Diamond Willow Read Free Page B

have
    always been so
    beautiful—deep,
    clear brown. Intelligent.
    I call it dog-love, that way
    she looks at us. Now her eyes
    are crusted with—with what ? They’re
    all bandaged, and when I lift a corner of the
    bandage, I see a bloody mess . When Dad took her
    to the vet, he didn’t even ask me to go along! And now
    he hasn’t told me what she said. He was silent when he
    brought Roxy in and made her bed beside the stove.
    Dad’s not exactly accusing me out loud, but
    everything he does says, Willow,
    how could you? I trusted you!
    Roxy was our best dog.
    You knew that.
    Yes, Dad—
    I knew
    that.
    Â 
    I
    don’t
    get up early
    like I usually do.
    I stay in bed when Dad
    gets up to feed the dogs. Mom
    comes in to see how I’m doing, and
    I say, Mom, I think I better stay home
    from school today. I can’t walk
    too well. Her face tells me
    she’ll tell Dad for me,
    but she’s not sure
    I’m telling
    the entire
    truth.
    Â 
    Dad
    changes
    Roxy’s bandage and
    makes sure she’s comfortable
    before he goes to work. After he’s gone,
    I go in to see her. She can’t see me, of course,
    but she whimpers when she hears me coming, so I
    kneel down beside her. I might cry, and I don’t want her
    to hear me do that. I’ll try to be as brave as she is. Oh, Roxy,
    I’m sorry! I knew that blind curve was coming up.
    I should have slowed down sooner.
    Roxy licks my face,
    sniffs my leg
    where I’m
    hurt,
    too.
    Â 
    I
    know
    Kaylie must be
    wondering where I am.
    At 11:48, when we have lunch, she
    calls from school. (We always eat together.)
    Willow, what happened? Your dad said you got hurt!
    I don’t want to hear about my dad right now. All the kids
    think he’s so great—they can’t wait to get to eighth grade and have
    him for science. I’m dreading that. What if he gets mad at me at home,
    and then at school I have to sit through science class with him? Thanks,
    Kaylie, but you don’t need to feel sorry for me. I say, What Dad meant
    was, Roxy got hurt. You know—his favorite dog? He’s had her since I
    was Zanna’s age! Oh, Kaylie , he’s been training her for … forever,
    to be his lead dog! And now I think she’s blind! Nobody
    will say so, but her eyes are all bloody and gross!
    Kaylie interrupts: What about you, Willow?
    What happened to your leg? Why
    aren’t you here today? I don’t
    have anyone to sit with.
    She’s good at changing
    the subject. Sit with
    Richard, I suggest.
    Make someone
    happy .
    Â 
    Dad
    comes home
    right after school
    and goes straight to Roxy.
    I go to my room and close the door.
    Willow, he calls to me, but I can’t tell if he’s
    going to get mad ( Willow, get out here and look
    at the once-beautiful eyes of my best dog ) or be nice
    ( Please, can we talk about this ? ). Probably, he’s mad.
    Who wouldn’t be? Zanna comes in and sits on the
    edge of her bed, looking at me like, Boy, are you
    in big trouble. I start to say shut up, but at the
    last second I realize she didn’t actually say it.
    After a while, Mom knocks. I let her in; she
    sits beside me, asks if she can see my leg.
    It’s not too bad, I say. I roll up my jeans
    so I can show her where the bruise has
    turned some ugly shade of purple-
    brown. She touches the swollen
    place with her cool fingers.
    Bad enough, she says.
    And here’s what’s
    so great about
    my mom:
    that is
    all she
    says.
    Â 
    I
    can’t
    avoid Dad
    forever. We do live
    in the same house together,
    after all. When Mom calls me
    for dinner, I take a deep breath and go
    out to the kitchen. Dad’s with Roxy, and I
    don’t look at either of them. Well, I try not to.
    Dad calls me over. Can we talk about this, Willow?
    He’s looking at Roxy’s face , not mine. Shall I tell you
    what the vet said? he asks. It isn’t really a question, and
    I can’t exactly say, No,