Drive by Diana Wieler Read Free Book Online

toddler who didn’t speak. I’m always her second thought, I know that. I’ve forgiven her.
    â€œOf course he can stay,” Daniel said, shrugging off his jacket. ”He’s on holidays.”
    I gave him a sharp look. I was supposed to do the talking.
    â€œAlready? You haven’t been there a year,” Mom said.
    There was the crunch of gravel, and a sound I’d have known in my sleep – the squeak of my father’s brakes. My stomach pulled into a tight ball.
    â€œThere he is.” Mom let me go. ”I’ll tell him Daniel’s home. He was so worried.” She went into the living room to the front door. I stepped in front of my brother, backing him against the counter.
    â€œJust shut up. Don’t say anything about me, or you’re in this on your own, I swear.”
    Daniel’s eyes widened. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong. I heard my name in the conversation and turned.
    My father was in his work clothes, padded overalls of gunmetal blue. The color looked too bright next to his face, creased by lines I couldn’t remember seeing at Christmas. His hair seemed paler, not turning silver or gray but just fading. The heart attack had been over a year ago but somehow the last few months had compressed him, flattened him. It worried me.
    Dad put his hand on Daniel’s head as if to ruffle his hair, but instead he pushed, short and sharp. He was mad.
    Daniel staggered back a step, shaken.
    â€
Scheisskopf
! Your mother was worried sick.”
    â€œI’m sorry! I went to see Jens,” Daniel blurted.
    â€œSo? He doesn’t have a phone?”
    Actually, I didn’t. It had been disconnected two weeks ago.
    â€œWe got talking,” “I said quickly. ”He just forgot.”
    Dad looked at me for the first time, and almost smiled. ”Hello, stranger,” he said. His hand moved, as if to reach for me, but instead he gestured at my clothes.
    â€œYou wearing that jacket to the table?”
    We got down to business. In the Friesen house, meals are business. We’re not bean sprout people, no fancy sauces looped on the plates.
    â€œI just lay it out and stand back,” my mom likes to say, and that’s exactly what she did. Daniel’s never had much of an appetite and when he’s upset, he loses it completely. Nothing slows me down. I love food. Thank God I’ve always had the metabolism and the frame for it, that peasant’s body. I was so hungry and the spread of it, the smell of home that rose up from dish after dish, was like a hug.
    â€œIt’s good to see somebody eat around here,” my father said, plunking the gravy down next to me, something he wasn’t allowed to have anymore. I knew it cheered him up just to watch me. ”How’s work?”
    My heart was in my throat.
    â€œGood,” I managed.
    â€œThink you might have some time?”
    â€œJens is on holidays right now,” Mom cut in.
    â€œHolidays,” my father repeated. It was a foreign concept in our house.
    â€œIt…it’s so busy in the summer. Everybody wants a new car because they’re going out on the highway. And then the new models come out in the fall. They told us to take our holidays now.” I felt pinned by his clear blue eyes. ”Why? What do you need, Dad?”
    â€œI thought maybe we’d tear down that shack of an outhouse and build a real garage,” Dad said.
    â€œKarl! You are not hauling lumber, you are not laying cement…”
    My father waved her objections away. ”I’m not going to lift a finger, except maybe to point. This One and That One, they’ll do the heavy work.”
    The words were like a warm hand on my shoulder. He used to call us that when we were kids, pet names full of pride. This One and That One. I had always been This One.
    Daniel looked faintly sick – the guitar man hated heavy work. But I suddenly knew I didn’t need