California Diaries # 11: Dawn III: Missing by Whitney Read Free Book Online

there, which was just as good (Mrs. Bruen is like another
    mother to me.)
    “Mrs. Bruen!” I cried. “There’s an ambulance next door!”
    Mrs. Bruen looked up from the pasta she was fixing for our dinner. “It’s
    okay, Dawn,” she said. “Mrs. Winslow just came home.”
    “In an ambulance? She had to ride in an ambulance?” This seemed very
    odd. If she was sick enough to need an ambulance, why was the hospital letting
    her go?
    Mrs. Bruen nodded. “she’s pretty sick, honey.”
    “I know, but…”
    “I think she just wanted to come home.”
    “Maybe I’l go visit her.”
    “Why don’t you wait a bit. Let her get settled first. It takes more time now.
    At least wait until the ambulance leaves.”
    I was so shaken by the sight of the ambulance that after awhile. I decided
    not to visit her. Maybe I’l go this afternoon.
    Tuesday afternoon 3/2
    I am sitting at my desk, looking out my bedroom window. I can see the
    Winslows’ driveway. In it is a delivery truck with the words HERITAGE
    SURGICAL on the side. Below is a list of some of the stuff that I guess this place
    either sells or rents to people: commodes, walkers, back and knew braces,
    bedsore products, hospital beds, ostomy supplies (whatever they are). The list
    goes on. Under the list, in larger letters, are the words ALL SICKROOM supplies.
    I shivered when I read that last part. All sickroom supplies. It sounds so
    sad and sort of tragic.
    This guy has been going in and out the Winslows’ front door, carrying
    large cartons.
    Hmm. What’s going on? I was planning to visit Mrs. Winslow, but I guess
    I’ll put it off again. At least until things seem quieter next door.
    Tuesday afternoon 3/2
    The truck left. I was just about to go next door when a car pulled into the
    Winslows’ driveway and an older woman with curly graying hair stepped out
    carrying a bag. I know who she is. I’ve seen her before. I can’t remember her
    name, but I recognize her. She’s a visiting nurse. She comes by to do things like
    take blood samples and check blood pressure. Wel . Now is not the time for a
    visit either.
    Almost dinnertime, Tuesday 3/2
    I was just about to go to the Winslows’ once again – when Sunny came
    home. Won’t go now. Maybe tomorrow.
    Tuesday night 3/2
    Dad and Carol didn’t say anything about the concert at dinnertime. Which
    is why I had to bring it up myself later. This time I waited until both Gracie and
    Jeff were in bed.
    “So,” I said. “Have you had a chance to think about the concert?”
    “Yes,” Dad replied, “But we haven’t reached a decision.”
    “The concert’s on Friday!” I exclaimed. “That’s in just three days.” I
    sounded slightly hysterical so I calmed down. Then I hit on a tactic that would, if
    nothing else, force Dad and Carol to make a decision quickly. “If I can’t go to the
    concert, I should let Ducky know right away so he can find someone else to give
    the ticket to.” The truth is, I have absolutely no intention of not going to the
    concert. If Dad and Carol say I can’t go, I’ll have to sneak out. Or tel them I’m
    spending the night at Maggie’s or something. But that’s a last resort.
    “Hmm, yes, I suppose you’re right,” said Dad.
    “So can I go?” I asked.
    Dad frowned. “It’s the business of your being driven around so late at night
    by a sixteen-year-old,” he began.
    Even though Dad stil hadn’t said no, I jumped to #4 and began making
    promises. “But Ducky is an excellent driver, I promise!” I exclaimed. “And I
    promise I’ll wear my seat belt. And I promise that Ducky never drinks and drives.”
    “I hope not,” said Carol. “In any case, he’s too young to drink.”
    “And I promise I’l keep everyone in the car real y quiet,” I went on.
    “Ducky’s won’t have any distractions. And I’ll make him stick to the speed limit.
    Which he does by himself anyway,” I added hastily. “And I promise I’l call you the
    second we get to the club.