Don't Blame the Music Read Online Free Page B

lit, and—”
    â€œMusic editor?” repeated Ashley. “How stupid. There’s nothing to do except get the captions right under the concert choir photographs.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I said, but the editor told me to come up with something innovative and unique.”
    â€œI’ve been doing things that are innovative and unique for years now,” said Ashley, “and none of them would fit into a yearbook.”
    My mother definitely did not want to hear about any innovative and unique activities Ashley might have gotten into. “What a nice color sweater you have on, dear,” she said. “I love it on you.”
    I almost gave her as disgusted a look as Ashley did. “It’s the only thing the Salvation Army had,” said my sister.
    â€œOh, honey, why didn’t you call us?” cried my mother. “I would have sent you money! I would have sent you clothing.”
    â€œI didn’t want to hear your voice.”
    Another chilling remark. Delivered simply, as one stating an obvious fact—say, that the Atlantic Ocean separates us from Europe. I didn’t want to hear your voice.
    Mom began serving pot roast. Her hands were shaking. My father was not looking at Ashley, but at Mom, and rather sadly. Suddenly I knew that my mother was desperate—frantic—for proof that she was not a failed mother. That daughter number one really was a neat little suburbanite underneath it all. But Dad knew better. And his grief was for his wife, not for Ashley.
    I stared at them all, and I did not know where my grief lay.
    But I understood something I had never thought about, or known existed. Our house was run gently and smoothly because my mother was fragile—not Ashley. Ashley, thin and tired and defeated as she might be, had the strength of ten. My mother did not.
    â€œWhere have you been, Ash?” I said, unable to resist the topic. “Detroit? Dallas?”
    â€œEvery city in America has a roach-ridden, urine-stinking motel where I have slept,” she said. “I have peddled my act in every corner of this worthless nation.”
    I could see my father getting ready to defend America against the charge of worthlessness. We had enough troubles without bringing America into it. “You’re in luck,” I said lightly. “We feature hot showers and roach-free accommodations.”
    Ashley gave me a long assessing look. I did not know if I got a passing grade or not. But at least I was getting a chance, which was more than Mom and Dad got. She poked at her food. “I guess that’s as good a reason as any,” she said finally.
    My heart ached.
    Whenever my mother is upset, she eats. The more she heard Ashley’s flat dead voice, the more she ate. She piled the mashed potatoes onto her plate and added enough gravy to float them out to sea.
    â€œYou got fat,” Ashley accused her. “Fat people have no discipline. They’re slovenly.”
    My mother sat very still.
    My father sucked in a deep furious breath.
    â€œIt’s only five or ten pounds, Ash,” I said instantly. “I don’t call that fat. I call it minor padding.” I smiled at my sister, willing her not to make things worse.
    â€œOh, Christ,” said my sister wearily. “You’re one of these sugar-and-cream types, aren’t you? Always finding the silver lining. Do me a favor, Susan?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œShut up.”
    There was a long, long pause. Nobody ate. Four forks played games on four plates. I had rather hastily jumped to the conclusion that I, Susan Anne, would be the savior in a difficult situation. Ashley had rather hastily pointed out to me that no, I wouldn’t.
    My father said, “We’re glad you’re home, Ashley. We’re glad you knew you could come home. But I am going to have to require you to be courteous to your mother and your sister if you’re going to live