Read Online Sammy Keyes and the Kiss Goodbye by Wendelin Van Draanen - Free Book Online

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    “I barely mentioned it!”
    “And I barely mentioned the air-conditioning! Which anyone can tell is set to subzero!”
    Rita turned to Hudson and said, “I need some fresh air.”
    Lana gave a little snort. “Isn’t that typical?” She turned to Darren. “You wonder how I got so good at running away from my problems?” She pointed to Rita. “There’s your answer!”
    “That does it!” Rita said, standing up. “It’s time you stopped blaming
me
for all your problems and took a good hard look in the mirror!”
    “Me?” Lana squeaked. “How about
you
? You were
so
strict with me, but you let Samantha run wild!” She leaned in closer to her mother. “Why do you think we’re in this predicament?”
    Rita’s jaw dropped.
    Her cheeks flushed.
    And finally alarms began clanging in both Darren’s and Hudson’s brains.
    This was more than another mother-daughter spat.
    This was serious!
    “Fresh air sounds like a very good idea,” Hudson said, moving his sputtering wife toward the exit.
    “Lana’s just exhausted and worried,” Darren called apologetically.
    “And I’m not?” Rita spat out. “But you don’t hear me blaming
her
for this.”
    “Me?” Lana cried. “Me? How could you possibly blame me?”
    And, incredulous right back, Rita took off the kid gloves and let the verbal knuckles fly. “Where have you been for the past
three years
? Seeing that your child was safe and secure and tucked in every night? No! You were too busy pampering your overblown ego!”
    “
My what
?!”
    Hudson cut in, calling, “We’ll meet you upstairs in a while,” as he swept Rita out the door.
    “Can you believe her?” Rita cried when they wereoutside. “After everything I’ve done to help her live her dream, this is the way she looks at things?”
    “She feels guilty,” Hudson said quietly, keeping his arm around his wife as they walked along.
    “No, she doesn’t! She’s pointing the finger at
me
.”
    “You’re her scapegoat, sweetheart,” Hudson said. “She knows that she’s done a lot wrong—it’s just too painful to face.”
    “So she’d rather point the finger at me?”
    “It’s
easier
to point the finger at you.” He gave his wife’s shoulder a little squeeze. “You have every right to be mad. But I almost pity her, Rita. She missed so much.”
    They walked along, silent but for the
click
-
click
-
click
of Rita’s heels on the sidewalk.
    Which soon became the (somewhat duller-sounding)
click-click-click
of Rita’s heels on asphalt.
    “Where are we going?” Hudson asked, because his wife was now walking in that determined way that women do when they have something urgent to take care of.
    “I need to change my clothes,” Rita said, beelining toward Hudson’s car.
    “But … what’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”
    Rita replied with the mantra of women everywhere: “My shoes are all wrong.”
    “Your shoes?”
    “Yes,” Rita cried (and she was now also crying), “my shoes!”
    Hudson said, “Ah,” then drove her home, where Rita switched into jeans as he located the red high-tops Sammy had given her the year before.
    Rita wept the whole time she was changing, but as she snugged up her shoelaces, her eyes began to dry, and by the time the second shoe was pulled tight and the laces tucked away (as she’d seen Sammy do nearly every day of her teen life), she’d found another reserve of strength.
    “To the Highrise,” she said with her chin pushed resolutely forward.
    And although Hudson really wanted to ask, “Uh … why?” he again simply drove her where she wanted to go.
    “Park here,” Rita instructed, a full block from the building, then led her husband on a long walk around the Highrise to the fire escape.
    “I’m surprised the area isn’t cordoned off as a crime scene,” Hudson said. And as his wife started up the fire-escape stairs, he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
    “Positive,” Rita replied.
    When