The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors Read Online Free Page A

clothes from Goodwill or her nicer things from Kmart. Becca’s clothescame from Bobbie’s, which was more of a boutique, and locally owned. She shuddered at the thought of wearing someone else’s discarded pants or sweaters. Becca was listening, waiting for her chance to say
Maybe my dad could help out
or
Maybe Mrs. Hogg has extra costumes?
when she spotted her dad through the restaurant’s parted curtains. He was walking with the babysitter Millie, his fingers grazing the teen’s forearm. Surely it meant nothing. But something, something warm and spreading in Becca’s gut, told her otherwise.
    “Are you going to finish that?” Carrie asked, pointing to Becca’s pizza bread.
    Becca stared at the black institution-style clock above the door. She saw the minute hand move two clicks counterclockwise. No one else saw.
    Carrie said, “Are you upset because I can’t dance in the recital?”
    “No.” The recital didn’t mean anything in the larger scheme of things. Even at her age, Becca knew that. Feeling nauseated, she looked at Carrie. “Can we go?”
    Carrie grabbed her book bag. “You didn’t eat—”
    “I don’t want it.”
    Carrie snatched Becca’s pizza bread off her plate. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m okay.” After all, her parents were simply going through a rough spot. She saw similar stories on
The Phil Donahue Show
. Certainly they wouldn’t get divorced. Her dad said divorce was tacky. Things would get better.
    Carrie danced that May.
    Rowan saw to it. He thought the recital was important to Becca because it was important to him.
    That April, he drove to Mrs. Drinkwater’s office with the yellow sequined costume, the green tutu, and shoes for Carrie. Mrs. Drinkwater worked as an office assistant for Dr. Calhoun, a neurosurgeon. At three in the afternoon, she sat transcribing arecording of Dr. Calhoun’s diagnosis of a twelve-year-old boy with a brain tumor. She typed wearing headphones. Professor Burke entered the office in jeans and a polo shirt.
    Carrying two bags from Dance Girl, he was there to “save the day.” Mrs. Drinkwater had barely gotten her headphones down around her neck when he swung the plastic bags onto her desk and said, “I’m really in a hurry, Belinda. These are for Carrie. So the girls can dance.” He winked. He smiled.
    She said, “I can’t …” but he was gone.
Who the hell do you think you are?
Belinda Drinkwater did not like Rowan Burke.
    What wasn’t to like? Rowan would want to know. He was intelligent and handsome and soon he’d have tenure, and one day he’d buy that yacht. Come hell or high water, he’d find a way to regain the wealth the Burkes had lost.
    He wasn’t about to let Carrie Drinkwater drop out of the May recital. Not while he resided in Chapel Hill. Not while appearances mattered. If that little girl was his daughter’s best friend, she would dance.
    The recital was, as always, a success. Along with thirty other girls, Becca and Carrie, dressed like yellow tulips, dipping and twirling in first, second, and fifth positions, flitted across the stage.
    After the recital, Mrs. Hogg curtsied onstage with an armful of jonquils. The crowd was on its feet, impressed with the performing eight- and nine-year-olds, their poise and pirouettes.
    Becca’s parents sat proudly in the front row. Belinda Drinkwater sat three rows back. Carrie’s dad had to work late, which was actually a relief to Belinda, who didn’t want him insulting Rowan Burke. She could imagine him saying,
Who the hell do you think you are, showing up at my wife’s job? Do you think you’re better than me? Because, Goddamn it, you’re not! You’re not better than me
. Chapel Hill was like no place the Drinkwaters had ever lived, and except for a handful of snobs, Belinda liked the town. It was charming—“beautified,” the realtor said—a college town withsafe schools and art venues. And amid this culture, the Drinkwaters were making ends meet.
    After the seats had