On Little Wings Read Online Free

Cleo asked as my eyes scanned the directory. New Gloucester, Belgrade, Glenburn, Brunswick, Smithport. Smithport . I stared at the listing. I knew that word, though I couldn’t remember mother actually mentioning the name of her town. Sarah Dyer, 12 Haven Ln, Smithport, Maine, followed by a phone number. I interlaced my fingers and pressed my locked hands against my mouth.
    “I think that might be her,” I whispered.
    “Which one?” Cleo asked, pushing her face closer to the screen.
    “Listing number five. Smithport. I think that’s where Mother grew up.”
    Cleo’s face flushed an odd blue color in the light of the screen. “Found you.”
    I turned to Cleo, my expression paralyzed. “I don’t think I can do it.”
    Her face looked almost as nervous as mine. “I didn’t think we would find her so fast,” she admitted.
    “We still don’t know if we did. I might be remembering wrong.”
    “Jennifer!” Mrs. Douglas called up the stairs, fighting the high, twangy noise of lasers from the video game. I jumped, my stomach careening up to my throat at the sound of her voice, and Cleo slammed down the lid of the laptop, as if we’d been caught doing something shameful. Mrs. Douglas shouted, “Stephen, turn it down!” and then, “Jennifer!” again.
    “Coming,” Cleo answered for me and we rushed from the room, stopping on the landing where we could see her upturned face below us.
    “Jennifer, your dad is here,” she told me. My eyes traveled a few feet past her to the open front door where he stood apologetically on the entrance mat. I nodded mutely and went downstairs. My anxiety made me clumsy on the stairs. Cleo followed me to the next landing and stopped, leaning against the wall and looking down at the brown carpet. Dad’s smile had more to do with politeness than happiness, and he fidgeted, fighting for some casual words in front of our friends.
    Mrs. Douglas gave us a calculating look and jumped in. “I’ll be right back. I’m just in the middle of something in the kitchen,” she said in a forced cheerfulness and disappeared.
    Dad waited until I was close enough to hear his low words. “Are you okay?”
    He asked so kindly that I reigned in the sarcastic voice that yearned to answer. “I guess.” We both shifted our weight and he didn’t seem to know what to say so I continued, “Are you and Mom all right? Is she still mad?”
    He blew loudly between his lips, but spoke softly, “She’s mad, but we’re fine. You probably want to talk…” It’s odd how much I wanted answers, and how little I wanted to talk. He watched me closely and put a hand out toward me before closing his fingers and sticking them back in his pocket.
    “I do… but later. Could I stay here tonight?” I asked him as I looked up to Cleo for permission. She nodded fervently and I turned back to Dad. He smiled and pulled his other hand out from behind his back, holding a plastic baggie with my toothbrush inside.
    “I figured Cleo would have everything else.” His gentle eyes hugged me. My mother couldn’t stay mad at him. No one could. “Amy said it was fine,” he added. (Amy being Mrs. Douglas, but I got a verbal beating at age four for calling an adult by their first name and I never tried it again.) I nodded thankfully at him and after a brief look at Cleo, took his hand and led him outside, letting the glass door close behind us. The fact that he knew I wouldn’t want to come home made me feel a certain pact between us, like we were on the same team. Though I cannot say what we were playing, or fighting, for.
    A storm was hanging in the air, refusing to fall, but blacking out large patches of the sky. We stood in the sickly yellow glow of the porch light and I swatted a bug back from my face. “Do you know her, Dad – Sarah?” I spoke in an undertone.
    “No. I don’t.”
    “So how do you know she didn’t,” I paused, unable to say ‘kill,’ “do what Mother said?”
    “Oh,” his face looked a