Alone Read Free Page B

with his weakest material. Lydia didn’t even pretend to smile.
    â€œAnd five,” she said.
    â€œLeap.” “Leap? I can’t walk first?”
    â€œLeap of faith,” she told him. “Stop thinking so much and just do it.”
    Ed lay quietly, running through the five-step plan in his head. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try it.”
    â€œJedi warrior no try,” Lydia told him. “Jedi warrior do.”
    Finally, an opening for a decent comeback —“Thank you, Yoda. But I can’t make any promises.”
    Still nothing. She didn’t even skip a beat. It was as if she had blocked all her joke receptors. “So don’t. It’s no skin off my nose if you stay on those crutches the rest of your life. It’s yourself you should be making the promise to.”
    Okay, he thought. Ed, I promise I’ll. . . walk. Even inside his head, he sounded like a total doofus.

Nuclear Strike

    SO THIS IS AMERICA , TATIANA THOUGHT as she sat alone in her giant, empty apartment. No mother, no friends, a boy who kissed her but still loved someone else, and no parties to take her mind off her problems. If this was the great USA, she’d just as soon get back on the airplane and make the thirteen-hour flight back home. At least there she had a life.
    She sighed, wandered into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. This country. What kind of people name a food “La Yogurt”? Did they think they were going to fool anyone into thinking the French sat around eating strawberry-banana goo? Realizing she wasn’t hungry, she slammed the door shut and continued her circuit of the apartment.
    Maybe she could get a dog to keep her company. But that would never work. People picked up their dogs’ droppings in this city. She sighed again and flicked on the radio in the living room, letting the ambient music of the dance-mix deejay fill the room. Twirling the volume dial up high, she noticed that her fingernails looked pathetically raggedy.
    â€œYou are going down the tubes,” she scolded herself. Then she inspected her hands closely. Dry skin, and about a centimeter of cuticle showing.
    Tatiana knew her mother had just gotten a fancy nail kit. She’d probably be annoyed at her for breaking it in, but that was her problem. If she was going to desert her daughter like this, she deserved to lose an emery board or two.
    Tatiana entered her mother’s ornate, marble bathroom and looked around. The bathrobe hanging behind the door made her heart lurch—she missed Natasha horribly and didn’t understand why these “translating emergencies” and special projects always called her away. Wasn’t there anyone else who could do the job for the UN? Someone who didn’t have a daughter? Tatiana opened the twin doors of the vanity under the sink and began digging through the bottles, boxes, and tubes piled up underneath.
    â€œMother, you’re single-handedly keeping Sephora in business,” she grumbled. “Ah!” she yelped, finally reaching a zippered black pouch.
    She sat on the cool tiles and unzipped the patent leather, expecting nothing more than a buffer and some scissors. But something fluttered out and landed on the frilly yellow rug.
    Tatiana picked it up and felt a wave of heat radiate from her heart. What was the English word for this feeling?
    â€œOh, gross,” she said aloud.
    It was a greeting card. With hearts and angels and flowers. Inside—Tatiana couldn’t help opening it—was a note scrawled in masculine handwriting.
    Natasha, I can’t wait until you join me in the islands. The few days we’ll be separated will be torture. Thank you for coming into my life. Tom .
    Gross? This was worse than gross. It made her want to vomit.
    She was used to Natasha dating. That was normal. And anyway, nobody ever really touched her mother, not in her heart. But this sentimental missive—from