Liars and Fools Read Online Free Page A
with your experience?
Peter, if you donât understand by now, thereâs not much point in me trying to explain. Momâs voice was angry and loud.
Well, one of those GPS rescue things at least, so the coast guard could find you if you needed help. You donât even have to use the damn thing unless itâs an emergency.
Mom shrugged him off. Iâll be fine, Peter.
Right. Youâll be fine, Dad said. And thatâs all you care about, isnât it? You, you, you. He stood up . Iâve had enough of this, Jennifer. It isnât fair to Fiona or to me.
I leaned over the railing. Leave me out of it, Dad, I shouted. Anyway, Mom knows what sheâs doing.
Dad looked up, red-faced and angry. Fiona! What are you doing up?
Go back to bed, honey. Momâs voice was firm, but she smiled up at me, like she was glad I was on her side.
Stop trying to tell her what to do all the time, I said to Dad. She knows what sheâs doing. You donât even know how to sail.
He opened his mouth and closed it again, shaking his head as if he couldnât find the words. Then he turned and walked right out the front door. At eleven oâclock at night. Mom made hot chocolate for me and told me about the trip to the South Pacific she was planning. She was going to fly down and spend three weeks with a friend who had been cruising for the last two years. She showed me a picture of the boat: a new-looking, white thirty-six footer with a center-cockpit, flashy, but not as pretty as Eliza J.
I tried to sound like I was excited for her, but I couldnât help thinking about what I had overheard. Theyâd had arguments before, but this was different. What did Dad mean, Iâve had enough of this ? For the first time, I wondered if they might actually get divorced.
When I was little, Mom had a different boatâa smaller one, called Banana Split . Dad used to come sailing occasionally, but he never liked it much. He got seasick, and anti-nausea drugs made him sleepy. And Banana Split was so small, he couldnât stand up in the cabin or stretch out in the bed. When I was eight, Mom sold Banana Split and bought Eliza J . Bigger beds, standing headroom, and sturdy enough for any conditions. She wanted to do a long trip: the three of us, sailing down to Mexico or across the Pacific to Hawaii, living on the boat together for months or years.
But Dad wouldnât do it. He said that even on the new boat, he would still get seasick, and besides, he couldnât afford to take that kind of time off work. Mom wasâin her own wordsâdevastated. They started fighting all the time. And Dad stopped sailing completely. He wouldnât even set foot on Eliza J . Mom got more and more into it and started crewing on other peopleâs boats, helping them on long passages in the South Pacific and the Caribbean. She took off for weeks at a time. Youâd think Dad would have been happy that sheâd found a way to pursue her dreams, but all he said was that it cost way too much money. He was always going on about what things cost.
I hated it when my parents fought, but I was secretly glad I didnât have to share sailing with my dad. It was the one time my mom slowed down enough to really talk to me. It was our special thing.
Now I sat on the edge of Dadâs bed, on the side that used to be my momâs. Back when she was alive, there were always messy stacks of books and magazines on her bedside table. A few weeks after she died, Dad tidied it up. It stayed bare for months, but slowly he had taken over Momâs side, so now he had two bedside tables covered with his junk. I didnât like to look at it. It was like even the space Mom used to occupy was slowly disappearing.
I looked at the phone and considered calling Abby. Then I remembered the way sheâd looked away from me when Mrs. Moskin said we could work with partners for the science project. I still hadnât asked liars and
Peter, if you donât understand by now, thereâs not much point in me trying to explain. Momâs voice was angry and loud.
Well, one of those GPS rescue things at least, so the coast guard could find you if you needed help. You donât even have to use the damn thing unless itâs an emergency.
Mom shrugged him off. Iâll be fine, Peter.
Right. Youâll be fine, Dad said. And thatâs all you care about, isnât it? You, you, you. He stood up . Iâve had enough of this, Jennifer. It isnât fair to Fiona or to me.
I leaned over the railing. Leave me out of it, Dad, I shouted. Anyway, Mom knows what sheâs doing.
Dad looked up, red-faced and angry. Fiona! What are you doing up?
Go back to bed, honey. Momâs voice was firm, but she smiled up at me, like she was glad I was on her side.
Stop trying to tell her what to do all the time, I said to Dad. She knows what sheâs doing. You donât even know how to sail.
He opened his mouth and closed it again, shaking his head as if he couldnât find the words. Then he turned and walked right out the front door. At eleven oâclock at night. Mom made hot chocolate for me and told me about the trip to the South Pacific she was planning. She was going to fly down and spend three weeks with a friend who had been cruising for the last two years. She showed me a picture of the boat: a new-looking, white thirty-six footer with a center-cockpit, flashy, but not as pretty as Eliza J.
I tried to sound like I was excited for her, but I couldnât help thinking about what I had overheard. Theyâd had arguments before, but this was different. What did Dad mean, Iâve had enough of this ? For the first time, I wondered if they might actually get divorced.
When I was little, Mom had a different boatâa smaller one, called Banana Split . Dad used to come sailing occasionally, but he never liked it much. He got seasick, and anti-nausea drugs made him sleepy. And Banana Split was so small, he couldnât stand up in the cabin or stretch out in the bed. When I was eight, Mom sold Banana Split and bought Eliza J . Bigger beds, standing headroom, and sturdy enough for any conditions. She wanted to do a long trip: the three of us, sailing down to Mexico or across the Pacific to Hawaii, living on the boat together for months or years.
But Dad wouldnât do it. He said that even on the new boat, he would still get seasick, and besides, he couldnât afford to take that kind of time off work. Mom wasâin her own wordsâdevastated. They started fighting all the time. And Dad stopped sailing completely. He wouldnât even set foot on Eliza J . Mom got more and more into it and started crewing on other peopleâs boats, helping them on long passages in the South Pacific and the Caribbean. She took off for weeks at a time. Youâd think Dad would have been happy that sheâd found a way to pursue her dreams, but all he said was that it cost way too much money. He was always going on about what things cost.
I hated it when my parents fought, but I was secretly glad I didnât have to share sailing with my dad. It was the one time my mom slowed down enough to really talk to me. It was our special thing.
Now I sat on the edge of Dadâs bed, on the side that used to be my momâs. Back when she was alive, there were always messy stacks of books and magazines on her bedside table. A few weeks after she died, Dad tidied it up. It stayed bare for months, but slowly he had taken over Momâs side, so now he had two bedside tables covered with his junk. I didnât like to look at it. It was like even the space Mom used to occupy was slowly disappearing.
I looked at the phone and considered calling Abby. Then I remembered the way sheâd looked away from me when Mrs. Moskin said we could work with partners for the science project. I still hadnât asked liars and
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