Read Online Phoenix Rising by Cynthia D. Grant - Free Book Online

away,” I said.
    â€œI’ll do no such thing. You open this door.” She rattled the knob until I obeyed. “Now, you listen to me,” she said when we were face to face. “I don’t know what’s come over you, Jessie, but I will not tolerate rudeness. You spend all your time locked up in this room—”
    â€œI don’t feel good. Maybe I’m getting the flu.”
    â€œYou’re not getting the flu,” my mother said. “Dr. Shubert says—”
    â€œShe’s been blabbing to you? So much for confidentiality.”
    â€œJessie.” Mom raised her hand and I flinched. That flinch caused her so much pain. “I wasn’t going to hit you!” She cupped my chin. “Jessie,” she crooned, searching my eyes with her own, “what am I going to do with you? Dr. Shubert says you can’t accept the fact that Helen’s dead.”
    â€œOf course I don’t,” I snapped. “Do you?”
    My mother shrugged helplessly, her eyes shiny with tears. “Do I have any choice? It’s true,” she said. “Honey, you’ve got to come out of your shell.”
    â€œShells are good. They protect you. Ask snails,” I said. “Either way, you get stepped on.”
    My mother began to cry. She sat down on Helen’s bed.
    I went to her and put my arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Momma. Please don’t cry.”
    â€œOh, Jessie,” she sighed. “I’m no good anymore. I used to think I was a pretty great mom. Now I can’t help you or Lucas—”
    â€œThat’s not true! You’re a wonderful mother! You help us all the time.”
    My mother shook her head. “All I do is cry. But, honey—I feel like you’re slipping away. I feel like I’m losing you. I’m sorry. Look at me. I’m such an inspiration.” She smoothed her hair and dried her eyes. “Now, please don’t leave your friend standing at the door.”
    â€œHe’s not my friend.”
    â€œHe was a friend of Helen’s.”
    I could’ve told her the truth but she didn’t need the pain. Helen had protected my parents. They never knew why Bloomfield had faded away. “No big deal,” Helen said, and they’d wanted to believe her. I was the one who heard her crying in the night.
    I pretended to be sleeping. I didn’t know what to say.
    â€œOkay,” I said. “I’ll talk to Bloomfield.”
    â€œGood,” Mom said. “Then I’ll stop crying.”
    When I opened the front door, Bloomfield looked startled, stepping back as if he thought I might attack him. I leaned against the doorjamb, my arms across my chest.
    â€œMy mother said you wanted to see me.”
    â€œYeah, I miss your friendly smile,” he said.
    â€œI wouldn’t talk if I were you.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œAs usual, your mouth is on upside down.”
    â€œWell, you’re not exactly the Welcome Wagon Lady.”
    â€œYou’re not exactly welcome,” I replied.
    â€œI didn’t come over here to be insulted.” Bloomfield’s scowl spread to his eyes.
    â€œWhy did you come over here?”
    â€œI wanted to talk to you.”
    â€œI have nothing to say to you, Bloomfield.” A lie. I could’ve screamed at him for hours, for days. I would’ve said, “You bastard. Helen loved you best.”
    What was the point? Helen was dead. Life goes on. But not for everyone.
    Bloomfield stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Look, I want to apologize,” he said.
    â€œFor what? You didn’t do anything wrong. Remember?”
    â€œI’m trying to talk but you won’t listen—”
    â€œThere’s nothing to talk about, so just—”
    A shove cut me off in midsentence. My mother had pushed me outside and locked the door. “Why don’t you two take a walk?” she