Yesterday's Kin Read Online Free

either of his siblings. His usual ploy had been to get them battering on each other and leave him alone. Maybe he could do that now. Or maybe not.
    “Noah, how long have you been in the city?”
    “A while.”
    “How long a while?”
    Noah put his hand in front of his face. “Lizzie, I’m really hungry. I didn’t eat today. Do you think you could—”
    “Don’t start your whining-and-helpless routine with me, Noah. It doesn’t work anymore.”
    Had it ever? Noah didn’t think so, not with Elizabeth. He tried to pull himself together. “Elizabeth, I haven’t called Mom yet and I am hungry. Please, could we defer this fight until I eat something? Anything, crackers or toast or—”
    “There’s sandwich stuff in the fridge. Help yourself. I’m going to call Mom, since at least one of us should let her know the prodigal son has deigned to turn up again. She’s been out of her mind with worry about you.”
    Noah doubted that. His mother was the strongest person he knew, followed by Elizabeth and Ryan. Together, the three could have toppled empires. Of course, they seldom were together, since they fought almost every time they met. Odd that they would go on meeting so often, when it produced such bitterness, and all over such inconsequential things. Politics, religion, funding for the arts, isolationism. . . . He rummaged in Elizabeth’s messy refrigerator, full of plastic containers with their lids half off, some with dabs of rotting food stuck to the bottom. God, this one was growing mold . But he found bread, cheese, and some salsa that seemed all right.
    Elizabeth’s one-bedroom apartment echoed her fridge, which was another reason she and Mom fought. Unmade bed, dusty stacks of journals and newspapers, a vase of dead flowers probably sent by one of the boyfriends Elizabeth never fell in love with. Mom’s house north of the city, and Ryan and Connie’s near hers, were neat and bright. House-cleaners came weekly; food was bought from careful lists; possessions were replaced whenever they got shabby. Noah had no possessions, or at least as few as he could manage.
    Elizabeth clutched the phone. She dressed like a female FBI agent—short hair, dark pantsuit, no make-up—and was beautiful without trying. “Come on, Mom, pick up,” she muttered, “it’s a cell, it’s supposed to be portable.”
    “Maybe she’s in class,” Noah said. “Or a meeting.”
    “It’s Friday night, Noah.”
    “Oh. Yeah.”
    “I’ll try the landline. She still has one.”
    Someone answered the landline on the first ring; Noah heard the chime stop from where he sat munching his sandwich. Then silence.
    “Hello? Hello? Mom?” Elizabeth said.
    The receiver on the other end clicked.
    “That’s odd,” Elizabeth said.
    “You probably got a wrong number.”
    “Don’t talk with your mouth full. I’m going to try again.”
    This time no one answered. Elizabeth scowled. “I don’t like that. Someone is there. I’m going to call Ryan.”
    Wasn’t Ryan somewhere in Canada doing field work? Or maybe Noah had the dates wrong. He’d only glanced at the e-mail from Ryan, accessed on a terminal at the public library. That day he’d been on sugarcane, and the temporary identity had been impatient and brusque.
    “Ryan? This is Elizabeth. Do you know where Mom is? . . . If I knew her schedule I wouldn’t be calling, would I? . . . Wait, wait, will you listen for a minute? I called her house and someone picked up and then clicked off, and when I called back a second later, it just rang. Will you go over there just to check it out? . . . Okay, yes, we’ll wait. Oh, Noah’s here. . . . No, I’m not going to discuss with you right now the . . . Ryan . For chrissake, go check Mom’s house!” She clicked off.
    Noah wished he were someplace else. He wished he were somebody else. He wished he had some sugarcane.
    Elizabeth flounced into a chair and picked up a book. Tariffs, Borders, and the Survival of the United States , Noah