A Single Bead by Stephanie Engelman

Author:Stephanie Engelman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pauline Books and Media
Published: 2016-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Thirty minutes later, I walk into my house to find Paul and Gwen sitting on the couch watching television, with the volume so low I can barely hear it.

“Hey, guys! What’s up?” I ask.

They both start as if they’ve heard a gunshot. Gwen puts a finger to her lips and shushes me, while Paul admonishes me in a loud whisper, “Quiet! Don’t bother Mom!”

I look at both of them quizzically, then sit down in the chair by the couch.

“What’s going on?” I whisper.

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with Mom. She went straight to her room when we got home from school, and she’s been there ever since. If we make any noise, she yells at us to be quiet,” Paul answers.

Just then I hear the whine of the dog.

“Where’s Amber?” I ask.

“We had to put her in her crate. She kept scratching at Mom’s door, and Mom was getting really upset.”

As the oldest in the family, I figure it’s my job to find out what’s up. Cautiously, I tiptoe up the stairs and down the hall toward Mom and Dad’s bedroom, wincing with every creak of the wooden floor boards.

I knock quietly on the door, then carefully unlatch it and push it open a few inches.

“Mom?” I say quietly, peering into the dark room. The blinds are drawn, blocking out the sunlight, and I can just make out the outline of her body lying on the bed beneath the covers. “Are you okay?”

Mom pulls the pillow over her head. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”

I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Clearly, she is not “fine.” Just as clearly, she does not want to be disturbed. I close the door with a soft click and tiptoe back downstairs.

I start to grab my backpack so that I can finish my homework, but then my stomach growls and I realize that it will be dinnertime soon, and Mom hasn’t started anything.

The price of being the oldest, I think, as I look longingly to the couch where Paul and Gwen are still sitting. Homework will wait. Right now, somebody needs to cook dinner.

I look through the fridge and cupboards to try to figure out something I actually know how to make. There’s mac-n-cheese, salad mix, tomato soup, a loaf of bread ... I check the fridge for cheese slices and finally settle on grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. Not a gourmet meal, but—hey—I’m sixteen years old, and it’ll have to do. At least I will have tried. If all else fails, maybe we can order pizza once Dad gets home.

He arrives as I’m doing a final flip of the grilled cheese sandwiches on the oversized electric skillet. The table is set and I’ve even thought to put some grapes in a bowl. All in all, I’m pretty pleased with myself. However, when Dad walks through the door and sees me fixing dinner, he runs a hand through his hair, looking worried.

“How’s your mom?” He asks.

“She’s upstairs in bed,” I answer.

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