The Air We Breathe Read Online Free Page A

means,” Charlotte had told her at the school lunch table as she licked a chocolate pudding blob from a plastic spoon.
    Hanna didn’t want to ask, but the thought was too large now, and if she didn’t open her mouth the pressure would be too much, so she did and asked, “Are you guys getting divorced?”
    Her father looked stunned for a moment, then laughed, his deep snuffle that sounded like the noise huge pigs make when pushing their snouts through the mud. “Of course not. What on earth gave you that idea?”
    Shrugging, Hanna said, “What else can’t you tell me without Mom?”
    Henry slung his arm around Hanna’s slim shoulder and squeezed her against his side. “It’s good news. Trust me. At least I think it is. No one is dying, leaving, or moving. Or turning into a zombie.”
    Hanna giggled. “Okay. I trust you. But, can we still get ice cream after?”
    “Oh, fine,” Henry sighed an airy, exaggerated sigh. “If we must.”
    They walked through their neighborhood’s sidewalked streets lined with large painted-lady Victorians and early 1880’s brick two-stories and soon entered the area of the city where the houses were smaller, packed tighter together, vehicles parked on the side of the street because most had no driveways. Then the buildings grew into storefronts with three or four floors of apartments above as they approached downtown.
    “Bank or post office first?” Henry asked.
    “Post office.”
    Hanna pushed the button on the crosswalk light and waited for the little white man to pop onto the screen and displace the red hand, and when he did, she grabbed her father’s hand and they walked through the intersection, Hanna tugging slightly and walking more quickly. She had always been afraid of getting stuck in the middle of the road when the light changed, vehicles zooming past her, honking and yelling for her to move out of the way. She knew that wouldn’t happen, had seen drivers wait, both patiently and impatiently, for a straggling pedestrian to get out of the crosswalk. It didn’t matter. The fear didn’t go away.
    The Avery Springs post office was an old stone building with marble floors, high ceilings, and rows of metal mailbox doors. The air was naturally cool inside, cooler still if she flattened herself against the wall, which she did as Henry chatted with the clerk and bought a book of stamps. She sucked in a few gulps of water from the fountain, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand to keep the drops on her chin from landing on the front of her dress, but they did anyway. She wanted ice cream now. Her skin, damp before coming inside, now felt tight with dried sweat. She would have washed her face in the fountain if there had been somewhere to dry it—other than her shoulder.
    “Ready?” her father asked.
    Hanna nodded and he held open the heavy door for her. She slipped outside, into the heat, and complained, “It’s like a million degrees.”
    “Impossible.”
    “Dad,” she said, rolling her eyes.
    “There’s a vending machine outside of the bank. Let’s hurry there, and I’ll get you a Brisk.”
    “How about a Sprite?”
    “If you drink a soda now, you’re not having one with lunch.”
    “I’ll take the iced tea, then.”
    The gorgeous day had brought crowds downtown. People pushed strollers or dragged leashed dogs, couples walked hand in hand, children pressed their faces to the store windows, asking for something displayed inside. College students sat on benches playing their guitars, cases opened and displaying a smattering of change, or they congregated at corners, smoking and kicking hacky sacks to one another. Hanna and her father wove through it all, finally arriving at FSRBank, in an area of downtown where there were only offices and professional businesses, and on Saturdays the street was nearly empty. He bought her a water, the tiny lighted message declaring Sold Out when she pressed the Lipton Brisk button, and they went inside.
    There was a line.