Read Online Thin Ice by Marsha Qualey - Free Book Online
Authors: Marsha Qualey
Tags: Young Adult
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bother to close the door behind me. I trudged through the snow, head down against the wind, orphan in a storm.
CHAPTER 20
It was good to have my own bed, own bathroom, own mess. For the first time in days I felt like I could think straight, felt like eating, felt like laughing at Letterman’s jokes.
Too bad I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t slept much at all since my nap in the bar, the day of the search. I was tired enough, but there was an impediment: vivid and vicious nightmares. They’d begun the first night after the searchers found the sled. The dreams were all the same. Fish and my brother. It had reached the point where I couldn’t even close my eyes in daytime without seeing the same underwater scene: Scott undulating like seaweed while fish poked and prodded him. Big ones, little ones, nipping, biting. I usually woke up when the biggest fish turned around in my mind-screen and swam toward me, mouth gasping, gills pulsing, soulless dead eyes pinpointed on my fear.
The worst night I had was that first one back in my own house, though I’d never tell Mrs. D. That was the night I stayed asleep long enough to see the fish nibble him down to a rack of bones that rolled off one by one in the current. Knowing what was in store, I preferred not to sleep. So when I opened my door to company a few days after leaving the Drummonds’, I looked awful and felt worse. Of course, it wasn’t a social call, which didn’t help my mood.
There were five of them: Mr. and Mrs. Drummond; Al; Mrs. Rutledge, the school counselor; and John Abrahms, our family lawyer. They’d arrived together, walking across the street from the Drummonds’ as a group. The orphan committee.
They sat and faced me in the living room, sort of the way I’d always imagined a drug intervention would go. There was a girl at school who’d been through that. All these people came and confronted her, forcing her to admit she was chemically dependent and spiraling down the drain. We love you, so we’ll stay and harass you until you admit you’re screwing up your life.
That’s what this was, a life intervention. I let Mrs. Rutledge hug me, and I nodded to John. He was another of Scott’s buddies. He’d helped me with ArdenArt legalities and he took care of the taxes. “Sign here, Arden”—that was our relationship. I folded my hands. I’d sign nothing tonight.
Obviously they’d brought Mrs. Rutledge to be the mouth. I’d known her all my school life. She’d been my first- and third-grade teacher; then she’d gone to the middle school as counselor when I went to sixth grade; then she went to the high school just as I entered ninth grade. “The heart of the town has gone out to you,” she said as an opener when we were all seated.
I made a face. The most recent nightmare had focused on that particular organ of my brother’s.
She held her hands up. “You’re right, sentiment isn’t what we’re here for.”
She went on, talking about the people who cared about my future, how my brother had cared, why he’d made arrangements. She gave John his shot. He synopsized the will Scott had written years ago, slowing down to explain the guardianship. Then he talked about money—where it was, how much I had, what would be available, what would be tied up while settling the estate.
“Financially,” he said cheerfully, “you’re just fine.”
With sleep-droopy eyes, I faced him. His smile died as he read my mind; Otherwise, I’m in the dump.
Mrs. Rutledge started another speech, and I halted her with my hand. “What has to happen for me to be alone, legally?”
“An application for emancipation,” said John. “A judge would rule.”
“That’s what I want”
“You can’t be alone—”
“I am alone,” I snapped. “My parents died in a jungle and my brother is at the bottom of a river and I am in this house and I am alone.” I turned to the Drummonds. “This isn’t against you, Mr. and Mrs. D.”
Mr. Drummond tapped his
CHAPTER 20
It was good to have my own bed, own bathroom, own mess. For the first time in days I felt like I could think straight, felt like eating, felt like laughing at Letterman’s jokes.
Too bad I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t slept much at all since my nap in the bar, the day of the search. I was tired enough, but there was an impediment: vivid and vicious nightmares. They’d begun the first night after the searchers found the sled. The dreams were all the same. Fish and my brother. It had reached the point where I couldn’t even close my eyes in daytime without seeing the same underwater scene: Scott undulating like seaweed while fish poked and prodded him. Big ones, little ones, nipping, biting. I usually woke up when the biggest fish turned around in my mind-screen and swam toward me, mouth gasping, gills pulsing, soulless dead eyes pinpointed on my fear.
The worst night I had was that first one back in my own house, though I’d never tell Mrs. D. That was the night I stayed asleep long enough to see the fish nibble him down to a rack of bones that rolled off one by one in the current. Knowing what was in store, I preferred not to sleep. So when I opened my door to company a few days after leaving the Drummonds’, I looked awful and felt worse. Of course, it wasn’t a social call, which didn’t help my mood.
There were five of them: Mr. and Mrs. Drummond; Al; Mrs. Rutledge, the school counselor; and John Abrahms, our family lawyer. They’d arrived together, walking across the street from the Drummonds’ as a group. The orphan committee.
They sat and faced me in the living room, sort of the way I’d always imagined a drug intervention would go. There was a girl at school who’d been through that. All these people came and confronted her, forcing her to admit she was chemically dependent and spiraling down the drain. We love you, so we’ll stay and harass you until you admit you’re screwing up your life.
That’s what this was, a life intervention. I let Mrs. Rutledge hug me, and I nodded to John. He was another of Scott’s buddies. He’d helped me with ArdenArt legalities and he took care of the taxes. “Sign here, Arden”—that was our relationship. I folded my hands. I’d sign nothing tonight.
Obviously they’d brought Mrs. Rutledge to be the mouth. I’d known her all my school life. She’d been my first- and third-grade teacher; then she’d gone to the middle school as counselor when I went to sixth grade; then she went to the high school just as I entered ninth grade. “The heart of the town has gone out to you,” she said as an opener when we were all seated.
I made a face. The most recent nightmare had focused on that particular organ of my brother’s.
She held her hands up. “You’re right, sentiment isn’t what we’re here for.”
She went on, talking about the people who cared about my future, how my brother had cared, why he’d made arrangements. She gave John his shot. He synopsized the will Scott had written years ago, slowing down to explain the guardianship. Then he talked about money—where it was, how much I had, what would be available, what would be tied up while settling the estate.
“Financially,” he said cheerfully, “you’re just fine.”
With sleep-droopy eyes, I faced him. His smile died as he read my mind; Otherwise, I’m in the dump.
Mrs. Rutledge started another speech, and I halted her with my hand. “What has to happen for me to be alone, legally?”
“An application for emancipation,” said John. “A judge would rule.”
“That’s what I want”
“You can’t be alone—”
“I am alone,” I snapped. “My parents died in a jungle and my brother is at the bottom of a river and I am in this house and I am alone.” I turned to the Drummonds. “This isn’t against you, Mr. and Mrs. D.”
Mr. Drummond tapped his
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