Read Online The Off Season by Colleen Thompson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Colleen Thompson
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herself it couldn’t be real, and seeing Harris’s bomb-blasted corpse lying there instead.
Beside her on the nightstand, her cell phone was buzzing. As Christina struggled to shake off the nightmare, the strange brightness of the bedroom had her blinking in confusion, uncertain what day it might be, let alone what time.
She swiped the “Answer” button, her vision still too bleary to read the caller ID. “Hello?”
In the silence that followed, the details of last night’s terror came roaring back to mind. Her pulse thundering in her ears, she was seized with the conviction that this was no telemarketer calling.
“Christina? Is that you?” asked Christina’s younger sister, surprise in her voice. “This time of day, I was sure I’d be talking to your voice mail. Did you—did you change up your work schedule?”
“Annie.” Relief spilled into Christina’s chest, warm and welcome, before her stomach squeezed out an ice-cold warning. “Is everything all right?”
“No, it isn’t. Didn’t you get my texts?”
“What texts? I was sleeping. Last night was—” Christina decided she didn’t want to get into it. Not now. “I’ve got the day off. So what’s going on?”
While waiting for an explanation, she saw that it was a little after noon already. Normally, Annie would have been at one of the many temp positions that never seemed to lead to full-time offers. She recalled her sister saying she’d be working as a receptionist for the next two weeks. Unless things had already fallen apart somehow.
Bracing to hear another list of the ways in which her sister’s latest boss was a pure idiot or the job impossible , Christina nearly dropped the phone when Annie said, “Our—our mother called me.”
“She called—was it from Italy?” Overwhelmed by the uphill battle of her own day-to-day responsibilities, Christina had quickly lost track of their mom’s itinerary. “Or is it Portugal today?”
When she heard no answer but her sister’s rapid breathing, fear had her own breath catching. “Is Mom all right? You’re scaring me.”
“She—she’s fine, as far as I know,” Annie said, her voice more strained by the moment, “but I’m not talking about her.”
“You’re not talking about—?”
It hit Christina then that instead of the thumps and squeals of playing, fussing children or the muffled drone of the TV she should be hearing from downstairs, there was only silence. Were Jacob and Lilly napping? Or had Renee taken them out as she’d promised, leaving Christina in this big old house alone?
She climbed from the bed, her skin erupting with gooseflesh. But before she could leave the room to check out her suspicions, she paused to shake her head. “Wait. If you weren’t talking about Mom before, then who?” Her grip on the phone tightened. “Who did you mean when you asked if she’s called me, too?”
Dread pooling in her stomach, Christina waited for an answer. But she knew already. She could feel it in the screaming silence from the first floor, in the memory of the words from her daughter’s room last night.
“Our—our mother , Christina.” Annie’s voice sounded small and hesitant, the pale shadow of a girl—though now a woman, physically—who never took a single step without endless internal debate. Who’d avoided committing to anything, from a college major to a job or one of the men caught on the flypaper of her fragile beauty. The wrong men, time after time, most of them the kind who believed Christina’s delicate, golden-haired sister needed saving. The kind who inevitably grew discouraged when she couldn’t decide on any of them, either. “You know, the one who—who left us out there. Or at least a woman claiming she’s—”
“Our birth mother called you? On the telephone?” Christina was rocked by a wave of dizziness. Because if Annie had heard from this woman, those incidents she’d been telling herself couldn’t possibly be real must be. They
Beside her on the nightstand, her cell phone was buzzing. As Christina struggled to shake off the nightmare, the strange brightness of the bedroom had her blinking in confusion, uncertain what day it might be, let alone what time.
She swiped the “Answer” button, her vision still too bleary to read the caller ID. “Hello?”
In the silence that followed, the details of last night’s terror came roaring back to mind. Her pulse thundering in her ears, she was seized with the conviction that this was no telemarketer calling.
“Christina? Is that you?” asked Christina’s younger sister, surprise in her voice. “This time of day, I was sure I’d be talking to your voice mail. Did you—did you change up your work schedule?”
“Annie.” Relief spilled into Christina’s chest, warm and welcome, before her stomach squeezed out an ice-cold warning. “Is everything all right?”
“No, it isn’t. Didn’t you get my texts?”
“What texts? I was sleeping. Last night was—” Christina decided she didn’t want to get into it. Not now. “I’ve got the day off. So what’s going on?”
While waiting for an explanation, she saw that it was a little after noon already. Normally, Annie would have been at one of the many temp positions that never seemed to lead to full-time offers. She recalled her sister saying she’d be working as a receptionist for the next two weeks. Unless things had already fallen apart somehow.
Bracing to hear another list of the ways in which her sister’s latest boss was a pure idiot or the job impossible , Christina nearly dropped the phone when Annie said, “Our—our mother called me.”
“She called—was it from Italy?” Overwhelmed by the uphill battle of her own day-to-day responsibilities, Christina had quickly lost track of their mom’s itinerary. “Or is it Portugal today?”
When she heard no answer but her sister’s rapid breathing, fear had her own breath catching. “Is Mom all right? You’re scaring me.”
“She—she’s fine, as far as I know,” Annie said, her voice more strained by the moment, “but I’m not talking about her.”
“You’re not talking about—?”
It hit Christina then that instead of the thumps and squeals of playing, fussing children or the muffled drone of the TV she should be hearing from downstairs, there was only silence. Were Jacob and Lilly napping? Or had Renee taken them out as she’d promised, leaving Christina in this big old house alone?
She climbed from the bed, her skin erupting with gooseflesh. But before she could leave the room to check out her suspicions, she paused to shake her head. “Wait. If you weren’t talking about Mom before, then who?” Her grip on the phone tightened. “Who did you mean when you asked if she’s called me, too?”
Dread pooling in her stomach, Christina waited for an answer. But she knew already. She could feel it in the screaming silence from the first floor, in the memory of the words from her daughter’s room last night.
“Our—our mother , Christina.” Annie’s voice sounded small and hesitant, the pale shadow of a girl—though now a woman, physically—who never took a single step without endless internal debate. Who’d avoided committing to anything, from a college major to a job or one of the men caught on the flypaper of her fragile beauty. The wrong men, time after time, most of them the kind who believed Christina’s delicate, golden-haired sister needed saving. The kind who inevitably grew discouraged when she couldn’t decide on any of them, either. “You know, the one who—who left us out there. Or at least a woman claiming she’s—”
“Our birth mother called you? On the telephone?” Christina was rocked by a wave of dizziness. Because if Annie had heard from this woman, those incidents she’d been telling herself couldn’t possibly be real must be. They
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