Is This Tomorrow: A Novel by Caroline Leavitt Read Free Book Online Page A

window, feather duster in her hand, dancing in their living room as she cleaned. She swooped the feather duster into lazy circles. Her hips snaked. “That’s your mom?” Jimmy asked. The two boys stood on the sidewalk and Lewis watched his mother swaying, throwing her head back so her hair tossed in her eyes and you couldn’t see her face. Her mouth moved, as if she were singing. Lewis could hear Jimmy’s intake of breath and Lewis tried to will his mother to stop, to pull the curtains at least. Jimmy flapped his hands as if he were cooling the world down.
    “Hubba-hubba,” Jimmy said. “Va-va-va-voom.” Lewis socked him in the arm. “Hey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jimmy said, but his gaze stayed on Ava.
    Lewis wasn’t sure how he felt about his mother anymore. He didn’t think he trusted her. She seemed full of secrets lately, and sometimes he swore he could hear them rattling around in her like marbles caught in a glass jar.
    Last week, he was sleeping at Jimmy and Rose’s, a special treat on a school night. He, Rose, and Jimmy had spent the evening playing Go to the Head of the Class. Later that night, Lewis was tucked into a sleeping bag on Jimmy’s floor, sandwiched between Jimmy’s bed and Rose’s sleeping bag. Lewis felt woozy and achy. Sweat filmed his body, making his pajamas paste against his skin. “I want to go home,” he told Jimmy. “I think I’m sick.” Rose put one hand on his forehead. “You’re boiling,” she said.
    They didn’t want to wake Jimmy’s mother, who got cranky if she had to lift her sleep mask or take her earplugs out, so Jimmy and Rose both put their coats over their pajamas, slid into their slippers, and walked Lewis to his house across the street. The night was still and cold and sparkling with stars, but every step Lewis took, he felt sicker and sicker. The houses seemed to be moving. The ground felt soft and sticky, as if he might sink into it. Rose’s hand drifted across his back and he leaned into it, feeling a pulse of heat.
    At his door, he heard music. Frank Sinatra. One of the albums his mother liked. Lewis could see his breath in the air. He could feel the sweat trickling along his back. Rose shut her eyes for a moment, swaying to the music. “Your mom is some smoothy,” she said. “Music past midnight! My mom doesn’t even have a record player. When she hums, she hums Speedy Alka-Selzer commercials.”
    Jimmy tilted his head up to the window and then stopped. He put one hand out in front of Lewis, the way Lewis’s mother did when she was driving and she had to stop short, keeping Lewis from banging into the glove compartment or going through the windshield. Lewis stumbled, and then he looked at the window, at the shadows through the curtains. They all saw his mother standing up, her head resting on someone’s shoulder, slow dancing, moving into one dramatic dip. Rose sucked in a breath.
    Lewis froze. His mother’s shadow kissed the other shadow and he turned away.
    “I feel okay now,” he said stiffly. He turned and faced the dark street. “Let’s go back to your house.”
    Jimmy and Rose were just standing there, staring at him.
    “C’mon, I’m okay. I feel fine now,” Lewis said. “I want to go back to your house.”
    Rose tugged his arm and Lewis pulled it roughly away. Then he started walking away, and every step he took, the music grew fainter and fainter, the image of his mother and the man blurred, and he felt so weak and dizzy he could have lain down in the middle of the road. He didn’t turn around to see if Rose and Jimmy were following, but he heard the scuff of their slippers, and he was grateful for their silence.
    They all went back inside, removed their coats, shuffled off their slippers, and got back under the covers. Lewis stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, trying not to cry. The room reeled around him. He heard Jimmy beginning to snore and he felt more alone than he had ever felt in his life.
    Then he heard Rose, the