Read Online Moonlight on Butternut Lake by Mary McNear - Free Book Online Page B

name is Heather Drew. But you can call me Heather. And who do we have here?” she asked, kneeling down so that she was at eye level with Mila. That surprised Mila. She was used to adults looking down on her.
    â€œThis is Mila Jones,” Mrs. Williams said, not giving her a chance to answer. “She has a fever. I called her mother, but, amazingly, she’s not there. Her mother, by the way, is a real piece of work,” she continued, in a lower voice, though not so low that Mila couldn’t hear her. “I think she’s a cocktail waitress. Or something like that.”
    Mila flinched. She wasn’t as dumb as Mrs. Williams thought she was. She knew that she was implying that whatever Mila’s mother really did, it was worse than being a cocktail waitress. Mila, usually timid, wanted to say something in her mother’s defense, but she couldn’t. Her head hurt too much. And her tongue felt funny in her mouth. Almost as if it had a weight on it.
    And then Mila, through the fog of her fever, saw Heather frown. She didn’t like what Mrs. Williams had said about her mother either, Mila realized. And for some reason, it made Mila feel a little better.
    Heather stood up now, putting a hand protectively on Mila’s shoulder as she did so. “That’s fine,” she said briskly to Mrs. Williams. “I’ll take it from here. You go back to your classroom Mrs. . . . ?”
    â€œMrs. Williams,” she said curtly. “And keep trying the mom,” she added, over her shoulder, as she left the office. “Otherwise, you’ll be stuck with this kid all day.”
    Mila swallowed, hard. She felt tears burning in her eyes. Shehated the way Mrs. Williams talked about her. As if she wasn’t even there.
    And Heather, whose hand was still on Mila’s shoulder, seemed to understand this. She knelt down again and smiled at Mila. “Don’t mind Mrs. Williams,” she said, softly, so the secretary couldn’t hear her. “You wouldn’t be very nice, either, if your face looked like a dried-up prune.”
    And Mila laughed, surprising herself. It was true, she thought. Mrs. Williams’ face did look like a dried-up prune.
    Now Heather placed her hand on Mila’s forehead and whistled softly. “That’s quite a fever you’re running there,” she said, standing up. “We better take your temperature.”
    She led Mila into her office and closed the door behind them. “Why don’t you climb up there,” she said to Mila, indicating an exam table. And Mila climbed up on it and waited, shivering, while Heather used one of those ear thermometers Mila had only seen at doctors’ offices.
    â€œA hundred and one,” Heather said, frowning at the thermometer. “How long have you felt sick, Mila?” she asked.
    Mila didn’t answer. She was afraid if she told the truth, Heather would be angry.
    â€œDid you feel this way when you left for school this morning?” Heather asked gently.
    Mila nodded.
    â€œAnd before you went to bed last night?”
    Mila nodded again, keeping her eyes on the floor.
    â€œAnd you didn’t tell anyone?”
    Mila shook her head no.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause my mom can’t work if I’m sick,” Mila said quietly. “She has to stay home with me instead. And she needs to work. If shedoesn’t work, she doesn’t get paid. And if she doesn’t get paid . . .” Mila’s voice trailed off. She didn’t know what would happen if her mother didn’t get paid. Her mother had never explained that. But Mila knew, whatever it was, it was bad.
    She waited now, for Heather to say what Mrs. Williams had said, at least in so many words. That her mother was a bad mother. But Heather didn’t say that. Instead, she asked, “Is it just you and your mom, Mila?”
    Mila nodded.
    â€œThat’s hard,” she said sympathetically.