"Martin, Ann M - Bsc Special Edition Shannon's Story" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

"Shannon? I was thinking of taking Astrid for a walk. Do you want to come along?"
I stopped and turned around.
"I really have to get my homework done,"
I said. "Thanks anyway. I'll take Astrid later if you want."
My mother looked disappointed for a moment. Then she said, "Maybe Tiffany will want to go."
"Well, if she doesn't, I'll make it an extra-long walk for Astrid," I promised. "As soon as I get the math out of the way."
"If you change your mind," my mother said.
"I'll let you know," I finished. I walked down the hall and up the stairs to my room.
Putting my books down on my desk, I looked out the window. Tiffany was already hard at work on her garden, with Astrid sitting nearby, watching attentively. Tiffany had changed out of the SDS uniform and was wearing faded jeans, sneakers, a big, grubby sweat shirt, and some old gloves that looked too large for her. Probably my father's, I thought. He'd been a serious gardener for awhile, back when I'd been just a kid, but he hadn't done anything outside in the yard for a long time except cook at a Fourth of July barbecue my parents had had last summer.
I smiled, remembering that: my father in his barbecue apron with a tall, silly chef's hat on his head, chasing Astrid, who had managed to grab two hot dogs off the end of the fork as he was lifting them from the grill onto a plate. He hadn't been able to catch her but it
had been a lot of fun. He and my mom had laughed and laughed and she'd told us the story of how she and Dad had cooked dinner for our grandparents, Dad's parents, when she and Dad had first gotten married, and Mom had dropped the pot roast in the middle of the kitchen.
"What did you do?" cried Tiffany.
My father had wriggled his eyebrows and said in a high voice like Julia Childs, "You're always alone in the kitchen."
"You ate it?" Maria had asked.
"We washed it first," said my mom and she and Dad had started laughing all over again.
The grill was in the garage now. I wondered if we'd have a cookout this Fourth of July.
As I watched, Tiffany knelt down, picked up a spade, and began to dig in her garden. She worked with slow, intense concentration. She was like my father that way.
Concentration. It was time I concentrated on my homework. I had a math test coming up the next week, and if I didn't study now, I'd have to work on it over the weekend. That was definitely not part of my game plan.
I pulled out my math book and sat down with a sigh.
I'm not crazy about math the way Maria is, but I do well in school and that's important to me. So I concentrated pretty intensely that
afternoon. When I finally stood up to take a break over an hour had passed.
I looked out the window. Tiffany was still in the garden. She wasn't digging now. In fact, she wasn't doing much of anything. She looked as if she were just sitting there. And Astrid was still sitting next to her.
She didn't look as if she'd gone on a walk with Astrid and Mom. I decided that I had time to take Astrid for a good long walk before our father got home for dinner. Besides, I reasoned, if I did any more math, it was going to spoil my appetite.
Slamming the math book shut, I headed down to get Astrid's leash.
"Shannon?" My mother's disembodied voice came from the kitchen this time.
I felt a twinge of exasperation. Who else did my mom think it would be? "Yes?" I said, unhooking Astrid's leash from the back of the hall closet door.
"Where are you going?"
"Out to take Astrid for a walk," I said.
"Now?" said my mother. She came to the door, holding a stirring spoon in her hand.
"There's plenty of time before dinner," I said.
"It's your turn to set the table, you know," my mother reminded me.
"I know. I'll get it done."
"You don't want to keep me company while I finish up dinner?"
"Let me give Astrid that walk first," I said.
I closed the closet door and turned to see that my mother was frowning. "What is it, Mom?"
"You should wear a jacket," she said. "It's still kind of chilly out."
"This is a heavy sweater. It'll be plenty warm," I answered.
"You really should wear a jacket," my mother insisted.
"Mom! I don't need a jacket!" I heard how sharp my voice sounded and felt bad. But why wouldn't my mother listen to me? Why did she keep treating me as if I were eight years old, like Maria, instead of thirteen and old enough to know whether or not to wear a jacket?
I could tell my mother was about to say something else, and I braced myself, but the telephone came to the rescue with a shrill beep.
"I'll get it!" I said hastily and swooped down the hall and grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"
"Shanny?"
"Hi, Dad. How's it going?"
"I'm not going to be home for dinner.
Would you tell your mom for me?"
So what else is new, I wanted to say. Instead I said, "Okay."
"Work," said my father.
For a moment I thought he was talking about me, asking if I'd finished my homework. I almost told him that I had the math nailed down. But as he went on, I realized he wasn't talking about me at all.
"It's gonna drive me crazy. But what can I do?"
"Okay," I said again.