Read Online Look For Me By Moonlight by Mary Downing Hahn - Free Book Online

Vincent’s room was at the end of the hall, right above mine. Those were his footsteps I heard, soft and deliberate, crisscrossing the floor overhead.
    I sat still and listened, entranced by Vincent’s nearness. The clock ticked, the wind blew, shadows shifted on the wall. Our guest continued to pace.
    By noon I’d accomplished very little. Unless you counted the hundreds of times I’d written Vincent’s name in my notebook.

8
    When Vincent came downstairs at six o’clock, I was waiting for him in the hall. Dad, Susan, and Todd were already in the dining room, but I thought someone should greet Vincent. After all, this was his first dinner with us, a special occasion.
    â€œAm I late, Cynda?”
    Vincent’s deep, curiously accented voice drove every clever word I’d planned to say right out of my head. “I wanted to show you where we eat, I was afraid you might not know, I . . .”
    As I came to a stammering halt, Vincent thanked me for my consideration. “You look very nice,” he added. “Black becomes you.”
    I looked down at my sweater as if I’d never seen it before. “My mother says black’s not my color, it washes me out, makes me pale. She thinks I should wear blue or green, maybe even purple. . . .” I stopped, hot with confusion. Surely Vincent didn’t care what my mother thought.
    â€œCome,” he said, touching my arm lightly. “We mustn’t keep your family waiting.”
    We took seats opposite each other at the shiny mahogany table. The setting was formal, the candlelight soft, the food cooked and presented perfectly by my father, both chef and waiter tonight. In the background, Wagner’s “Siegfried-Idyll” played softly on the stereo. A fire crackled on the hearth.
    The only problem was Todd. He sat beside me glumly, poking at his food and kicking the table leg in defiance of Susan’s repeated pleas to sit still. Ignoring the handkerchief Dad handed him, he snuffled and sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He refused to look at Vincent or to answer any questions.
    Todd wasn’t cute tonight, nor was he funny. I shifted my chair away from him, ashamed of the way he was acting.
    Vincent was obviously disturbed by Todd’s behavior. Silent and withdrawn, he contributed little to the conversation Susan and Dad struggled to keep going. Like my brother, he spent more time rearranging his food than eating it. I caught his eye occasionally and tried to show my sympathy, but I couldn’t rouse him from his thoughts.
    When Todd knocked over an almost full glass of milk, Dad jumped up, thoroughly exasperated.
    â€œThat’s enough, Todd.”
    Taking his son’s arm, he pulled him none too gently away from the table.
    Todd’s tears upset Susan. Rescuing him from Dad, she said, “For God’s sake, Jeff, have a little patience. He’s been running a low-grade fever all day.”
    â€œPut him to bed then,” Dad said. “If he’s sick, that’s where he belongs.”
    It was the first time I’d heard them quarrel.
    â€œAll right,” Susan said, “I will.” Taking Todd’s hand, she led him upstairs. Long after they’d disappeared, we heard Todd crying.
    Dad began to apologize, but Vincent stretched out his hand to stop him. “Please, Jeff,” he said softly. “It is I who should apologize. For some reason my presence disturbs the child. Perhaps it would be better if I took all my meals in my room.”
    â€œOh, no, Vincent,” I said, and then felt my face flush.
    Ignoring my emotional outburst, Vincent told Dad he’d join him later for a fireside chat. “But now, if you’ll be land enough to excuse me, I think I’ll go upstairs.”
    After Vincent left, I gazed sadly at his abandoned plate. The salmon Dad had grilled so carefully was practically untouched, the baby carrots and wild rice barely