Dirty Little Secrets by C. J. Omololu Read Free Book Online Page A

idea.”
    I stood there quietly waiting for her to say something else. Mom cried a lot like this after Dad left us, but other than that, I hadn’t seen many grown-ups freaking out before. Aunt Jean reached out and pulled me to her, grabbing me around the waist and holding me tight.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” she said over and over. “I had no idea.”
    As I stood there, wrapped in her arms, I decided maybe I’d gotten it wrong. Maybe Mom was hurt worse than I’d thought, or maybe she was already dead. We were supposed to go and see her that afternoon, but now it was too late. I turned this thought over and over in my head until I believed it was true with all the conviction a nine-year-old can gather, and tears started spilling out of my eyes and down my face. Mom was gone. Mom was gone, and I was going to have to go live with someone else, away from my school and everything I knew. I didn’t want to go and live with Dad—Mom said that Daddy was the devil and that he never really loved any of us. If he did, he’d never have abandoned us like he did. Even worse, maybe he’d only let one of us live there, and I wouldn’t have anybody at all who cared about me. My tears turned from silent tracks into loud sobs that made my whole body shake.
    â€œOh, sweetheart,” Aunt Jean said. She held me away from her so she could see my face. She rubbed my tears away with the palm of her hand and smoothed my hair back from my forehead. “It’s going to be okay.”
    I tried to swallow the hiccups that had started in my chest so I could speak. “Are we going to have to live somewhere else?” I finally squeaked out between sobs.
    Aunt Jean looked around the room. “No. No, honey. We’ll get this straightened out in no time. Your mom is going to have to stay in the hospital for a couple of weeks—that should give us just enough time to have this place spic and span.”
    I blinked back a fresh set of tears in disbelief. “She’s coming home?” I said. “I thought she was dead.”
    Aunt Jean laughed and gave me another hug. “No, honey, she’s not dead.” She took another look around the room. “Your mom is one hell of a slob, but she’s definitely not dead.”
    As we drove to pick up mom from the hospital on the last day, Aunt Jean turned to us. “Now remember, we want this to be a surprise, so don’t say anything until we get home.” She sounded cheerful and confident, but she looked nervous as she said it, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white.
    I looked down at my own hands. Aunt Jean had told us to wear gloves as we cleaned and scoured every surface in the house, but I could never get any gloves that fit right, so I’d just gone without. Now my hands were an angry red, and all of my nails were broken down to the bare edges.
    But it had been worth it. For two weeks, Aunt Jean and Phil and I had dragged bags of trash out to the Dumpster she had rented that stood sentry in front of the house. The plumber had been called, and every dish shone from its place in the cupboard. Once the floors and tables were clear, we had sorted through the closets and drawers. Finally, every surface was scrubbed and bleached until there wasn’t a speck of mold left in the whole house. Aunt Jean had done most of the work; I could see the light from the hallway streaming under my door late into the night. It was like she couldn’t sleep until the house was spotless.
    Phil was chewing on his fingernail and staring out the window as the streets rushed by. “Auntie Jean,” he said quietly.
    I could see her glance at him in the rearview mirror. “What’s on your mind, babe?”
    â€œDo you . . . do you think she’s going to like it?” he asked.
    Aunt Jean glanced at the road, and then back to him. “We did it out of love,” she said. “How can your