On Little Wings Read Online Free Page A

little stunned, “she didn’t mean that literally. You are not related to any murderers. Your mother thinks that some things Sarah did kept your grandmother from recovering from her stroke.” Then he added hastily, “I don’t think that’s medically possible.”
    “What things?” I asked, turning my eyes away from the erratic, white path a moth was cutting through the air.
    “Jennifer, I don’t know how much to tell you. I think your mother should have a chance to speak for herself, now that you know.”
    “Fine. But you don’t know her at all? You don’t know where she lives?
    “I spoke to her once on the phone, years ago. But that didn’t go over well with your mother, either.” He slumped heavily on one leg, his other lanky leg resting casually. My father has horrible posture and a remarkable face.
    “You talked? What is she like?” I asked gently, hoping to gather the truth softly so it would not fall too fast and crush me.
    “She seemed very nice to me. Just like your mom.”
    “Then why won’t Mom talk to her?”
    Dad stared at me as if telling me to refer to his last answer. He didn’t want to say more than necessary. “Where does she live?” I persisted, thinking of that black address against the white screen.
    Dad scanned my face critically. “Why?”
    I knew he knew why. Honesty seemed the only thing left. “I want to call her.”
    He looked down and swore very softly, his hands crammed forcefully into his pockets. The fabric of his jeans moved up and down as he flexed his strong fingers inside his pockets. “It didn’t go well with your mother when I did it and I think it will be worse for her if you try. She’ll feel abandoned.”
    My set face didn’t change. “I want to talk to her.”
    Releasing one hand into the air, he pushed it through his feathery, black hair where it delicately recedes on the side of his forehead. I wondered, not for the first time, how my level-headed father got stuck between two emotional women. It seemed to be taking its toll tonight. “She was still in Smithport,” he conceded almost angrily. So I did remember the name correctly. “I guess I can’t stop you, but I’m starting to regret that I started this mess. It’s getting beyond me. I don’t know what to do next.” His dark eyes and heavy black eyebrows sagged in worry and it made me almost ill with sympathy.
    I reached out and put my hand on his wrist. “I won’t make it worse. I’ll be careful.” He didn’t seem reassured so I changed topics. “Would she like me?” I asked.
    His lips straightened, and then lifted. The sorrow left his mouth and seeped deeper into his eyes. “You have no idea.”
    That is the exact moment I knew she really existed. His assurance of her reaction made her step from the dim pages of my imagination into the world of the living. I suddenly pictured her for an exquisite moment, smiling, sitting on a porch railing and holding her dark, golden arms out to me.
    Then a June bug zipped uncomfortably close to my face and I ducked, losing the image. I couldn’t get it back. When I tried to imagine her again she was sitting on a couch with a bowl of popcorn, pajama-clad and lonely, glancing at her phone, wishing I would call. Only my imagination got it all wrong because she looked just like my mother. When I tried to replace her with the face from the photo she was suddenly a teenager again, sitting on the hood of a brown Buick, wondering why I was calling her aunt.
    Dad pulled me gently to his side and held me there a moment while he looked up at the sky. “I need to get back to your mother.”
    “Is she still crying?” How callous that my only thoughts had been for how much I wanted to meet Sarah and not for my mother’s grief.
    “She’s not talking,” he answered with hesitation. “We’ll have to wait it out. Give her a little space.”
    A person needing space could not be in a better place than Constance, Nebraska. We could almost see the curve of the