If the Witness Lied by Caroline B. Cooney Read Free Book Online

either. Her gut clutches.
    She stops several houses short of her own. She hasn’t mastered parallel parking. But she likes pulling over as if she
could
parallel park. Madison gets close to the curb and turns off the engine.
    Cheryl is probably at home. What is Madison going to say about being gone all this time and now being back?
    It’s my house. I don’t need to give an explanation.
    Her mouth is dry.
    She thinks of Tris. Against all odds, Madison loves the tiny brother who entered their lives at such high cost. She was the best at getting baby Tris to fall asleep. She rocked, sang, swaddled and walked the floor. Tris was always exactly the right weight in her arms. She loved his scent after a bath, the amazed expression on his little face when he started noticing the world, the belly laugh when Madison nibbled his bare toes.
    I’ve missed Daddy’s birthday. But I haven’t missed Tris’s. I’m home in time for his third birthday.
    She locks the Celica, even though this may be the lowest-crime zip code in the nation, and walks toward her house. The jutting garage will prevent Cheryl from seeing Madison approach. First, she’ll peek in the garage window to see if Cheryl’s big Lincoln is sitting there. Then she’ll decide.
    A van passes Madison. It’s white. Medium-sized. No windowsexcept for the front seats. It sports a television station logo. On the roof is a tower of antennae, to let you know this isn’t a repair vehicle. It’s the camera crew.
    Madison never knew how the camera crews of last year arrived in the driveway so fast. Who called them? How had they known that Dad’s death was a story they’d want to follow for days? The TV van parked on Chesmore Road had induced strangers to stop and neighbors to call. Everybody wanted to be in on it. Television sucked them forward, like incredibly strong lips sucking on a straw, slurping every drop of the Fountain children’s lives.
    Madison slows her pace, waiting for the TV van to leave Chesmore.
    But it does not leave. It turns into a driveway.
    Madison’s heart falls while her body rockets forward. No! It can’t be
her
driveway!
    But it is.
    Something is wrong. What’s left to go wrong? Anything that can go wrong already has!
    Oh, Tris! Oh, Jack! Please be all right! I’m not back yet!
    Madison races to her front door.

T HE BUS IS HALFWAY TO B OSTON . N OBODY HAS ASKED S MITHY why she’s on the trip, probably because there are two classes and everybody figures she’s in the other one. She’s sitting alone, and maybe they figure she wants to be alone, although who ever does? But they’re not interfering.
    Smithy is lying down, curled up on the two-person bench so the teachers won’t turn around and spot her. Her skull is pressed against the armrest and her feet are twisted as if somebody is trying to pull them off.
    I left my postcards in my room, she thinks.
    Nothing else, not a single possession or piece of clothing, matters to her now. How strange. Because Smithy resented the postcards when they came.
    Every week Nonny sent a postcard to each grandchild. Over the years, she’d sent hundreds of them. Nonny wrote exactly the same message to every grandchild every time.
Love you. Love, Nonny.
When Nonny and Poppy visited the boarding school,Nonny bought a stack of postcards, and Smithy got card after card featuring her own location.
    Love you. Love, Nonny.
    Nonny and Poppy live far away. They are mainly loved because Mom and Dad said to love them. In fact, they are strangers who work hard in ordinary jobs, fifty weeks a year, and cannot easily visit. The few times they were able to come east, Dad bought their plane tickets. Nonny is a waitress. Poppy works in an office supply store. They enjoy their work. Their activities—gardening, church choir, softball league, line dancing, driving for Meals On Wheels—do not interest Smithy.
    Mainly the children know their grandparents by video connection. Once a week, at a prearranged time, Mom and Dad