Read Online Thin Ice by Marsha Qualey - Free Book Online Page B

need it.”
    “She needs to do it. Arden, it’s not very far to our house,” he said, “but I know it could be the longest walk you ever make.”
    “I’ll be fine.”
    “I think you will be. But if there’s ever a time you don’t feel fine, even if it’s just for one bad night, you come on over. Open door, Arden.”
    It was Saturday, and he hadn’t shaved. There was a dark grainy stubble on his chin, probably scratchy and rough to the touch. Had my father ever not shaved on the weekend? Had he ever worn baggy sweaters and paint-stained jeans? Did my mother hum when she worked in the kitchen? Did we ever eat manicotti?
    I’d never know, would I? All the answers to all the questions had disappeared through thin ice.

CHAPTER 21
    There was enough manicotti for a dozen orphans. I’d never eat it, especially as about all I had eaten since I’d moved home was saltines and peanut butter. Penokee was still in funeral mode and people kept bringing things, so I had plenty of fancy cookies and elaborate hot dishes and bright gelatin salads. Absolutely no one brought me saltines and peanut butter.
    I pulled the tray with the pasta tubes off a refrigerator shelf and held it until the cold metal numbed my hand. Then I put it back and reached for the milk. I opened the cardboard spout and a sour smell floated up.
    A responsible person, I decided, does not drink sour milk. I’d have to remember this, in case the orphan committee made another visit and checked my refrigerator.
    The parking lot of Penokee’s only grocery store was packed. No way was I going to wind my way through the crush of people who were shopping because there was nothing else to do on a Saturday afternoon. I drove on to the nearest c-store.
    I was leaning into the cooler, trying to rearrange milk cartons and get one of the freshest ones from the back, when I sensed someone behind me. I clamped down on a quart of skim and backed up.
    When I straightened and turned, I was facing a beautiful woman. A sad, beautiful woman. I’d seen her once before, at my party.
    “Arden?”
    I’d had my head in the cooler and my butt in the air, but my brother’s girlfriend had recognized me. “Claire?”
    She nodded, then looked behind her. A small girl peeked out. “This is Hannah.” She leaned over and whispered in her daughter’s ear. The girl and I exchanged stares.
    I cradled my milk carton. “I was kind of wondering if I’d ever meet you.”
    “I should have come by. I…wasn’t up to it. I sent flowers.”
    “They were nice. Azaleas. Thanks.” Suddenly I flashed on another responsibility: thank-you notes, something the orphan committee would certainly be checking. All that food, all those flowers—gawd, I’d be writing notes for weeks.
    Claire reached behind her back and patted Hannah. The girl—five, six, how do you tell?—took a giant sideways step and faced me. “That’s bad about Scott,” she said before hiding again behind her mother.
    The doorbell jangled, announcing another customer. Glad for the diversion, Claire and I turned and looked as four boys entered the store.
    “Two at a time!” the clerk shouted, and pointed to a hand-lettered sign on the front window. Two of the boys turned and waited outside, pressing their faces against the window and smearing it. Their friends pushed past us on the way to the soda cooler. One of them nodded: Taylor Hawkes, a tolerable sophomore.
    “Hey, Arden.”
    “Taylor.”
    He pulled a bottle of Mountain Dew from the cooler and twisted the cap.
    “Are you going to pay for that?” asked Hannah.
    “Should I?”
    She hid again.
    Taylor lifted some chips off a rack. “Party at Rachel’s,” he said to me. “Six o’clock, her parents are going to Duluth to a concert” He bent down to face Hannah. “You can come too.”
    “I was supposed to have a party,” Hannah said after he left. Claire went limp. “It was my birthday and I was going to have a party. Scott was going to come. But then he got