a noise that sounded like "Hmmpph."
    Annie had broken Dr. Krupnik's heart, years ago, when she went off to Guatemala to paint. She had wanted him to go with her. But Dr. Krupnik was afraid of snakes, and he read somewhere that there were a lot of snakes in Guatemala. Also, he couldn't speak Spanish, which is what they speak in Guatemala.
    So he didn't go, but his heart was broken, he had told Anastasia. His heart was broken for about six months, and then it was mended because he had met another artist, and this one was named Katherine, and he had married her because she was afraid of snakes, too, and would never want to go to Guatemala.
    And they had lived happily ever after, thought Anastasia, and would even win a disgusting Mr. and Mrs. Happy Marriage Contest if there were one.
    But now Annie was back.
    "Don't scratch, Sam," Anastasia said again automatically when she saw her brother's hand sneaking up behind his ear.
    "Dad," she asked, "how long has it been since you've seen Annie?"
    He calculated. "Sixteen years?" he suggested uncertainly. "I'm not sure. A long time, though."
    "Why on earth would she call up someone she hadn't seen in sixteen years?" asked Anastasia angrily. "That's stupid. She shouldn't have called you."
    He sighed. "No, it's not. She and I were friends."
    Anastasia looked at him skeptically. "That's not the way you used to tell it. You were in love with each other, that's what you told me before."
    "Well, we were friends, too," he said defensively. "I'm
glad
she called. I just wish your mother were here. Then I could introduce the two of them and they'd be friends, too."
    "Hah," said Anastasia, who was quite sure that her mother had zero interest in becoming friends with Annie. "Anyway," she went on, "what do you mean you have a date?"
    He sighed. "She's coming here for dinner Friday night."
    "Why on earth did you ask her to do
that?
"
    Dr. Krupnik frowned. "I didn't. It was odd. She talked so much on the phone—I don't remember Annie being that talkative; she used to be a quiet sort of person—that I never had a chance to say much. Probably I would have asked her to come over to my office and I would have had a cup of coffee with her, or something—"
    "Yeah, that would be okay, Dad. Not even Mom would mind—at least she wouldn't mind
much
—if you had a cup of coffee with Annie. Like for ten minutes