Umbrella Summer by Lisa Graff Read Free Book Online Page B

picked her up so they could take Fuzzby to the vet. Since I didn’t have my big green book to read, I played double solitaire with Chirpy. I was just starting my sixth game when Mom knocked on my open door. “Annie?” she said, coming into the room before I’d even answered. I didn’t know why she ever bothered with the knocking.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œCan you come set the table for me, sweetie? We’re having meat loaf.”
    I hated meat loaf. “Okay, yeah. Just a second.” I stacked a two of clubs on top of the ace and told Chirpy not to cheat. Then I went into the hallway, walking past Jared’s room, where the door was shut tight just like italways was. The day after he died, Mom went in there and spent hours vacuuming and dusting and tidying and straightening, till the whole place was cleaner than an ice cube. I watched her do it. Then she closed the door and locked it. And that was that.
    Mom was stirring things on the stove. “I haven’t run the dishwasher yet,” she told me without turning around. She must’ve had secret Mom-sense, because she always seemed to know whenever I entered a room even if she was looking the other way. “There should be plenty of plates in the cupboard, though.”
    I climbed up on the counter under the cupboard, even though Mom hated when I did that. But it was too much work to get a chair. There were exactly three plates left, the plastic ones that Mom called our “Not for Company Dishware.” I grabbed the plates and put them on the table. One for me, Mom, and Dad. Then I went to get the napkins and the silverware.
    â€œThanks, hon,” Mom said, turning around. “Don’t forget to put out the—” And then she stopped talking and sucked in her breath real quick.
    I turned to see what she was looking at, the plates on the table. It wasn’t until I squinted my eyeballs that I saw it. Over at Dad’s spot, on the far end of the table, I’d put down the plastic plate Jared made for Christmas in first grade, the one with the drawing of the lopsided Christmas tree that said “Hapy Holidayes!” in big orange letters.
    â€œIt was the only one left,” I said, my voice soft as snow.
    Mom didn’t say anything, just walked quick over to the table and scooped the plate up and returned it to the cupboard with a soft clank. Then she went back to stirring peas on the stove and cleared her throat, deep and gargly. “There are some plates in the dishwasher, Annie,” she said, not looking up. “You can wash one of those.”
    I didn’t move right away. I just stood there, blinking. Because all of a sudden I was feeling squirmy inside, with a lump in my throat like I was in trouble. It was exactly the way I felt when I’d broken Mom’s sewing machine last year, after she’d told me a million times not to use it. Only this time I wasn’t sure why I felt like that, becausesetting the table like you were supposed to shouldn’t make you a Huge Disappointment, Young Lady.
    I took a plate out of the dishwasher, a regular white one, and I washed it with a sponge in the sink. “Mom?” I said, but she didn’t answer. She just kept stirring the peas. I tried again. “Mom?”
    â€œYes, sweetie?” She didn’t turn around.
    â€œAre you mad at me?”
    â€œOf course not, sweetie,” she said, still stirring. “Why would I be mad?”
    â€œOh,” I said. “Okay.” But I wasn’t sure I believed her.
    When we finally sat down to eat, the peas were too mushy.
    â€œMom?” I said, after we’d been eating for a while with just forks and knives clanking, no talking.
    She had a mouthful of peas. “Mmm-hmm?”
    â€œCan I have my book back after dinner?”
    She swallowed. “Oh, Annie…,” she said, looking over at my dad. He was ripping up a roll. “I don’t think so, sweetie. I