Five Days Left Read Online Free

late? Half the kids who attended the Saturday tutoring program he ran were only there for the free pizza lunch anyway, didn’t he see that? Why did he spend his summer evenings at the run-down outdoor court in front of the school, playing pickup with kids most teachers were thrilled to have a two-month break from, or be freed of entirely, now that they had gone on to high school?
    Scott held his palms toward her, begging forgiveness. “You know how my parent-teacher conference nights go at that school. I read
Sports Illustrated
for an hour with maybe one or two people bothering to stop by. If someone’s going to finally get involved in their kid’s education, I’ve got to be there to meet with them. If I put her off till next week, there’s no guarantee she’d show.”
    “You can’t single-handedly save every student at Franklin Middle School.”
    “I know. I won’t get to all of them. Three years isn’t enough time.” He flashed a lopsided grin and hoped it was irresistible.
    She let out a breath as she returned to the kitchen. “That was not the point I was making, and you know it.” Following, he reached in the fridge for a beer and opened it, then filled a glass of water from the tap. He handed her the glass and raised his bottle. She clinked her glass against it, took a sip and made a face, a hand on her stomach.
    “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
    She sighed. “You know how it’s been. I eat one wrong thing and it throws me off the rest of the day.”
    He raised his beer again. “Here’s hoping the last trimester will be better.” The last trimester was two weeks away. She was due July 15.
    “Hopefully.” She set the glass on the counter and kept her gaze fixed on it. “I never feel like it’s the right time to say this, and it’s not now. But I really think having our life back is going to make things better.” She caught his expression and quickly added, “Or, not ‘better’ necessarily. Just, you know, easier. Being able to come straight home from work and sit? Relax? Instead of having to be taxi driver, afternoon snack server, homework supervisor, all of that?”
    Scott looked out the window again at the boy in the driveway and didn’t answer. He didn’t have a list of things he’d rather do than spend time with Curtis.
    “Would you rather sit by yourself and read or come and shoot hoops?” Curtis had asked once. “Laurie says I have to ask you what you’d rather do, instead of just expecting you to come out and play every time.” Scott dropped his book to the floor. “I’d always rather be with you. But would you rather shoot hoops alone and be unopposed, so you can tell yourself later you were the best out there? Or have me come out and wipe the court with you?”
    Would You Rather. It had become their language. A second-grade boy’s version of “I love you, too.” Would you rather eat glass or walk on it? Would you rather swallow a handful of live spiders or stand for an hour in a roomful of bats?
    Scott heard Laurie clear her throat behind him. Would you rather keep watching the boy and have your wife ticked off for the rest of the night, or pay attention to her? He turned from the window.
    “I’m going to miss him, too,” she said. She reached in the drawer for a knife and started slicing the lasagna. “But I’m focusing on the bright side now, and that’s what you need to do. I’ve already planned out next week: Monday, I’m coming home from the office, sitting on the couch with that stack of baby books I haven’t had a chance to read, and not moving till dinnertime.” She pointed her knife at him. “I’m counting on my husband to take me out to dinner that night. Maybe even a movie after. When’s the last time we had a date night?”
    She paused, waiting for him to notice his cue. He gave his impression of an eager nod and, satisfied, she went on. “Tuesday, I’m finally getting that pregnancy massage the girls at the office gave me the certificate