Read Beyond Reach for Free Online Page B

dropped her any hints this year. I wouldn't be surprised if she totally forgets.”
    “Poor Samantha.”
    I laugh. Thanks for the pity.”
    “Well, I'll try to think of some way we can celebrate. Even if it's just you and me, okay?”
    “Sounds good to me.”
    “So keep that night open. It's on Saturday, isn't it?”
    “Yeah.” Then she pulls up at my house, and I thank her for the ride and go inside. It looks like my mom finally got home from work, but since the house is pretty quiet, I'm guessing she's gone to bed already and it's not even ten yet.
    I walk around the semi-dark house for a while, just quietly going in and out of the rooms like I'm looking for something, although I don't know what it could possibly be. If anyone were watching me, they'd probably wonder about my state of mind. Maybe I wonder too. But sometimes I do this.
    At first it's sort of comforting to wander around the house and remember things we did here together as a family. Iremember how my dad and Zach would sit there on the couch and play Zach's latest video game—never anything as lethal as
Killer7—
at least while dad was alive. I also remember how sometimes all four of us would make popcorn and watch a video together, usually some G-rated Disney flick since Mom didn't approve of Zach and me being exposed to violence or questionable content of any kind when we were young. This still strikes me as strangely ironic considering how my dad was murdered in the line of duty. I guess parents can't protect you from everything.
    I don't know exactly why, but I am suddenly feeling really, really lonely. And sad. And I wonder why our family has turned out the way it has. I mean, with Dad gone, never to come back again. And now Zach's gone too. Oh, I realize he'll probably be back someday and hopefully in a lot better shape than when he left, ßut it's like the McGregors have been torn apart. Like we've been broken and we can't quite get fixed again.
    I think my sense of hopelessness is partly due to my mom turning her back on God. Oh, she doesn't use those words. She just says she's too busy or not interested. But I know that underneath she's mad at God. The same way I used to be. The way Mrs. Clark was today. And sometimes I try to talk to her about it, but she just shuts down and sometimes even gets mad. I don't remember my mom getting mad so much when we were kids, back when my dad was around to sort of buffer things and take up the slack. But in the past few years it seems like little things can easily set her off. And so, in away, I should be glad that she's gone to bed. But just the same, I'm still lonely.
    Eventually the house feels too big for me, and I go up to my room, turn on the lights, put in a quiet CD, and close my door. I wish I'd said yes when Olivia mentioned the idea of me spending the night at her house tonight. But at the time I felt tired and thought I just wanted to go home. Now I wish I wasn't here.
    Time to plug in to God,” I tell myself out loud. Then I open my Bible and begin to read. And then I pray. After that, I write some things in my journal. And by the time I'm done, I feel a lot better. Okay, I'm not exactly jubilant, but I'm fine. And as it turns out, I actually am pretty tired and relieved to sleep in my own bed.
    When I wake up in the morning, it feels like I'm on the cusp of a dream. And although I can't be sure, it seems like a special dream. I force my sleepy mind to try to remember, and then it all comes back. I was dreaming about my dad. It was my birthday and he had given me a gift in a big box with silver paper and a pale blue bow. I couldn't wait to open it, and it took a long time. There were layers and layers of paper, and as I peeled off still another sheet of gift wrap, the anticipation kept increasing. Then finally I got it off and opened the big box, and the only thing in there was a little brown plastic horse, the kind that comes from a cheap package of assorted farm animals. I held up the horse