Losing Francesca Read Online Free
Author: J. A. Huss
place, it can be an activity or a person. So I always did that at the many different schools I went to overseas. I changed them a lot because my father is overprotective, and maybe slightly paranoid if I'm being honest. And it always worked. I found a friend, or a quiet place to read, or joined a club or did a sport.
And I dealt with it. Because I had to. I slipped into whatever life he planned out for me and dealt with it. And I'll do that now. I'm a guest in the Sullivan house, nothing more. I am not Fiona Sullivan, I am Francesca Sabatini and I can deal with this family for a few weeks. And one day, when I'm grown and married and have grown babies of my own, I will tell them about how the American government kidnapped me and tried to make me become someone else.
And they will laugh and think I'm making it up and call me a crazy woman. And I will laugh back, because it will be true and I will have survived this stupid mix-up along with all the other strange things that come with being my father's daughter.
"Francesca!" Angela is waving at me from the far side of the largest barn. They have many barns here but this big one looks like it's been part of the property for a long while. All the others are prefabricated and not made of bricks and wood like the big barn.
"Sono pronta ad aiutare," I say back to her when I get close enough so I don't have to shout.
"Oh," she says. "This might be difficult if you're not going to speak English."
I shrug. Whatever. I have no intention of talking to them in English. " Si parla, io ascolto ."
"Right."
I smile.
She smiles. And gives in. "OK, have it your way. But you do understand me, correct?"
" Sì ."
"Good. OK, we'll make do. We have to walk out to the back pasture, which is just through those woods over there, and down the bridle trail. The filly is in a paddock we have down by the lake. Sean's been injured and to be honest, he's not taken very good care of her for a long time now. She's practically wild again, and she's never been all that manageable. So I have two leads"—she jingles the two leather lead shanks in her hand that are attached to a halter—"one for me and one for you. But it might not be enough. If she gives us too much trouble, we might have to leave her down there."
I nod. Fine with me.
"But we'll see."
We cross the dirt road and I can't help myself, I stare at the spot where I saw that boy last night. I shake it off. Sean said they were trouble and I believe him. The boy definitely looked like trouble and he called me names.
The bridle path is just a narrow dirt track that is wide enough for two or three horses to walk side by side, and probably several dirt bikes from the looks of the tire tracks in the now drying mud.
Stop thinking about boys on dirt bikes, Francesca.
It's a pretty long walk from my point of view, and maybe it just feels that way because I've never been here before, but I figure it takes about ten minutes to get to a split in the path where there are two signs nailed to trees. One, which points to a well-traveled path, says TRAIL. The other points to wilderness and says LAKE.
We take the lake path, but it's barely a path, we have to walk single file and I'm already wondering how we'll be able to lead an uncooperative horse through this growth when Angela states the same fear out loud. "This might not be the best idea. We should go back and get Frank."
Frank? Mr. Sullivan? " No, no, no! Possiamo farlo da soli! "
She eyes me cautiously. "You sure? I don't want you to get hurt."
I point to myself. " Io starò bene. "
"OK?"
" Sì ." Anything to keep Frank away. I'd like to spend the entire summer avoiding him if possible, and I'm pretty sure he feels the same way.
We walk for another ten minutes or so and then, little by little, as we make our way towards a clearing up ahead, I get a few sneak peeks of the pasture. It's bright green from all the rain and the meadow grass is lush and deep.
We walk a little farther, round a few
And I dealt with it. Because I had to. I slipped into whatever life he planned out for me and dealt with it. And I'll do that now. I'm a guest in the Sullivan house, nothing more. I am not Fiona Sullivan, I am Francesca Sabatini and I can deal with this family for a few weeks. And one day, when I'm grown and married and have grown babies of my own, I will tell them about how the American government kidnapped me and tried to make me become someone else.
And they will laugh and think I'm making it up and call me a crazy woman. And I will laugh back, because it will be true and I will have survived this stupid mix-up along with all the other strange things that come with being my father's daughter.
"Francesca!" Angela is waving at me from the far side of the largest barn. They have many barns here but this big one looks like it's been part of the property for a long while. All the others are prefabricated and not made of bricks and wood like the big barn.
"Sono pronta ad aiutare," I say back to her when I get close enough so I don't have to shout.
"Oh," she says. "This might be difficult if you're not going to speak English."
I shrug. Whatever. I have no intention of talking to them in English. " Si parla, io ascolto ."
"Right."
I smile.
She smiles. And gives in. "OK, have it your way. But you do understand me, correct?"
" Sì ."
"Good. OK, we'll make do. We have to walk out to the back pasture, which is just through those woods over there, and down the bridle trail. The filly is in a paddock we have down by the lake. Sean's been injured and to be honest, he's not taken very good care of her for a long time now. She's practically wild again, and she's never been all that manageable. So I have two leads"—she jingles the two leather lead shanks in her hand that are attached to a halter—"one for me and one for you. But it might not be enough. If she gives us too much trouble, we might have to leave her down there."
I nod. Fine with me.
"But we'll see."
We cross the dirt road and I can't help myself, I stare at the spot where I saw that boy last night. I shake it off. Sean said they were trouble and I believe him. The boy definitely looked like trouble and he called me names.
The bridle path is just a narrow dirt track that is wide enough for two or three horses to walk side by side, and probably several dirt bikes from the looks of the tire tracks in the now drying mud.
Stop thinking about boys on dirt bikes, Francesca.
It's a pretty long walk from my point of view, and maybe it just feels that way because I've never been here before, but I figure it takes about ten minutes to get to a split in the path where there are two signs nailed to trees. One, which points to a well-traveled path, says TRAIL. The other points to wilderness and says LAKE.
We take the lake path, but it's barely a path, we have to walk single file and I'm already wondering how we'll be able to lead an uncooperative horse through this growth when Angela states the same fear out loud. "This might not be the best idea. We should go back and get Frank."
Frank? Mr. Sullivan? " No, no, no! Possiamo farlo da soli! "
She eyes me cautiously. "You sure? I don't want you to get hurt."
I point to myself. " Io starò bene. "
"OK?"
" Sì ." Anything to keep Frank away. I'd like to spend the entire summer avoiding him if possible, and I'm pretty sure he feels the same way.
We walk for another ten minutes or so and then, little by little, as we make our way towards a clearing up ahead, I get a few sneak peeks of the pasture. It's bright green from all the rain and the meadow grass is lush and deep.
We walk a little farther, round a few
Readers choose
Katherine Holubitsky
Franz Kafka
Charles Stross
David Lee Malone
Tara Hudson
T. C. Boyle
Paul Christopher
Ella Grace
Sibylla Matilde
Nikki Carter