Free Spirits by Julia Watts Read Free Book Online Page A

Henderson says. “That’s definitely the most interesting question I’ve been asked all day.”
    Outside, I say, “So much for that idea.”
    “Yep,” Adam says, twisting the top off his Coke. “And when you think about it, we have no way of knowing that our guy even bought all the laxatives at the same time. He could’ve been stockpiling them over months, buying a box here and a box there so nobody would get suspicious.”
    I sigh. “So basically, what we’ve got is nothing.”
    “That’s what we’ve got.” Adam takes a swig of his Coke. “But unlike the police, at least we’re trying.”

Chapter 8

    Mom’s car sputters and wheezes as she starts it. “I don’t like the sound of that,” she says. “I keep putting off taking it to the shop because I’m afraid of what they might say.”
    “Like Dad’s patients who have cardiac symptoms for years but have been too scared to go to the doctor,” Adam says.
    “Exactly like that,” Mom says.
    Adam’s riding shotgun and I’m in the backseat, holding the hand mirror with Abigail in it so she can see outside. Abigail is as excited as I’ve ever seen her because we’re taking her out for pizza and a movie.
    Morgan, the next town over, is about three times the size of Wilder, which, Adam is always reminding me, means it’s still really small. “Just because it’s big enough to have a McDonald’s and a Pizza Hut doesn’t make it a major city,” he says.
    It seems kind of cruel to take Abigail to Pizza Hut when she can’t eat anything, but she wants to have a regular kids’ night out and that includes pizza, even if all she can do is look at it.
    Once we’re seated in the restaurant, I move the mirror around so Abigail can see. “Oh, I love the checked tablecloths,” she croons. “And the little candles on the table are so romantic.”
    “She says it’s romantic here,” I say to Mom and Adam.
    “Well, she doesn’t get out much,” Adam says.
    When our pizza (half pepperoni for Adam, half mushroom for Mom and me) arrives, I hold the mirror over it. “Well, you can’t taste it or smell it, but at least you can see it.” I move my arm around over the steaming pizza so she can get the full view.
    A gray-haired, heavyset woman stops her walk past our table to stare at me open-mouthed. And no wonder. Who wouldn’t stare at a person who, for no apparent reason, is waving an antique hand mirror over a pizza?
    Adam smiles at the woman, then nods his head in my direction. “She doesn’t get out much,” he says.
    It’s a lot easier to make Abigail a part of the moviegoing experience without attracting attention. After we choose our seats, I prop the mirror up on my lap so she can see the screen. It’s too dark for anybody to see how strange I look.
    The movie is really kind of babyish for Adam and me, but there are only two movies to choose from in this theatre, and the other one is rated R. This is one of those live-action kids’ movies where they use real animals but animate their mouths so it looks like they’re talking. In this movie, the talking animals are all dogs. It’s cute, but it’s not much on plot, and my mind wanders.
    I hop into Adam’s mind long enough to know he wishes it were a horror movie instead. But I knew that anyway. I move into Mom’s mind and find that she’s thinking about Dad, about a time they sat together in the dark of a theatre, and he put his arm around her and leaned in for a kiss. Hi, Miranda, Mom says silently. Get out of my head and watch the movie.
    I do.
    Abigail is the only one of us whose attention doesn’t wander. She laughs hysterically at every little slapstick gag on the screen. Sometimes she squeals with delight.
    Once the movie’s over and we’re back in the car, I ask, “So did you have a good time, Abigail?”
    “It was wonderful,” she says, “utterly astonishing. What I want to know, though, is when was it discovered that dogs can talk?”
    Adam and I laugh, but I can tell that