Read Online The Memory Box by Eva Lesko Natiello - Free Book Online

each other, so after I swing their gym bags over my shoulders, it’s easy to grab both of their arms and guide them off the bench and rush them up the stairs. “Hurry, we don’t have time,” I say out loud to no one in particular. I’m a woman with a mission. And a plan!
    They protest the entire way. But I’m impervious to their clamor. The Red Cross is closing distressingly soon, so I have no time to indulge them. I must ignore what they’re saying, partly because nothing else will fit in my brain right now. I’ll listen to them later. Later, they’ll have my undivided attention.
    I turn on the ignition and put the car in reverse. “Great job, girls. Really, really great,” I praise them as I look to the side mirrors. No one is backing up behind me. The car jolts backward like it did when I was learning to drive a stick shift.
    “Mom, I’m not even in my seat!” one of them says.
    “I don’t have my belt on,” the other blurts.
    “What a meet— whew —you girls were something else.” I’m just going to keep this all light and airy. Real casual and normal. They won’t notice a thing. I look down at my watch again. It’s going to be a miracle if we get there on time.
    “ Mom —where are we going?! Are you listening???? We don’t have our clothes—”
    “Or even a towel —”
    “I’m freezing!”
    I look at them in the rearview mirror. I can’t think clearly with them complaining and persisting. “Oh, magnificent! Great!” I smack the steering wheel. “You’re cold! You’re wet! Super. Have you thought about me?! I may be losing my mind!”
    The girls look at me with frozen faces, disbelief twisted with fear. I realize I didn’t say this to myself.
    I thrust the gear into park and notice their gym bags on the front seat.
    “Oh, gosh, I thought you had your things. Here—I’m sorry.” I throw the two bags into the back seat. “I’m so sorry. You must be freezing—here, let me turn the heat on.” I look down at their feet and silently thank God they’re not barefoot.
    Lilly’s hand goes for the door handle. “I’m going to get our towels—”
    “Lilly , where are you going? Don’t open that door. Stay in the car—there’s no time. We might not make it as it is. I took your towels. They’re in your bags. Look in your bags.” I put the gear back into drive and head out of the parking lot. I have one hand extended into the backseat to support Lilly in case she springs forward—she’s still not strapped in. “Hold on, Lilly.”
    “Make it where?” Tessa asks, shivering while pulling stuff out of her gym bag. I can’t look at them like this. Wet and cold. It’s killing me. What am I doing? I’m acting like a lunatic. It’s breaking my heart—but I can’t stop. We need to do this. I’ll make it better after this is all over. I really, really will.
    If we do find out that I’ve lost my mind, it may not be such a terrible thing (for them) after all, since we may be on the edge of discovering that I’m not their mother. We’ll find out something soon at the Red Cross.
    “My towel isn’t in my bag, Mommy,” says Tessa.
    “This isn’t my towel,” Lilly snaps, “It’s Sophia’s!”
    “Well, just use Sophia’s towel, for Pete’s sake. You’re soaking wet, what difference does it make?”
    “Are you kidding? She picks her nose! I am not using a nose picker’s towel!”
    “I’ll use it. I’m freezing.” Tessa grabs the towel from Lilly.
    “Fine. Don’t be surprised if you get boogers all over you.”
    I can’t listen to them anymore. They need to be quiet!
    “Listen, girls,” my voice is thick with desperation, “I haven’t told you about the terrible thing that’s happened to Ricky.” I quickly try to concoct who “Ricky” is and what the “terrible thing” is that I haven’t told them. This sucks.
    “Who’s Ricky, Mommy?” Tessa is already feeling selfish for complaining about not having a towel. She starts to nibble at her nails.
    Then