Kat's Fall by Shelley Hrdlitschka Read Free Book Online Page B

chance to finish the sentence. Her arms are around my neck and she is squeezing so hard I’m afraid I’m being strangled.
    I peel her off. “He’s only doing it for show, Kat, to make everyone in town think he’s such a great daddy. I think he’s actually feeling guilty about being a lousy parent. But he intends for you to go live with our mom, and who knows if she’ll be willing to keep a dog.”
    Kat studies me. “I don’t care why he’s doing it,” she signs. “I just want a dog. And if she wants me, she’ll have to take the dog too.” She folds her arms across her chest.
    I don’t even want to think about this stuff. “Go to sleep, Kat. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    I have to blink back the tears. Things are definitely not going to work out the way she thinks.
    I turn, but before I can leave the room she calls my name.
    “What?”
    The joy has left her eyes, and now she looks concerned.
    “Let me see your arm,” she signs.
    There she goes again. That uncanny way of knowing, often before I do, when I have to use the knife.
    “My arm is none of your business,” I sign back and leave the room. She doesn’t follow.

    T HE INTERVIEW WITH the two guys from the Daily goes pretty much the way Dad orchestrated it. Kat is still flying high in anticipation of a dog, so I’m sure she comes across as a happy, well-adjusted kid. I’m my usual insolent self, but they probably put that down to my age. Dad sits in his armchair with this aren’t-Ione-heck-of-a-wonderful-guy expression on his face, calling me “son” and telling tales of what a stupendous job he’s done of raising his kids, all on his own. Forgotten, it seems, is that fact that he can’t communicate with his daughter. Perhaps I should roll up my sleeve.
    When they ask him what he’ll do when our mom gets out of jail and wants custody of us, he slumps down and pretends to struggle with the question.
    “It’ll be really tough,” he says, finally, “but in all fairness, I believe I should allow Sherri her share of time with them. I don’t believe she’s a bad person. I think the attempted murder was a one-time act of desperation, possibly triggered by drugs, alcohol and depression.” Dad glances at the tape recorder sitting on the coffee table in front of him, assuring himself that all this B.S. is being recorded. I have to give the guy credit; I didn’t know he was such a good actor. He recites the memorized lines flawlessly.
    “I understand from the authorities,” he continues, “that she’s received counseling for her addictions, and she’s even completed her high school diploma. That sounds to me like she’s a woman who’s no longer a threat to society or her children, and it’s only fair to give her a second chance.”
    It’s enough to make you puke, but just when I’m feeling completely defeated, ready to admit that Dad has won this particular battle, Kat pulls a fast one on him.
    The two news guys have shut off the recorder and are packing up their things. Kat is watching them intently. She turns to me and signs rapidly. “Ask them if they like dogs,” she says.
    I don’t know what she’s up to, but I ask anyway.
    The guy packing up the camera smiles and nods at Kat. I can see he thinks she’s adorable.
    “Now ask him if he’d like to come and meet my dog when I get him.”
    I can’t help but laugh at her cunning, but of course the news guy just thinks I’m laughing at how cute she is.
    He falls right into her trap. “Tell her I’d love to,” he says after I extend the invitation. “And why don’t you ask her if she’d mind us doing a follow-up story about her and her dog. It would be interesting to see how they are getting on, and if the dog really can be trained to protect her during seizures.”
    I don’t even have to translate. Kat gets the general gist just by reading his lips. She grins, triumphant. Now Dad has to get her a dog.

    T HE HADELINE IN the paper the following morning takes me by