Diary of a Witness by Catherine Ryan Hyde Read Free Book Online Page B

know.”
    He put down the fish fillet and the knife and turned and looked at me full on. I wanted to sink right through the floor. “Why have you not told your mother? Isn’t that pretty key? She can’t support you if she doesn’t know you need support.”
    “I know.”
    “Why, then?”
    I really, really wanted to be somewhere else entirely. I looked down at my shoes. Peaches was down there, staring up at the fish fillets. Licking her lips, like she could eat the good smells. “You remember how my dad was. Always criticizing her.”
    “Yeah. So?”
    “This would be like criticizing. Like telling her she should do something, too.”
    “Nonsense. If you don’t want to be like your dad, don’t criticize her. But tell her what you’ve decided for yourself.”
    “I don’t want to make her feel bad about herself.”
    “Stop trying to fix the world, Ernie. She makes her decisions, you make yours. She’s a big girl. Let her feelings be her business. Tell her.”
    He handed me the last two pieces of fish and washed his hands in the sink, and I knew he was going to go. I wished he wouldn’t. But it was a long drive, and he probably had things to do.
    I walked him to the door.
    “Thanks for driving all this way, Uncle Max.”
    “Yeah. Well. You know you’re my favorite nephew.” This is a little running joke we have. I’m an only child, and Uncle Max and my mom don’t have any other brothers or sisters. In other words, I’m his only nephew.
    A couple of steps out the door he stopped and turned around. “Oh. I know what I forgot to say. Take good care of your friend Will for a while. He needs a lot of attention right now, and he’s probably not getting it at home. Hey. Want to go up to the cabin for Christmas vacation? Just the two of us?”
    “I’d love to. But I bet Mom wouldn’t like it. She’ll want me to be home with her on Christmas.”
    “I’ll talk to her.” He turned and walked toward his truck again. Then he stopped, snapped his fingers. Turned around. “I almost forgot the most important question.”
    “Yes. I wrote it all down in my journal. Almost three hours’ worth.”
    He pointed in the general direction of my nose. “Good boy.”
    Then he jumped into the truck, and he was gone.

November 25 th
    I’ve been bad about writing in my journal. Really bad. It’s been ages. After that big marathon writing thing, where I practically got a hand cramp putting down all the details of the worst twenty-four hours of my life, well … After that I’d look at the thing and really not want to touch it. Kind of like I feel about the leftover lingcod in our freezer. Just doesn’t look all that appetizing.
    But stuff has been happening. It’s just sort of quiet stuff. Literally. At first I had no idea what to say about it. But Will kind of cleared it up today. Kind of put words to it and made it real.
    He’s been back at school for around six days.
    I was really braced, waiting for someone to beat him over the head with it. But instead everybody just got sort of … quiet. I’d walk into a class with him, and whoever was in the room before us would just clam up. The silence got pretty heavy. It was like some kind of radio waves, following us everywhere we went.
    The first one of each class was hard, because the teacher always asked him to stay a minute after class. Then he’d stand by their desks looking helpless, and they’d say something meant to be supportive. “I am so, so sorry about what happened to your brother, Will. We’re all holding a good thought for your family.” Some crap like that. Meanwhile, I could feel the waves of misery pouring off him. But there wasn’t much I could do to help. You can put yourself in front of a knife or a gun. For a buddy you just might. But how do you put yourself in front of somebody who thinks they’re being nice?
    Why is it so much harder when it’s him getting hurt? That’s harder for me than when they hurt me. Me, I just figure, Hell, I’m