Return to Me by Justina Chen Read Free Book Online

lifted herself off the cold stone floor. “Then it’s probably in the closet. I’ll find it.”
    As she did, Dad clapped Reid’s shoulder with one hand. “You can thank Giselle, too. She orchestrated all this.”
    “Who’s Giselle?” Reid asked, reading the back of the DVD case.
    “One of the women at the moving company.”
    Mom halted at the stairs and turned around. Her eyes didn’t waver from Dad. “We should get her a little something for all her help. Do you think she’d want a scarf? Or chocolate?”
    I had a sudden image of Giselle—tall, fine-boned, long hair. No, she wouldn’t be one to devour chocolate, to dare add a stray ounce on her body.
    “Definitely not chocolate,” I said.
    Mom frowned as she leaned against the stair rail. “Why?”
    Like an energetic puppy caged overlong, Dad sprang to his feet and trotted to the front door, saying, “I’m sorry about this, but I got to run to work. Emergency.”
    “But we just got here,” I said, even as Mom took a step toward him with a “Today, Thom? Really?”
    “I can’t help it, but hey! I almost forgot.” He crouched down to his briefcase resting against the far wall in the foyer, and withdrew two flat parcels. “Something to welcome you to Manhattan.”
    “That’s so nice,” Mom said, craning closer to watch Reid and me unwrap the presents: a membership to the Museum of Modern Art for me, and for Reid, a pass to the Museum of Natural History.
    After breathing out a long “Wicked!” Reid demanded, “When can we go?”
    “Maybe tomorrow. There’s so much to see in Manhattan.” Dad practically bounced on his toes. “You guys are going to love living at its back door! Just wait.”
    I caught Mom gazing wistfully at the thick concrete door as it shut behind Dad. Before she noticed me, she locked the door with a sigh.
    “Oh, Reb, you did find your present,” she said, smiling at the pendant I wore. “It looks great on you.”
    I cupped the pendant. “I thought this was from Jackson.”
    “No.” Her lips pursed briefly, a faint line. Then, a scant moment later, my move-in gift forgotten, Mom ordered us, “Go unpack.”

    That evening Dad met us in the town square, where Mom, Reid, and I had been waiting for nearly two hours. All around us, happy, well-fed families were parked on their picnic blankets, content from their gourmet dinners. Reid had been getting progressively grumpier until Jackson reminded me by text of the emergency food Mom always carried. One of those just-in-case protein bars had saved Jackson on our Tuscany trip four months ago.
    “Hey, there you are!” Dad said jovially, as if we were the ones holding him up.
    He approached our fleece blanket that Mom had somehowthought to stuff into her luggage. By then it was almost eight, and Dad had been gone for five hours. I didn’t know why, but I watched him carefully when Mom asked him where he’d been and why he hadn’t answered her phone calls. Dad simply shrugged and said, “The emergency at work was gnarlier than I thought.”
    I busied myself with making room for Dad on the blanket. Even then, I couldn’t help wondering: If he had driven all the way into the city, why didn’t we watch the fireworks and spend the night there, as Mom had suggested? As I had wanted?
    “So, who’s ready for dinner?” Dad asked, hefting two plastic bags that strained from the weight of our meal.
    Reid asked ravenously, “What did you get?”
    Dad settled himself next to Reid, sitting on the grass rather than on the blanket with the rest of us. “The works for Fourth of July.”
    No matter how much I tried to clamp down on the feeling that something was amiss, urgency needled me. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I wanted to knock the ribs, the baked beans, the corn bread off my plate. And Mom’s. This was the food of the fairies who tricked you into believing you were dining on chocolate, only to find yourself chewing a mouthful of dirt. There was no rational explanation