Read No Place Like Home for Free Online

dad read it to me like 37 billion times. Even though it’s been a really long time, I can still remember him making all the voices, and he’s the one who cooked green eggs and ham for me all the time, since he was home in the mornings when my mom was working.
    Mix 8 large eggs, 1 cup chopped ham, 1 ⁄ 2 cup chives, chopped to mush, grated cheese if you want, or even a little bit of blue cheese. Mix ’em up, and be sure and get the chive juice into the eggs. In a big iron frying pan, melt a big chunk of butter until it’s sizzling and popping. Pour in the eggs and scramble till they’re soft. Serve with sliced tomatoes and milk and orange juice.
    Chapter 3
    Shane finished the baseboards in less than two hours, and although I went through and examined them, I had to admit they were pretty decent. I’d expected it to take most of the afternoon and could tell by the glitter in his smoky blue eyes that he knew it, too.
    “Good job,” I said, reluctantly.
    He laughed. “Now what, master? And just for the record, am I working in the house to pay back my bail or is this just punishment work? If it’s work to earn money, could you let me in on how much I’m earning, so I’ll know when I’m done?”
    “Two cents an hour,” I said, trying not to look at him. It was partly my fault that he was so bad—I mean aside from the name business. He charmed me. It was also very difficult to punish him, because he turned everything into a big game. In some ways, I guessed it was a blessing. I was also afraid it would get him killed.
    “Cool,” he said, and leaned around the corner to check the clock. “Only five thousand hours to go.” He gave me a bland look and rolled up his sleeves. “What next?”
    “Lunch. For everybody. I’m going to take a shower.”
    “I don’t know if Michael will want anything. He ate a lot this morning. I made him some scrambled eggs and he ate every bite. Drank a big glass of orange juice, too.”
    “Really? He ate an éclair, too.” It was a truly astonishing amount of food for him these days, and my heart lightened.
    Shane bent—even though I’m five-ten, he’s taller—and gave me one of his spontaneous hugs. “Maybe he’s gonna have a good summer. Maybe your witchy aunt is casting a spell over him.”
    I hugged him back, laughing softly. “Maybe.” I wondered if she had any spells hidden away for troubled teens. “Just fix lunch for us, then. I really want a shower.” Probably a nap, too.
    The bathroom was badly in need of updating. It was a tiny room, barely big enough to hold a claw-footed tub, toilet, and tiny sink set on top of a truly ugly pressed-wood vanity that at least provided some storage. It did have one long frame window that let in plenty of light, and Aunt Sylvia had done her best to make it appealing with cloth shower curtains hung around the pitiful, added-on shower. A fern, overgrown in the moist heat, crouched in one corner. A small ceramic statue of a saint—I had no idea which one—perched on a little shelf above it, hints of mildew edging the folds of his skirt.
    Pinning up my hair, I thought about Shane and what Michael had said. The kid really was a lot like me in ways—the fact that he cooked to Michael’s appetite was a good example, and he did it without being asked. It was his own little quest, to discover and cook all the things Michael most liked and prepare them perfectly. He’d learned a lot about cooking when Michael had the restaurant, so his offerings were a cut above the usual teen fare.
    Damn. Drinking and driving—that wasn’t the life I wanted for my child. How could I convince him that was an idiot move?
    I turned on the water in the shower and let it warm up. Outside, a motorcycle cut through the quiet, roaring by the front of the house in obnoxious noise. It sounded like it stopped, and I worried that it might be one of Shane’s new buddies—the troublemakers—but the only one who could drive was Justin, who had been arrested