The Last Good Day of the Year Read Free Page B

bad!”
    â€œMike, you’re acting like an ass.” Susan rolls her eyes, but it’sall for show; she knows it, Mike knows it, and my parents and I know it. Mr. Mitchell has always been this way—loud, inappropriate, goofy—and Susan has always pretended to be
this close
to fed up with him.
    â€œIs Remy home?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
    â€œRemy?” Mike shakes his head. “Who the hell knows what he’s doing? Probably knocking off a 7-Eleven right about now.”
    â€œHe’s out with friends,” Susan says, “but he’ll be home soon. He’s excited to see you, Sam.”
    I’m sure he can’t wait.
    From her place beneath the kitchen table, my little sister, Hannah, taps my leg. I kneel down to meet her at eye level. “What are you doing down here?”
    â€œHiding.” Hannah is five. She’s charming and beautiful, my mother’s new everything. Next January, Hannah will compete in her first beauty pageant. We may not have money to pay our rent every month, but somehow my mother finds room in our budget for as many dance lessons and sequined costumes as Hannah’s pursuits require.
    My parents call her their miracle baby. That’s one way of putting it, I guess. They’ve always used little euphemisms to explain the wide age gaps between some of their children: Gretchen was their “oops” baby; I was their “pleasant surprise.” Out of their four children, only Turtle was planned. Hannah wasn’t an accident, but I wouldn’t call her “planned” as much as I’d call her … I don’t know. Something else.
    â€œCome on up. Everybody is nice, I promise.”
    She pops a thumb into her mouth and shakes her head. She’snot supposed to be sucking her thumb. Mom has tried to break her of the habit by wiping her nail with acetone to make it taste bad.
    â€œWhy are you being shy?”
    She shrugs and removes her thumb just enough to speak clearly. “I want to go home.”
    â€œWe are home. Come on, you’ll be fine.” Before I have a chance to stand up, she scoots past me and goes running down the hallway. The Mitchells barely get a glimpse of her ruffled yellow dress and black patent leather mini-heels before she disappears into the dining room. For the briefest moment, I catch a look of horror on Susan Mitchell’s face, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. I mean, she knew my parents had another child after Turtle disappeared, but I guess seeing her in the flesh really drives home the point: Hannah is their do-over.
    â€œIs she okay upstairs by herself?” Susan’s gaze lingers on the empty hallway as Hannah’s footsteps fade above us.
    â€œShe’s not by herself,” I say. “Gretchen is up there, too, but I think she’s in the shower.”
    My mom’s smile always seems genuine, even when it’s not. It’s a skill she picked up as a teenage beauty queen. “Why don’t you go check on her?” She beams at me. Her eyes sparkle, but her jaw is clenched.
    â€œOkay.” I pause. “Do you mean Hannah? Or Gretchen?”
    â€œShe means Gretchen.” Mike winks at me. “Go make sure she doesn’t already have a boy up there in her bedroom.” He winces as the words are still leaving his mouth. “Christ, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”
    My mom pretends he didn’t say anything that would require an apology. “You’ve been getting some sun, Mike. You look great.”
    My dad hands him a fresh beer. “Have something to wash your foot down.” Beads of sweat are gathered along his hairline, even though the house is cool. A fat vein pulses on the side of his neck. “Drink up, buddy. It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”
    Gretchen is on the floor in our parents’ bedroom. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and she’s wearing a