Read Online The Secret Life of a Funny Girl by Susan Chalker Browne - Free Book Online

asphalt square. And the asphalt itself is all rumpled and bumpy, tricky going for the little ones when they’re playing tag. Still, it’s great to be outside. My feet feel airy and light without winter boots. The wind is icy cold, slices against the bare skin above my knee socks. But I don’t care. I toss my head, let the wind pull and tug at my hair. It’s good to be away from that stuffy classroom.
    The April sky is so blue it makes my chest ache. Not a cloud anywhere. Cold sunshine pours down; all the buildings, hills, and trees look incredibly clear and sharp in the distance. What a gorgeous day. I bite into the apple in my hand.
    â€œHow’s your mom doing?” asks Debbie, idly kicking at a stone, sending it bouncing ahead.
    â€œGood, thanks.” Careful, Maureen. “The doctors still don’t know what’s causing the infection, so she’ll be in hospital awhile yet.”
    â€œWow, that’s some bad infection she’s got. Imagine being in isolation all these weeks. She must be some bored. Too bad you can’t visit her.”
    â€œYeah, it’s too bad, all right. I really miss her.” At least this much is true. Still, the story of Mom being at St. Clare’s seems to be sticking. Sometimes I almost believe it myself.
    â€œDo you think she’ll be better in time for the dance recital?” Debbie eyes are all concerned behind her granny glasses.
    I shake my head. “No. Dad doesn’t think so. But Aunt Kay is going to come instead, so that’s almost as good.”
    Aunt Kay. Where would we be without her? I never thought we’d cope with Mom gone, but somehow we are. Things are different, of course, but it’s really not so bad.
    Here’s the new routine. Each day after school, Beth-Ann and I walk in the other direction from Fatima Academy, away from home. Through Churchill Park, to Aunt Kay’s tiny house on Poplar Avenue. Then I help Beth-Ann with her bit of homework, and keep an eye on Billy and Bobby while Aunt Kay makes dinner, which is not as bad as it seems, either; the twins are not nearly so hyper in their own place. Then Uncle Charlie comes home and we all sit down for dinner together. Uncle Charlie’s so sweet. He always makes me feel like we’re supposed to be there, like Beth-Ann and I are no extra trouble at all. He laughs and tells jokes and everything is always light and fun. Once dinner is over, I help Aunt Kay do the dishes, then start in on my own homework. Around eight-thirty, Dad arrives to pick us up. He has worked all day and gone out to see Mom at the Mental Hospital, so he’s always exhausted. Often he’s irritable and preoccupied, and on those evenings I kind of keep my distance from him. But sometimes he’s actually in a pretty good mood, and those are the evenings he’s got a little news to tell about Mom. Something positive like, “She laughed at a story I told her,” or “Today we went for a walk outside.” Regardless of his mood, Aunt Kay always has a plate of dinner ready for him, neatly covered with tinfoil, which he eats when he gets home. I mean, how kind is Aunt Kay? She never seems tired or grumpy.
    I smile to myself, remember how I used to hate Aunt Kay’s cooking. Somehow, none of that seems so important now. Aunt Kay is smart and always interested in what I’m doing. More and more, I find myself telling her about upcoming tests I’m worried about and some of the funny stories from school.
    â€œEarth to Maureen! Are you there?” Debbie’s planted herself in my path and I nearly bump right into her. “Hello! Did you hear what I said?”
    â€œOh, sorry . . . ”
    Debbie’s got an odd look on her face, like she’s keeping a big secret. “What’s going on?” Something is up, I know. “What is it?”
    â€œWe-e-ll,” says Debbie. “I was only saying that a certain person thinks another certain