Read Online Seven Year Switch (2010) by Claire Cook - Free Book Online Page B

,” Anastasia said. “I want to go to a jungle to see the monkeys and orangutans.”
    â€œ Surprise ,” I said. “When you least expect it, life can sometimes bring a big surprise.”
    â€œ Surprise ,” Anastasia said. She took her time, forming each letter carefully in her big, loopy script. “Kids always love a big surprise.”
    This list was killing me. What were these fourth grade spelling book people thinking?
    I took a deep breath. “ Plate ,” I said. “When company comes, you set an extra plate.”
    â€œ Plate ,” my sweet, innocent, vulnerable little daughter said, her fluffy pen poised over the sheet of lined white paper.
    I couldn’t take it anymore. I put my hand over hers. “Honey…”
    â€œWait,” she said. She shook off my hand and started writing. “When I have my own house, everyone who visits will get their own pink plate.”
    â€œHoney,” I said again.
    She finally looked up. When she saw my face, she tilted her head.
    â€œGuess what?” I said, trying to make my voice both casual and reassuring. It sounded totally phony, even to me.
    She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
    The words felt stuck in my throat. I pushed them out. “Your dad called. He wants to see you.”
    Her face lit up instantly, brilliantly, the way a flick of the switch lights up a cold, dark hallway.
    â€œ My dad?” she said.
    I nodded.
    â€œMy dad ?” she said.
    I nodded again.
    Anastasia’s pink and purple pen belly-flopped to the table. “Come on, hurry . I want to see my dad. Now .”
    When I’d rehearsed this conversation in my head, it had gone a lot differently. I’d pictured us sitting next to each other on the couch, the way we would have in a sitcom. I’d put my arm around my daughter and say just the right thing. She’d say just the right thing back. Then we’d cut to a commercial.
    I reached for something worthy of the enormity of the situation, but it felt like my brain was packed in Styrofoam. “Um,” I said. “Not to night. Sunday. He’s coming here Sunday. For a visit.”
    Anastasia jumped out of her chair. “ Now . I need to talk to him right now.”
    â€œHoney,” I said. “It’s already all set up for Sunday.”
    She put her hands on her hips. “On the phone then. Call him.”
    â€œSweetie, I can’t. It’s only…”
    â€œFine,” she said. “Then I’ll call him.”
    We stared each other down. I looked away first.
    â€œFine,” I said. I unplugged the headphone from my cell phone. I found the number of the last call. Technically, I was still working, but any GGG calls that came in would go through to voice mail, and I could always call back.
    I looked up. Anastasia’s hand was out. She was tapping her foot.
    I pushed Call and handed her the phone.
    â€œDaddy?” she said a moment later. Her voice was calm, confident. “Daddy, it’s your daughter, Anastasia.” She waved me away with her nontelephone hand.
    Tears blinded my eyes, and I turned my head quickly so she wouldn’t see them. It was a good thing I knew my way to the bathroom by heart, because I might not have found it otherwise.
    I put the lid down and sat on the toilet seat. I sobbed quietly, rocking back and forth, my hands crossed over my chest and wrapped around me like the hug I needed. If I’d had to take a test to define the emotions I was feeling, I would have failed miserably. I felt sad, mad, glad, bad—maybe all of Anastasia’s short a spelling words rolled into one big muddy mess. Mostly, I wanted to crawl under my covers and stay there.
    I forced myself to blow my nose and get up. I managed to avoid my image in the mirror while I splashed cold water on my face. I listened at the bathroom door for the sound of Anastasia’s voice, but I couldn’t hear anything.
    I tiptoed into