Operation Oleander (9780547534213) Read Online Free Page B

shouldn’t spend that kind of effort on the orphanage.
    â€œI said I was sorry about that.”
    Behind me, I hear stirring from Mom’s bedroom.
    â€œI have to go. Mom’s up. Sam, what about Warda?”
    â€œI don’t know. Really.” His voice pleads for me to believe him.
    I hang up and turn off the television, the screen narrowing to blackness, then prop myself up on the couch, my back to the wall. Mom’s coming down the hallway. Her slippers sound like palm fronds rustling in the breeze.
    What will I say?
    Mom stops at the doorway to the living room. Her hair’s not brushed. She squints as if half-asleep. She says that with Dad gone she stays up too late at night. She turns on her headphones and listens to music until she falls asleep.
    â€œJess? Who was that?”
    No one,
I almost say. That way, maybe Mom won’t have to know something’s happened. Maybe in a few hours the news will be clearer. Dad will call.
    â€œJess!”
    â€œSam. It was Sam.”
    â€œThis early? What time is it, anyway?” Mom fumbles for the light switch.
    â€œIt’s not that early.” I don’t bother to tell her I’ve been to the PX already. She knows that’s where I go. She doesn’t really like me going so early, before so I try to keep quiet. To fly under the radar.
    A knock sounds on the door.
    I freeze. I didn’t hear a car door slam, like in one of those old World War II movies Dad used to watch. The car is always black. It creeps down the street, stopping in front of some unlucky family’s house. Someone inside pulls back a curtain. The camera pans so that you see the military officer walk slowly up to the front door and knock. They never use the doorbell. They always knock.
    â€œWhat’s going on around here?” Mom’s voice sounds sharp, more awake.
    I stay still. If I don’t move, this might pass.
    â€œI swear, Jess.” Mom runs her fingers through her hair and straightens her sleep T-shirt so it covers her thighs. She cracks open the door, and we both squint against the sudden light.
    â€œI came as soon as I heard.” Mrs. Johnson pushes inside, carrying a box of glazed doughnuts. The sweet scent makes me dizzy.
    â€œI went down to the gas station,” she says. “I got us some snacks and tried to get the latest news from Pops. He knows everything.”
    So that’s where Mrs. Johnson was—getting the gossip. I should have known.
    â€œHeard what?” Mom asks.
    Mrs. Johnson stops midstride from where she was going to plant herself in Dad’s recliner. “You don’t know? Really?”
    â€œKnow what?” Mom makes an exasperated sound. “People sneaking around at all hours of the morning. Yet no one says anything.” She frowns at me.
    I hug myself.
    â€œTurn on the television, Jess,” Mrs. Johnson says. She turns to my mom. “You got coffee brewing?”
    Mom starts to say “No.”
    â€œIt brewed at eight this morning,” I said. “I programmed the coffee maker.” I wanted Mom to know I could help out—that’s why I started setting the coffee to go on automatically in the mornings. Just lately, since summer started, Mom’s been sleeping in later and later. Until the coffee smell turns bitter. Sometimes I toast waffles for Cara’s breakfast.
    â€œWell, that’ll be strong enough to walk to Cuba,” Mrs. Johnson says. “I’ll brew fresh. You stay here.” Mrs. Johnson steers Mom to Dad’s recliner and stalks into the kitchen. I hear her turn on the water and pour all the coffee I already made down the drain. The new canister of the ground coffee hisses when she opens the lid. Mrs. Johnson knows our kitchen so well, she doesn’t have to ask anymore where to find things.
    Mom sinks into the recliner.
    â€œTurn it on, Jess.”
    I grip the remote. I hold it toward the television.
    â€œDo it!”
    I hit the