When the World was Flat (and we were in love) Read Online Free Page B

their standard shade of gray. I wanted to tell her about my dreams, but she was no dreamologist, or psychiatrist come to that. I knew her answer would be to pop an Ambien.
    â€œWe should all go to Paris,” I said brightly, shaking off my dreams. “We could sit and gasbag in a French Duck-In Diner. Do they have Duck-In Diners in France?” I paused, wondering if the franchise had made it out of Green Grove, let alone Nebraska or the country, before my mind drifted to the photos I could take in Europe. I wondered if Africa was nearby and then grimaced at these holes in my knowledge. To think, geography had been my favorite subject last year.
    â€œCount me out,” Jo said. “My dad. You know.”
    I did know. Jo had been looking after her dad for two and a half years. He had prostate cancer and had been through chemotherapy, radiation and a bunch of operations. He lived with a colostomy bag attached to his bowel, which he liked to tell us meant he could go to the bathroom in his La-Z-Boy, like it was a joke. It was no laughing matter, of course, especially when you considered what had happened to Mrs Green.
    Deb sent bowls of tofu stir-fry to their house a few times a week.
    â€œAre you trying to kill me with this vegetarian crap?” Mr Green always asked, but the containers came back empty every time.
    â€œYou know your dad wants you to have a life,” I told Jo.
    Jo gave a barking laugh. “In Green Grove?”
    I shrugged. “Or Lincoln or New York–”
    â€œOr Paris,” Sylv said, flicking a spoonful of grits at Jo, who retaliated with a spoonful of syrup.
    I put up my hands and stood up from the booth, deciding I would rather not wear my waffles, no matter what Sylv said about the latest fashion in Milan.
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    When we got to the end of the block, Sylv set off for West Green Grove, while Jo and I set off for North.
    â€œIs everything OK?” I asked when it was just the two of us. “I mean, with your dad?”
    Jo shrugged. “Yeah. Fine. I guess.” Her chin trembled and I suddenly felt sick to the stomach.
    Jo was not the kind of girl to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. In fifth grade she had split her shorts from the crotch to the waistband on the jungle gym. Melissa and the Mutts had been there to point and laugh and catcall. If it had been me, I would have run home in a flood of tears, but Jo had continued to swing upside-down from the monkey bars until I handed her my sweater to tie around her waist. If Sylv had been there I think she would have used my sweater to strangle Melissa instead.
    â€œHe seems… sicker.” Her eyebrows furrowed under her mousey bangs. “He keeps forgetting stuff, like how to change his colostomy bag and that I have my license now.”
    â€œWhat about his doctor? What does he say?”
    â€œShe,” Jo corrected and then shrugged. “He has a check-up next week.”
    I nodded and we continued to walk, in silence except for the scuffing of our shoes on the sidewalk.
    When we got to my house I ran inside for a bowl of leftovers for Jo and her dad.
    When Deb came out to see her “second daughter”, Jo let her hold her for a moment, before taking a couple of steps backwards, out of our front yard and onto the sidewalk.
    â€œYou have a cracked aura, sweetheart,” Deb said, following her through the gate. “Do you want me to fix it?”
    Jo shook her head. She believed in that mumbo-jumbo as much as I did.
    â€œYour dad will be OK,” I said, as she turned to go. “Yeah?”
    She smiled sadly and nodded. “Yeah.”
    OK, OK, OK, I thought as I watched her walk down the street, as if the rule of repetition could cure cancer.
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    Because Deb had it in her mind that she wanted to fix an aura, I gave in and let her practice on me. At least it saved me from the pan pipe for a few minutes. She was into her second week of music lessons, courtesy of a couch surfer