Drenched in Light by Lisa Wingate Read Free Book Online

On the way downstairs, she cooed to Joujou, probably asking what she wanted for breakfast.
    I hurried through showering, then put on makeup and combed my hair back, twisted it upward and secured it with a clip, so that little blond shoots stuck out the top. Not great, I thought, looking at the woman in the mirror in her bra and panties, studying herself with a hollow blue gaze.
    I hated the way my eyes were rimmed with dark circles and sunken in around the cheekbones. I looked older than twenty-seven—sallow and weary, like the homeless people who lived under bridges and pushed shopping carts on downtown streets.
    The body line could be more refined—slimmer. That ice cream is showing. . . . I’d turned sideways and started to examine myself before I awakened to what was happening. Stop it. Stop it. You’re not going to do this. Moving away from the mirror, I stepped on the scale. When I had those thoughts, it helped to get on the scale, think of my target weight range, and see how far off I was. One hundred and two pounds was too low for someone five-foot-six, but not dangerously thin.
    Also not fat.
    Leaving the scale behind, I rushed to the closet and slipped on a flowered dress, then remembered the change in the weather and grabbed a blazer. Outside, the moaning wind was testifying to the fact that, in spite of an unseasonably warm February so far, spring wasn’t here yet.
    By the time I’d gathered my things and arrived downstairs, Mom was setting the kitchen table.
    “Mom, I don’t have time,” I said, looking at the clock. Six forty-five. If I didn’t leave now, I would definitely be late. Mrs. Morris would probably be standing at the door, taking notes.
    “You have to eat.” Mom stacked toast on a napkin, then scooped scrambled eggs onto a plate.
    Grabbing a piece of toast, I piled some eggs onto it, folded it over, and took a Diet Dr Pepper from the refrigerator. “Mom, I love you, but I have to leave. Now.” She pointed the spatula at me like a weapon, and I took a bite of my sandwich. “I’m eating—look, this is me, eating. Mmmmm.”
    “Don’t be sassy. You should have some milk. And a heavy coat. It’s cold.”
    Grabbing the glass from the table, I downed a swig of milk, then set it in the refrigerator, said, “I’ll save it for later,” snatched up my briefcase, and rushed out the door.
    Fortunately, the traffic was light for a Friday, and the seven-thirty bell had just starting ringing as I jogged up the side steps at Harrington, and blew through the doorway on a stiff north wind. Mrs. Morris was already patroling by her classroom door. Checking her watch, she frowned as I passed by, her hawkish gaze following my rush to drop my things at my office, then take my duty station before the principal unlocked the front doors so that early arrivals could start coming in.
    Mr. Stafford shook his keys at me as he walked by. “You’re giving me gray hairs, Costell.” It was one of his standard jokes, since he didn’t have any hair.
    “Sorry.” I ducked my head, embarrassed about skating in at the last minute. “Bad commute today.” Excuses, excuses. If Mr. Stafford hadn’t been an easygoing guy coasting toward retirement, he probably would have fired me already for being woefully underqualified as a guidance counselor. I was learning on the job, and he was extraordinarily patient with that. Then again, the former guidance counselor had been an old battle-axe like Mrs. Morris. Stafford was probably relieved not to have two vipers denned up near his office.
    “Watch out for Morris. She’s hot about yesterday,” Mr. Stafford muttered from the corner of his mouth as he paused by the administration office across the hall. “She’s got friends on the school board.” He sighed wearily, no doubt counting the months until he could spend his mornings on the golf course. “Would have been easier to just give her the essay.”
    “It wasn’t the right thing to do,” I replied, and he made a