Read Online The Secret Life of Owen Skye by Alan Cumyn - Free Book Online Page B

terribly upset about them being out so late and wandering so far from home, and they didn’t even know about the near-disasters on the ice and the train bridge. Margaret stood in the kitchen, which was steamy with the smell of soup that had been boiling for hours, and said that was it, they’d never be allowed out of the house on their own again.
    Horace said he was going to give them each a hiding they’d never forget. He went to the cupboard and took out the warped ruler that he used in such times.
    â€œI stole this ruler when I was in grade three,” Horace said. He whacked it against his thigh and all three boys jumped. Margaret stood against the counter and didn’t look as if she might be inclined to save her sons.
    Horace held the ruler up for all of them to see. “What shape is it, Owen?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s w-w-warped, sir,” Owen said.
    â€œAnd what does that remind me of?”
    Owen’s lips were trembling badly. But he managed to say, “Of your own mistakes, sir! And how you have to stay straight! And it hurts you much more than it hurts us, sir, to have to beat us, but if you spare the bod you spoil the child, sir!”
    â€œRod,” Andy said.
    â€œSpoil the rod!” Owen cried out.
    â€œSpare the rod!” Andy said.
    â€œSpare the child, spoil the rod!” Owen blurted.
    â€œQuiet!” Horace said in his largest voice. Then he hit himself again on the thigh with the ruler.
    There was a loud
crack
and half the ruler flew over the boys’ heads and into the soup pot behind them.
    Owen couldn’t help it. He turned and looked at the soup pot and started to laugh.
    â€œShhhhh!”
Horace said. “It isn’t funny!” Margaret went over to the pot and fished out the broken piece and said, “Spoil the rod!”
    Then they were all laughing. Owen felt it jiggling his skin. He felt like a water balloon inside. He couldn’t stand up anymore. He collapsed on the cold kitchen linoleum and wobbled and gurgled with laughter and kicked out his legs in feeble spasms. Soon it was Owen who was so funny, and even Horace started snorting and wheezing and leaning against the wall in limp exhaustion.
    That’s when Uncle Lorne came into the kitchen and said, “By the way, Lorraine and me are getting married.”
    â€œWho’s Lorraine?” Owen cried out, and it was minutes before any of them could speak again, they were howling drunk with laughter.
    â€œThat’s… that’s… Mrs. Foster,” Lorne managed to say, and then they all screamed even more.
    But it was true. Lorne had somehow screwed up the courage to ask her, and Mrs. Foster — Lorraine — had accepted. Not only did it make everything better instantly, but in the weeks that followed, the good news blew like a warm wind and chased out winter early.
    Unfortunately, the closer they got to the June wedding, the more often Eleanor and Sadie came to visit with their mother. Margaret was sewing Lorraine’s dress, and it was taking forever. They would spend hours in the back room where Margaret kept her fabric and her sewing machine. Sadie grew mushier and mushier around Owen until it was almost unbearable, especially when Andy and Leonard ran around yelling, “Owen and Sadie are getting married!”
    One day Owen couldn’t stand it anymore. He ran away from all of them and went into the backyard, where he climbed the apple tree and began flying solo combat missions over the English Channel. But even there he wasn’t safe. Within minutes his mother was standing under the tree telling him he had to come down and play with Eleanor and Sadie.
    â€œWhy?” he asked.
    â€œBecause they’re your guests!” Margaret said.
    Owen wanted to say that he hadn’t invited them. He wanted to say that Sadie made him feel like he was buried to his neck in sand with fire ants up his pants. He wanted to say