Read Online Space by Emily Sue Harvey - Free Book Online Page B

an ancient oak in her rocker. The picture she made, a forlorn, beaten down one, caused the anger in me to fizzle.
    How vulnerable she looked.
    Yet, a peculiar energy oozed from her.
    It sucked up the oxygen and sunshine, leaving only something dark and heavy.
    The air grew suddenly thick with portent. I took the chair near her and waited, dreading.
    â€œI can’t go on, Mama,” she said quietly, staring into middle space. “I don’t want to live. Really, really, don’t want to. I need to check out.”
    â€œDon’t talk like that, honey,” I murmured, my heart plunging to new depths.
    â€œBesides Maddie, name one thing I have to live for.” Her voice was as dead as her eyes. “Huh? Name one.” She
didn’t look at me, only gazed unseeing at a mocking blue sky with whimsical white clouds.
    I felt helplessness snake its way through me.
    Hurry, Priss . The thought flew through my mind like startled bats. I knew that her Aunt Priss always had the right words to soothe Faith.
    So, today, after yet another crisis and SOS to Auntie Priss, I looked at Faith sitting morosely there in that rocking chair, crying out for help. Thinking suicide. My weary heart floundered, struggling to respond. Trying to form the right words to comfort and not stir the terrible anger.
    The despair. Because, in the end, Faith would do what she darn well pleased. That realization always caused my heart to freeze with dismay. Faith’s will was self-propelled with her own unique brand of force, one that overrode anything and everyone who attempted to shape or alter her persuasion
    I was exhausted from the previous night’s sleeplessness, when Dan and I had words and he’d slept upstairs in the guest room. Again. Over Faith.
    Always over Faith.
    Priss’ car pulled up, scattering my thoughts, and she climbed out, her soft fine wedgy cut, silver-streaked dark hair glistening in the sun, a cheerful smile on her pretty face. My sis is pleasingly fluffy and happy with herself that way.
    Oh, she occasionally gives it a shot — weight loss — but ultimately, life and food flaunt their festivity and she gives dieting a sabbatical. She chooses clothes for comfort rather than to make a fashion statement. Her flip-flops free her feet to breathe in cool air and move unencumbered.

    Lord knows, I try to be casual about such things but just can’t divorce myself from the bathroom scales and full-length mirror and fashion detail. My chestnut, wheat-streaked hair remains fashionably cut and styled, one of my rare indulgences. I constantly monitor and adjust my appetite and weight while Priss sails contentedly through life experiencing all the epicurean delights her heart desires and chooses loose, comfy garb.
    Her favorite quote is “I keep trying to lose weight, but it still finds me.”
    Thing is, she’s not an unhealthy size. “Big-boned genes,” she quips. “From God only knows who .” She pulls humor from every source, even her adoption status.
    Priss knows how to enjoy life. And she helps me, by taking Faith home with her, to regroup and to once more see the good and the salvageable in my daughter. In life.
    â€œHi, Priss.” I stood and hugged her as she joined us.
    Our tiny, fluffy rust-brown Pomeranian, Poopsie, did her little celebratory spin round and round and proceeded to bark with excitement as Priss reached to ruffle her fur then lift her into her arms for a smooch.
    Yeah, Poopsie was named after her less than desirable leanings when we were trying to housebreak her. But the name stuck.
    My little caricature Poopsie doesn’t smooch me because I wear lipstick. At least, I tell myself that’s the reason. Secretly, I fear she detects something about me that I don’t. You know how dogs can sometimes sniff and sense health issues and I find myself fearing —
    Nah.
    Probably, she just doesn’t feel that way about me, you know?
    Poopsie loves