Walking Backward Read Online Free Page A

came in to see what Mom was cooking—maybe he was hoping it would be something other than soup—she would put her hand on his shoulder and dance and smile like she loved him so much. So normally he wouldn’t try to kill her. But if he thought she wanted to leave him, and that she’d be dancing and smiling with some other guy, then maybe he would. I know she’d never leave me and Sammy—she’d come back for us, even if she had some other guy—but she might have left Dad.
    What builds the case against Dad is that Mom’s job came with life insurance that gives Dad two years of her salary. Which is one hundred thousand dollars times two, and that’s a lot of money. I know this because I’ve been snooping through the mail. Maybe Dad killed Mom for the money, and also for vengeance because of some other guy.
    I used to be sure that Mom and Dad loved each other, but Simpson says you never know for sure. He heard his dad say that he never loved his mom, not even for one second. It’s hard to believe you could live with someone for thirteen years and have a kid with them and kiss them goodnight every single day and never love them for one second. But what do I know?
    If Mom’s death was actually a murder, it wouldn’t qualify for a Darwin Award, even if it’s a stupid way to be murdered. I checked out the Award requirements. To win, you have to show an astounding misapplication of judgment. For example, a woman on a bus trip wanted a cigarette, but she wasn’t allowed to smoke on the bus, so she jumped out. And since the bus was moving, she astoundingly misapplied her judgment and got crushed under the wheels.
    Crashing into a tree is pretty astounding too. But a phobia makes you scared out of your mind, like you truly believe your life is in danger. So Mom doesn’t deserve a Darwin Award. She was a university professor and very smart. She should have had even more kids, because she had such good genes. She should have donated her eggs to other people who weren’t as smart as she was.
    I went and sat in Dad’s room for a while, because it feels like Mom’s still there. I was snooping a bit, and I looked in her drawers. She had pictures from work tucked away. In one picture she had her arm around a man who looked like he adored her. Maybe she was dating him, and Dad found out. I saw that same guy crying at her funeral. Dad looked at him funny, like he recognized him. Or maybe he suspected him. The guy was crying like he had lost his best friend. He didn’t freak out like me—but he had dark skin and hair, so maybe he’s Muslim and he tried not to wail and tear his clothes. He was definitely weeping, which you’re allowed to do if you’re Muslim.
    I freaked out again this morning when Aunt Laura came over with groceries and told me everything would be okay. I threw the groceries down and stomped on them. Aunt Laura got mad and left, so I had to scrape a dozen squashed tomatoes off the floor. It was totally gross. I freaked out because I hate the words Everything will be okay . Mom’s death is not a broken cup we can clean up. I know you can make most things better, even really serious things. If you fail a grade, you can make it up. If you lose your job, you can find another one. If you go to jail, you can do your sentence and get out. But dead is dead. There’s no way to make it okay.
    Aunt Laura got mad and called me a spoiled brat, which is pretty harsh given the circumstances. She yelled, “You’re not the only kid in the world who ever lost a parent!” She’s forty years old, and Grandma and Grandpa are healthy as can be, so what does she know?
    I was being a brat because I thought I could get away with it. I’d never have stomped the groceries if I thought for a second I’d have to clean them up. I freaked out at Aunt Laura once before, and she let me get away with it. It was two days after the funeral. She came over to cook dinner and said, “Don’t worry, Josh. Everything’s okay.” Obviously