Unnatural Calamities Read Free Page A

it’s Cajun-blackened tofu.”
    “Well,” he said, too loud and hearty. “I hate to lure you away from your feast, but how about I spring for a pizza? I mean, we could all go out.”
    Janey hesitated. “But it’s a school night.”
    “Yes, true. But the kids must eat. Come on. What do you say?”
    Mr. Mover sounded like some kind of cheerleader.
    Unfortunately it was a small apartment, so the girls had heard his jovial invitation. The veggies went into the fridge. She’d eat them for lunch for the next couple of days.
    “I’m going with Rachel,” Cynthia informed her dad as they all gathered by Janey’s car to start the which-car-do-we-take negotiations.
    Instead of answering, he shifted toward Janey and took a deep inhalation. Was he enjoying the night air or heaving a heavy sigh of distress? Janey felt a stab of indignation—going out for pizza had not been her idea.
    “Okay,” he said at last, but the girls had already packed into Janey’s car.
    Since the front seat was packed with empty clean containers for Beth, Mr Dunham would have to take his own car. They agreed to meet at the restaurant he picked, a much more upscale pizza place than Janey had in mind. She had coupons to Pizza Hut, not La Bella Luna Restaurante.
    “Janey hates bad pizza. That’s why she always makes her own,” said Rachel to Cynthia, as they picked up the oversized, leather-covered menus and waited for Mr. Dunham. He’d had to return a couple of calls and would be with them soon. Maybe that was his plan. Or maybe he was tired of the girls and wanted to dump them on Janey for a while.
    Cynthia giggled. “I can’t believe your mother lets you call her by her first name.”
    Just as Janey opened her mouth to explain, Rachel turned to her, her eyes wide with a panicked, pleading look.
    Uh oh. What?
    “Well. Ah. Rachel,” she said in a low voice.
    “Yes?”
    “May I speak to you in private for a moment? Cynthia, I see your father coming in the door. If you will excuse us?”
    She waved to Mr. Dunham, who was pulling open the heavy glass front door. He stopped to stare after her as she walked Rachel to the ladies room.
    Janey waited, her back against the edge of a sink, while a middle-aged lady washed her hands and dried them under the noisy hot air for what seemed like a half hour.
    The lady left, and Janey started. “What the hel—heck is going on? Why did you tell Cynthia I am your mother?”
    Rachel scraped at the pale green nail polish on her thumb and didn’t meet Janey’s eyes. “It’s just that it’s so embarrassing. About Penny and all.”
    Janey counted to ten. And tried to remember what it was like to be a teenager again. No, not the same at all. When she was that age she would have been delighted to tell anyone that she had a mother in prison. In fact, she would have been glad to announce her mother was in prison even though Millie, that solid citizen, had never so much as gotten a speeding ticket.
    Janey and Penny had loved to tell lies. It was their favorite hobby back then. Right up there with dressing like cheap sluts.
    “Sweetie, I know it’s hard,” she said at last. “But Penny will be released. Probably sooner rather than later. And how will you explain that? Really, you don’t have to say your mom’s in prison.”
    At the sight of her niece’s white, sad face, she growled baby Rachel’s old favorite cowpoke imitation. “Lissen, honey, you don’t have to say nuthin’. None o’ they derned business. If you need ta lie, say something like she’s a traveling saleslady. Or shooting a film in Istanbul. It’ll make your life much easier.”
    Rachel bit at her lower lip. “But you won’t tell Cynthia or her dad, will you? Please? Promise?”
    “I promise I won’t tell if you promise you will.”
    At last Rachel nodded and whispered, “Deal. But later, okay? Not tonight? Sometime later? I’ll tell Cynthia on my own. Really, I promise.”
    Janey stroked her niece’s curly hair. Confident