Read Online The Secret of Everything by Barbara O'Neal - Free Book Online Page A

Mommy singing songs to help her fall asleep, but the talking voice seemed far away, and that scared her. What if she
forgot
?
    She was supposed to stay in her room, but she had to talk to her dad about this right now. She rushed down the stairs and found him in the kitchen, making a sandwich for Hannah, who didn’t get in trouble ever because she was the baby.
    “Dad,” Natalie said, “what did Mom’s voice sound like?”
    It was a fact that her dad was the most handsomest dad in the whole town. Even Emma Richardson, the richest girl in her class, who had a
planetarium
in her house, had to admit it. And right now, when Daddy’s dark brown eyes got all soft and he made an exaggerated frown to make her feel better, putting Hannah down so he could put Natalie on his lap, he was even handsomer. “You missing your mom?”
    “I just can’t remember things sometimes. You remember, don’t you?”
    He rubbed her back. “Of course I do. She had a nice soft voice, remember? Kind of like your auntie Cheryl, but a little bit higher.”
    Natalie closed her eyes. It helped. Her neck didn’t feel like it had turned into a rock anymore. “I do remember,” she said.
    “Hey!” Jade cried, coming out of the bathroom with stupidyellow gloves on her hands. “She’s supposed to be in her room!”
    Her dad patted Natalie’s arm. “It’s true. Why don’t you go back to your room and we’ll talk later, okay?”
    She shrugged off his hand. “Whatever.” In front of Jade, she bent over and whispered, “I hate you!”
    In the late afternoon, Tessa carried her laptop down to the courtyard of the old hotel and ordered an ale from the extensive menu. Geraniums and marigolds bloomed in pots around a chuckling fountain. Small knots of people, twos and threes, grazed on chips and salsa and drank glasses of white wine. They were a tanned, gleaming set, with men in dark sunglasses and women who had perfect blond streaks. Not Tessa’s usual scene, but Mick always liked to choose a high-end hotel as a starting point.
    At least here she could see some others in her general tribe: hikers with hundred-dollar hydration packs on the chair beside them; runners who probably had six different pairs of trail shoes; women in sports tanks and hiking pants. They had the satisfied look of having bagged a good hike, and it made her anxious to get out on the trails. Her foot still got sore very easily, but she was anxious to find some trails and put it to the test, just to get a feeling for the landscape and area.
    The beer came, a rich amber, and Tessa took a long swallow. Beer was one of the great inventions of the universe. She loved all of them—stouts and lagers and ales—and with the explosion of microbreweries around the country, she could nearly always get something terrific. This was a hoppy, malty ale, dense and rich. Perfect for a hot late-summer afternoon.
    Feeling mellow, she turned on the computer to edit the photos she’d uploaded before coming downstairs. The raccoons made her laugh, looking straight into the camera with an expression of
What? You never saw anybody eat before?
She sent the picture to her father, along with the shots of the white dog in the red dust. One of them was particularly good—the dog’s white fur contrasting with the turquoise sky and brick-red earth, and she uploaded it to her Flickr account, which she’d been keeping for years now. Several times she’d taken a photo that showed up on the
Most Interesting List
, and her photos routinely garnered dozens of stars and favorites and invitations to post to groups.
    She titled the photo
A variation on red white and blue. This is America, too
.
    It was the first time she’d been lost in her photo world for ages, and it was remarkably peaceful, a pursuit without much thought, playing with color, with shadow and light, with composition and balance, with the exact mix to bring focus on what the eye should see. The shots of the old farmers at the market this