Read Online For One More Day by Mitch Albom - Free Book Online

baking brownies.
    "Sometimes your kids will say the nastiest things, won't they, Rose?
    You want to ask, 'Whose child is this?' "
    Rose chuckled.
    "But usually, they're just in some kind of pain. They need to work it out. "
    She shot me a look. "Remember, Charley. Sometimes, kids want you to hurt the way they hurt. "
    To hurt the way they hurt? Was that what I had done?
    Had I wanted to see on my mother's face the rejection I felt from my father? Had my daughter done the same to me?
    "I didn't mean anything by it, Mom, " I whispered. "By what?"
    "Being embarrassed. By you, or your clothes or ... your situation. "
    She rinsed the shampoo from her hands, then directed the water to Rose's scalp. "A child embarrassed by his mother," she said, "is just a child who hasn't lived long enough. "
    THEREWAS A cuckoo clock in the den, and it broke the silence with small chimes and a mechanical sliding noise. My mother was trimming Rose's hair now with a comb and scissors. The phone rang.
    "Charley, dear," Rose said. "Could you get that for me?"
    I walked into the next room, following the ring until I saw a phone hanging on the wall outside the kitchen.
    "Hello? " I said into the receiver.
    And everything changed. "CHARLES BENETTO? " It was a man's voice screaming.

    "CHARLES BENETTO ! CAN YOU HEAR ME, CHARLES? " I froze.
    "CHARLES? I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! CHARLES ! THERE'S BEEN AN
    ACCIDENT ! TALK TO US ! "
    Hands shaking, I placed the phone back in the cradle.
    Times My Mother Stood Up for Me
    It is three years after my father's departure. In the middle of the night, I awaken to the sound of my sister thumping down the hall. She is always running to my mother's bedroom. I bury my head in the pillow, drifting back to sleep.
    "Charley!" My mother is suddenly in my room, whispering loudly.
    "Charley! Where's your baseball bat?"
    "Wha?" I grunt, rising to my elbows. "Shhh!" my sister says.
    "A bat, " my mother says. "Why do you want a bat?" "Shhh!" my sister says.
    "She heard something. " "A robber's in the house?" "Shhh!" my sister says.
    My heart races. As kids, we have heard of cat burglars (although we think they steal cats) and we have heard of thieves who break into houses and tie up the residents. I immediately imagine something worse, an intruder whose sole purpose is to kill us all.
    "Charley? The bat?"
    I point to the closet. My chest is heaving. She finds my black Louisville Slugger, and my sister lets go of her hand and jumps into my bed. I am pushing my palms into the mattress, not sure what role I should play.
    My mother eases out the door. "Stay here, "she whispers. I want to tell her that her grip is wrong. But she's gone.
    My sister is trembling next to me. I am ashamed to be lumped in with her, so I slide out from the bed to the doorframe, despite her pulling at my pajama bottoms so hard they nearly rip.
    In the hallway, I hear every creak of the house settling, and in each one I imagine a thief with a knife. I hear what seems to be a soft thudding. I hear footsteps. I imagine a big, ruddy beast of a man coming up the stairs for my sister and me.
    Then I hear something real, a smash. Then I hear... voices? Is it voices? Yes. No. Wait, that's my mother's voice, right? I want to run downstairs. I want to run back to bed. I hear something deeper – is it another voice? A man's voice?
    I swallow.
    Moments later, I hear a door close. Hard. Then I hear footsteps approaching.
    My mother's voice precedes her. "It's all right, it's all right, " she is saying, no longer whispering, and she moves quickly into the room and rubs my head as she passes me to get to my sister. She drops the bat and it clunks on the floor. My sister is crying. "It's all right. It was nothing, " my mother says.
    I slump against the wall. My mother hugs my sister. She exhales longer than I have ever heard anyone exhale before.
    "Who was it?" I ask,
    "Nothing, nobody, "she says. But I know she is lying. I know who it was.
    "Come here, Charley. " She holds a