A Room on Lorelei Street Read Online Free Page A

sense, because on this dark, starry night she is there to hear them. She is there to listen.
    Almost revived, she gathers her shoes and purse to go into the house—and to Mama. The chain-link gate groans its usual warning as she passes through, and she tries to ignore it. I have to go in, she thinks. When she reaches the steps, she sees a red tag hanging on the doorknob and she squeezes her eyes tight, trying to hold the battle in. She snatches the notice from the door and reads that they have forty-eight hours left before the power is cut.
    â€œDammit, Mama! ” she says under her breath as she opens the door. “Mama?” she calls. There is no answer. She walks to the kitchen and sees a gallon jug of red wine sitting on the table, half its contents already gone. She slaps the notice onto the table next to the jug. The dishes from this afternoon still sit in the sink, now covered with cold, gray water.
    â€œWhen is ‘later,’ Mama?” she sighs. She turns to go to her room, but a scrap of paper taped to the refrigerator catches her eye.
    Sorry, Sugar. Principal called. Had his mind set so I didn’t even try. No big deal. One-day suspension. Go to counselor’s office in the morning. Something about counseling during sixth period on Fridays, too. Sounds cushy and gets you out of class.
    Mama
    Zoe feels a hot rush in her chest. Yes, Mama, it is a big deal! I have P.E. sixth period! Tennis! But it will be a cold day in hell before you ever remember that! She rips the note from the refrigerator. “Mama!” she calls. She walks down the hall, past the bathroom, to Mama’s closed door. The note trembles in one hand, and she opens the door with the other. She stops when it is only open a few inches.
    Mama’s legs lie tangled in the sheets, but between them two larger, hairier legs move in a rhythm that make Zoe’s stomach wrench. She stumbles back from the door, leaving it ajar and fumbles for her own doorknob, searching for an escape. She falls into her room, closing the door behind her.
    Zoe feels her breath coming fast, out of control. A flash of sweat heats her face. She can’t even be bothered to lock her door. She doesn’t think that, maybe for me, she should lock her lousy fucking door. She stands in the middle of her dark room with her hands over her face, pressing, measuring breaths that want to come in gulps, pressing to hold it in. That’s where the wine came from. She won’t do one stinking thing for me, but for that she will screw her way to oblivion.
    Zoe falls onto her bed in the dark and pulls her pillow over her face. Her gulping breaths are muffled. The only other sound is the jingling of her tips as they slip from her skirt pocket to the floor. The pillow is wet against her face, and her uneven breaths pull something out of her she hates, pulling until her head throbs and a sharp stab swells in her throat. Finally her breathing quiets and she lies on her back, limp, staring into the blackness, her chest occasionally jumping for a breath like it did when she was a child. The darkness vibrates around her and the room is stuffy, but she is too weak to get up and turn on the light or the fan. She wishes the black void would swallow her up. It would be easier.
    Her chest jumps again, and she thinks of Kyle and how she used to rub his chest when he was little and hold him tight in her arms so the shaking would go away. “It will be all right, Kiteman,” she would whisper against his cheek, no matter what the problem was, whether it was a scraped knee, or it was a lonely, stormy night and Mama and Daddy still hadn’t come home. She always promised him everything would be all right.
    But it’s not.
    What does he think of her now?
    Zoe sits up on her bed. She doesn’t allow herself to think about Kyle too often. Like Aunt Patsy with Mama, she loves and hates him all at the same time. He’s been gone almost two years now. When