Outside the Lines by Amy Hatvany Read Free Book Online

a shower and brushed my teeth and hair, got dressed, and then found a good book to curl up with under a blanket. While I didn’t like most of my classes at school, I did love to read, always imagining myself as the heroine in a story. I thought being Anne Shirley, the spunky orphan in the Anne of Green Gables series, might be less stressful than dealing with my father’s moods. I identified with Frances Nolan in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and her loving but turbulent relationship with her head-in-the-clouds father. But my most recent favorite was Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. I was positive I’d get my period any day.
    It only took a couple of hours for my mother to emerge from her room. A shorter time than usual. I heard her door open and her footsteps as she walked across the hall to my room. I looked up at her from my spot on my bed and set the book down onto my lap.
    “Hi, Momma.”
    She smiled at me, but it didn’t quite reach her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She looked like I did after Rachel Myers told me she didn’t want to be my best friend anymore. I had cried every day for a week. “Hi, baby,” my mom said. “You okay? Did you get some breakfast?”
    I shrugged. “Not hungry.” She gave me a doubtful look. “No, really,” I said. “I wasn’t. I cleaned everything up, though. The bacon is in foil in the fridge and the pancakes are in the freezer.”
    She came over and sat down on the edge of my bed, reaching out to cup my face in her palm. “How did you get to be such a good girl?”
    I shrugged again. I didn’t think I was that good. If I were, wouldn’t my father want to be with me more? Wouldn’t he take his pills like he was supposed to so my mom wouldn’t get so mad at him?
    “You’re worried about Daddy,” she said, and I nodded slowly.
    “He’ll be okay,” she said, trying to reassure me, dropping her hand from my face and patting my leg. She didn’t sound like she believed her own words. I knew she was sad about how my dad was acting. She missed my old daddy—the one who made sure I got to my doctor appointments and sang her mushy love songs when she came home from work. I couldn’t remember the last time my mother had kissed him or shown him any other kind of affection. I had foggy memories of when I was a toddler, watching them dance together, hearing the sweet bubbles of her laughter float through the air.
    She sighed and stood up. “I think I’m going to watch an old movie. Want to join me?”
    I shook my head and held up my book.
    “Okay,” she said. “Come down in a bit and I’ll fix us some lunch. Are sandwiches okay? I know you were supposed to go out for pizza . . .”
    “It’s fine,” I said, not wanting to talk about my father’s outburst or the fact that he’d broken yet another promise to me with her. She went downstairs, and despite her offer of lunch, I stayed in my room, subsisting off the candy bar stash I kept in my closet. I couldn’t be around her when my father took off like he had. I could feel her anger and disappointment. I sensed it disconnecting her from him in a way that scared me. Don’t make him leave, I prayed, unsure if anyone or anything was actually listening. Don’t make my daddy go away. When I finally heard the familiar grumble of his car out front, I threw down my book and raced down the stairs.
    Now, as I crumbled up the leftover bacon into the macaroni and cheese, I heard the water running in my parents’ bathroom above me. Next, I tore up lettuce over a bamboo salad bowl, poured in pre-shredded carrots, and added plump cherry tomatoes as a finishing touch.
    I heard my father’s footsteps before I saw him. He had on jeans and a white T-shirt. I gave him a bright smile. “I hope you’re hungry!” I said, gesturing to the table I had just finished setting. “I made it just the way you like it. Where’s Mom?”
    “She’s tired. She’s in bed.” He shuffled over to the table as he spoke. His hair was wet and