Read Online My Almost Epic Summer by Adele Griffin - Free Book Online

were the most obvious thing. “He moved out.”
    I walk into the living room and snap on the lamp. Now I see that it’s not just her hair. Other parts of Mom are looking bad, too. Her red-rimmed eyes, her rain-speckled shirt, the coral lipstick that hit only the general concept of her lips.
    “What happened?”
    “Beats me! A rough patch is normal in any relationship!” She blows her nose for emphasis. “How could I know Roy was so restless? He wouldn’t even let me give him a ride to the bus station. He said the road was calling him.”
    Of course Roy would have to turn good-bye into country music. But Mom’s sad mood is real enough.
    “I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry.”
    She waves me off. “You never liked Roy.”
    “Well, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.”
    “Get us a large, with anything but mushroom, okay? There’s money in my wallet.”
    I try to think of a comforting quote. “A roving heart gathers no affection.”
    Sadly, Mom has never been receptive to a Bartlett, no matter how fitting. “And order us a salad, too.”
    “Okay.” Suddenly I remember back to my wish that Roy would just leave. I am not superstitious by nature, but the coincidence sends a twinge of guilt through me. “So I’ll be in my room,” I say, “if you want to talk or something? I won’t lock the door.”
    She nods. Her head droops like her battery is dying. I snap off the lamp. I figure the internal soundtrack to Mom’s life, most likely a mellow, acoustic guitar, sounds better in the dark.

A Greater Loss
     
     
     
    “MY HAIRSTYLES NOTEBOOK is missing.”
    The kids look up from their bowls of breakfast ice cream.
    “Are you sure?” asks Evan. “When was the last time you saw it?”
    I calculate back. I hadn’t been using the notebook since last week, when I started reading Dunces. Then on my Saturday trip to the library, my favorite librarian, Miss Kitamura, had presented me with a book called Obasan.
    “I’ve been holding it especially for you, Irene, since you’re my best reader,” she said. As hairstylishly unpromising as it had looked, I accepted it, my dilemma being that Miss Kitamura is Japanese and Obasan is by a Japanese author, and to refuse to take it seemed a personal snub against Miss Kitamura, who had helped strategize my Golden Bookworm victory with her many excellent recommendations.
    Then I ended up reading Obasan in the library all day to avoid being at home, where Mom kept calling in every five minutes to check if I’d heard from Roy.
    Unfortunately, now Obasan won’t let me put it down until I find out the secret of where Naomi’s mother ran off to.
    “That notebook is always, always in my bag.” I rummage through it again.
    “Not always-always. You left it like fifty different places in the house last week,” Lainie reminds me. “You were using the back of it while we were doing paper dolls. But I’ll go check and see if it’s upstairs.” She scampers off.
    “Nope!” she calls down five seconds later.
    “Look harder!” I shout up.
    “Can I go ride bikes with Zaps?” asks Evan.
    “Nobody’s going anywhere until we find my notebook,” I tell him. “We’re going to take this whole place apart.”
    For Lainie and Evan, taking the whole place apart really means throwing around the couch cushions and banging cupboards so the end result looks as if someone lifted the house off the ground and shook it like a snow globe. I’m not sure how much actual searching is accomplished, but in times of frustration, the banging is usually the point. I rattle drawers and slam closet doors. My stomach is getting squeamish. Where could I have left it?
    “Maybe it’s at your house?” asks Lainie.
    “Maybe. I don’t know.” I press my palms to my eyes, trying to Visually Project, like in that news story I read about police psychics. My Visual Projection is a melted ice-cream puddle of Larkin’s and sunshine, bike rides and books, Starla and paper dolls. “I guess