Читать книгу The Secret of Willow Ridge - Helen H. Moore - Страница 8

2 BLOOD

“COME ON, DOPEY” Gabe whispered through clenched teeth. He yanked Izzy's arm, moving back toward the house. “And keep your mouth shut! Do you want everybody to know?” Izzy's brown eyes showed white all around as she looked from the blood-red fender of their dad's car to the neat, shiny homes of their very normal neighbors.

Mr. Santiago, three houses down, was mowing his lawn. “Wave at him,” Gabe said, waving and smiling. Gabe's smile was forced and wooden, but it would look like a normal smile from where Mr. Santiago was, he was sure. Izzy watched Gabe, and did the same. “Now come on!” Gabe tugged Izzy's arm and the two kids ran back into the house. Dad was up; they could hear him talking to Mom in the kitchen. “Ssshhhh,” Gabe warned. Izzy knew what to do; they had done it often enough before. On tiptoe, hardly breathing, they approached the kitchen where their mom had tried so hard to make them a special breakfast just an hour ago.

She didn't hear us; good. Gabe watched from the hall as his mom paced the kitchen floor, a lit cigarette in her hand. He kept Izzy behind him, pushing her back with the hand she was holding so tightly. This must be bad, thought Gabe. Mom never smokes in the house. Dad was smoking, too, but that wasn't odd. Dad did whatever he wanted, whether the kids were there or not.

Mom hadn't heard the kids come in and didn't see them standing just outside the kitchen door. Izzy's hand was still in Gabe's, and she squeezed so tightly he almost yelled at her. But he stopped himself; he wanted to hear what was going on in the kitchen between his mom and dad without them knowing. He put a finger to his lips and widened his eyes at Izzy. She nodded. He noticed what a mess her hair was. Mom hadn't brushed it that morning. Then a clattering sound drew his attention back to the kitchen.

Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to drink coffee from his “World's Greatest Dad” mug. World's Greatest Dad! Yeah, right, thought Gabe as he sighed loudly. Mom bought that stupid mug and made us give it to him for Father's Day. Izzy gave his hand another squeeze, and glared at him as if to say, “Hey! YOU need to be quiet, too!” Gabe looked back through the doorway at Dad; his hands were shaking so much as he put the cup down on the table—that's what was making that clattering sound.

Dad looked miserable. His eyes were red and his hair poked out all over his head. His clothes were a mess, like he had slept in them. In fact, he had just gotten out of bed. But both kids were relieved to see he didn't look hurt. There were no bandages. There were no big bruises the kids could see. Gabe felt Izzy bouncing on her toes behind him; she wanted to see more.

They heard Mom dialing the phone. Dad stared at her back with empty, hopeless eyes. Izzy couldn't help it; she had to know, so she whispered, “Who is Mom talking to?”

“How the heck should I know?” Gabe hissed back. Dad looked up, finally, and saw them peeking around the kitchen doorway. He didn't say anything, though. It's like he's looking through us, thought Gabe. Mom was still talking on the phone and writing something down on a notepad. “Right,” she said, to the person on the other end of the line. The police? Gabe wondered. Who else could it be? It must be about the car. “Thanks,” said Mom, and hung up the phone with a sigh.

She walked over and put her hand on Dad's shoulder. She rubbed his back and kissed his cheek. Then she looked right at Gabe and Izzy and held out her free hand to them. Izzy broke from Gabe's side and ran to her, holding her arms out to catch both parents in an awkward hug. Gabe took his time.

“Gabe? Come on in, please,” Mom said. “Dad and I need to talk to you both.”

“Oh Daddy, are you okay?” Izzy cried, leaping on him and sniffling into his neck.

“Are you hurt? Are you in trouble? What happened to our car?” Dad hugged Izzy tightly, but he didn't say anything. He looked like he was about to cry, too.

Gabe dragged himself into the kitchen. Let Izzy blubber into Dad's neck, he thought. He had questions, too. But he wasn't about to let Dad know he wanted anything from him—not even answers. Gabe plopped down in the chair across from his dad.

“I know seeing the car with a dented back end was a little strange and scary,” Mom began. Gabe wriggled in his chair, but still he didn't say anything. Dad smiled weakly at him. Gabe glared back. Strange? he thought. Not really. Our car is always beat up because of the way Dad drives!

“Everything is going to be all right,” Dad said. By the way Gabe wasn't talking, Dad could tell he was upset. Izzy was still nestled in Dad's arms. Mom just nodded, agreeing with Dad.

“There's nothing to worry about,” she said. She put her arm around Dad's shoulders again. With her free hand she stroked Izzy's messy hair.

“Dad had a little accident last night and dented the back of the car,” Mom began again.

“We saw,” Gabe growled. Mom and Dad exchanged nervous looks.

“It looks worse than it is, and we'll have it fixed soon,” Mom explained to the kids. “The important thing is that Dad didn't get hurt and he's okay. But there's something else we have to talk about…”

Gabe interrupted her. “Did someone else get hurt? A KID?” he demanded, standing up abruptly while his hands formed into fists at his sides. Izzy stopped sniffling and climbed up on Dad's knee to look at him and Mom, wide-eyed. What if their dad had killed a kid? What if that's what the red on the fender was? Some poor kid's blood! Gabe stayed quiet as a mouse, making no sound louder than his heavy breathing. Suddenly everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Finally, Dad slowly shook his head and quietly answered, “No.” He looked so ashamed. Mom went around the table and sat next to Gabe, who only realized he had been holding his breath when he sighed with relief.

“No, honey. No one was hurt by Daddy last night.” She looked at Dad and sighed. She turned to look at her children.

“We have been very busy this morning,” Mom said, shooting a glance at her husband. “Dad and I have been on the phone. We've been making plans for Dad to go to a place where he's going to get help with his problems.”

Gabe and Izzy looked at one another, sure that they had misunderstood their mom. The family almost never talked about “Dad's problems.” This couldn't be happening! Gabe thought—all we seem to do is live with them, make excuses for them, clean up after them, and suffer because of them. He and Izzy waited, expectantly, to hear what their dad had to say for himself.