A Friend at Midnight Read Online Free Page A

and silently transferred both York and box into that. It was the closest she came to telling Michael she loved him. When she slipped her backpack onto her brother’s thin little shoulders and adjusted the straps, Michael hugged her, and this was new for both of them and they ended it quickly.
    And then the hours passed.
    Dad did not come. He did not call to say where he was, or when he was coming. Or if.
    Mom brought Michael a bagel with cream cheese, but Michael shook his head, eyes fixed on the road.
    The morning ended. Michael did not move. Michael who was nothing but movement—an eight-year-old whirlwind.
    Neighbors phoned, asking for updates. Mom tried to be glad she had concerned friends, but she hated the appearance of this. If Michael himself knew the appearance of this, he didn’t say so.
    Reb made him a peanut butter and Fluff sandwich for lunch, just the way he liked it, crusts peeled off instead of cut, but Michael didn’t glance at it.
    Midafternoon, their stepfather sat down on the curb next to him. If you had to have a stepfather, Kells was adequate. That was as far as Lily would go. He was not the sort of stepparent any of them had dreamed of. (If any kid dreams of stepparents.)
    â€œI was thinking—” began Kells.
    â€œHe’ll be here in a minute,” said Michael fiercely.
    Nobody had anything to say after that.
    Lily thought, It will kill Michael if it doesn’t happen.
    She went back in the house and up to her room. She was skeptical of prayer, never paid attention at church and referred to the minister—Dr. Bordon—as Dr. Boring. But into the quiet air of her bedroom, she said, “God?”
    He wasn’t listening. Lily could tell. She spoke more sharply. “God, Michael needs this. Make it happen. Don’t give me that stuff about free will, how people make their own choices, how your choices don’t always intersect with the choices of others in a pleasing fashion and how responsibility lies with the individual. Get down here and make this happen.”
    He was listening now. Lily could tell that too. “Now!” she said fiercely to God.
    At exactly that moment, Dad arrived.
    Even Lily was impressed.
    Into his end of the telephone, Michael whispered, “I’m at the airport, Lily. Dad drove.”
    Lily came quickly, easily and often to wrath, so she arrived at smoking fury instantly. In the same car, she thought, that he was driving two and a half weeks ago when he came ten hours late to get his own little boy, the little boy who begged to live with him. A car without room for a bike and fishing poles and ten boxes and two suitcases. “What do I have to do here?” Dad had said irritably. “Pay to ship this stuff? What is this stuff, anyway? Does it matter?”
    â€œNo,” said Michael quickly. “None of it matters.”
    Kells had said in his bland pudgy way, “I think we can pack most of it if we’re careful,” and their father said, “Whatever,” and Kells got everything except the bike and the fishing poles into the trunk and the backseat, and Michael didn’t care; he didn’t care about one thing except driving away with Dad. Michael could hardly even be bothered to say good-bye. Who were they, anyway? Sisters, mother, stepfather, half brother—so what?
    Dad had come.
    â€œLet me talk to Dad,” said Lily.
    â€œHe isn’t here.”
    â€œWhere is he?”
    â€œHe left.”
    â€œWhat do you mean—left?”
    â€œDon’t tell,” said Michael. “Promise you won’t tell, Lily.”
    More of Lily’s heart burned. Michael did not have secrets. Michael blatted everything to everybody; he was the sharing-est person out there.
    Upstairs Nathaniel abandoned saying “Miikoooo” and returned to “Wiwwy.” He was sobbing between syllables.
    â€œI promise,” said Lily.
    â€œHe was mad at me,” said Michael, in a