R My Name Is Rachel Read Online Free Page B

“People are moving into our apartment today.” He reaches out to snare the last bit of sandwich. “Sorry, cat,” he says absently.
    Cassie and Joey climb over the back of the truck. They stand next to Pop’s open window, hunched against the wind. “This is it?” Cassie says; her eyes fill.
    I feel sorry for her; I feel sorry for all of us. And I’ve had to go to the bathroom for hours. “Bathroom.”
    “Outhouse,” Pop says.
    I shove the truck door open; I have to push hard against the wind. There are pins and needles in both my feet, so I slide out and land in a heap in the snow. Behind me, Clarence dives out. He streaks around the side of the house into the woods and he’s gone.
    Gone.
    “Come back!” I call. “Come back, cat!”
    “What have you done?” Cassie is almost screaming as she runs toward the woods.
    We watch her. I know it’s no use. Clarence is much too fast. Suppose he never comes back. I picture him lost in this lonely place. I keep calling, my voice sounding high and thin against the wind.
    Pop points us to the outhouse: a shed with a half-moon cutout over the door. Imagine going to the bathroom outdoors.
    Cassie comes back, her face swollen. Then we stand in line as if we’re in school, heads tucked into our coats. When it’s my turn, I go inside and shut the door. Lacy cobwebssoften the corners, but the spiders that crocheted them are gone; the winter must have been too cold for them.
    As I open the door to leave, what’s left of the light comes in against the wall. Someone’s drawn something there with crayons. It’s a cat, not unlike Clarence with his rough fur and threadlike whiskers. Once a family lived here, and maybe a girl like me had drawn it.
    But it’s too cold to stand there staring at the drawing; besides, Joey is waiting. I go up the steps of the house with Pop and Cassie, looking over my shoulder, calling, “Cat, here, cat!”
    “A lot of good that will do,” Cassie says.
    Joey comes after us. Our feet are loud against the porch floor; our voices echo as we open the unlocked door.
    On one side of the hall is a living room; on the other side are stairs, which climb to the second floor, and a kitchen larger than any I ever saw at home. There’s furniture here and there: a couch and an armchair like Pop’s old one in the living room, a long table and painted chairs in the kitchen.
    It’s too dark to go upstairs, too scary. Pop goes out on the porch and brings in an armful of wood, which he stacks in the living room fireplace and lights with matches he’s found on the mantel. “The wood is damp,” he says. “It will take time to catch.”
    We watch until at last a thin curl of smoke wends its way upward. Then Pop and Joey go out to the truck and come back with all our things: the rocking chair, boxes, blankets, and pillows, and the bags of food Cassie packed.We spread out on the living room floor in a row, munching on crackers and cheese.
    We’re all so tired that it doesn’t make any difference that it’s only six-thirty or seven o’clock. Somewhere a shutter bangs against the house, but we’re close enough to reach out to each other. We’ve never had a fireplace before; I watch the flames and feel their warmth as I slide down into the blankets. If only Clarence were here.
    Pop says, “Don’t worry. I’m going to work. We’ll be able to buy things when I get paid. You’ll see. In the end, we’ll love this place.”
    “Really,” Cassie says as if she doesn’t believe it.
    I don’t believe it either, and I wonder if Pop does.
    But that’s my last thought until a thin light spreads itself across the bare floor.
    It’s morning.
    Dear Miss Mitzi
,
    Clarence is gone. I feel as if my heart is broken
.
    I remember you told me you had a cat once named Lazy who was lost. He came home, didn’t he?
    I know you said you’d like to live on a farm. You’d plant a peach tree and grow roses on a white trellis
.
    I told Pop. He said he could picture you doing