Read Zen and Xander Undone for Free Online Page A

so I don’t even see why she cares about it. We roll to a stop at a red light, and she bends over the letter, holding it in both hands, reading and rereading it.
    â€œWell, if he does call the cops, I’m not protecting you, Xander. Don’t think I will.”
    â€œDon’t worry about the cops,” she says, a strange edge to her voice. “Worry about John Phillips.”
    â€œWho’s John Phillips?”
    â€œRead it yourself.” She gives me a weird sideways look just before turning onto Williston Road. She doesn’t have the usual playful glint in her eye. If I had to guess, I’d say she was shocked.
    I don’t want to humor her, but I’m curious, so I read the letter. By the time I get to the bottom of the page, my heartbeat feels weak and unsteady.
    Â 
Dear Mr. Blackstone,
    Â 
As you requested, I’m writing to acknowledge receipt of the package you sent at Marie’s request. I loved her very much, and her death has dealt me a terrible blow. This was a gift I gave her years ago, so it will be a beautiful reminder of her.
I thank you for your sensitivity and discretion in dealing with this matter.
Most sincerely,
John Phillips

The Statue
    â€œM AYBE D AD KNOWS who he is,” I suggest.
    Xander is lying on my bed, kicking her bare legs at the ceiling. It’s late and we’ve just gone through Mom’s entire folder for the tenth time, but we’ve found nothing that tells us who John Phillips is. Xander is sucking on her third fudge bar, and I’m peeling the skins off grapes and eating them. Peeling things, anything, is something I do when I’m nervous.
    â€œIf we don’t know who he is, why would Dad?” she demands. The side of her face is scrunched into my pillow, and she’s looking at me very seriously.
    I know what she’s thinking and I don’t even want to go there. “Not Mom.”
    â€œWhy not? I got my sluttiness from
somewhere.
”
    â€œIt’s not a possibility, Xander. Just drop it.”
    â€œWell then, answer me this: why would Mom keep John Phillips a secret from us?”
    â€œMaybe he just never came up,” I say, though my stomach tumbles. It
is
strange that we’ve never even heard the name before, considering Mom left him something in her will.
I loved her very much,
he’d said. And there was something more that I didn’t like. The word
discretion. Thank you for your sensitivity and discretion,
it had said. Why should Mr. Blackstone be discreet? Doesn’t that mean he’s keeping a secret? But I still think Xander is jumping to conclusions. “There’s no way Mom would ever cheat on Dad.”
    â€œOkay, then you ask Dad who he is.”
    â€œNo.” I finger the only other paper that mentions John Phillips. It’s an addendum to Mom’s will that we never saw, and I’m pretty sure Dad doesn’t know about it either. It’s a worksheet with lots of lines on it, like the one she used to give things away to her friends. On this worksheet, though, is only one name, and next to it are the words
Boehm fig 10203.
    â€œWhat is a Boehm fig?” I ask Xander. “Like a fig tree?”
    Instead of answering my question like a polite person would do, she ignores me and fires up my laptop.
    It takes forever for my computer to warm up, but she finally gets to the search engine and types in the phrase from the worksheet. A whole bunch of websites about antiques pop up. I’m even more confused than before. “What the hell?”
    But Xander yells, “Oh my god!” and runs out of my room.
    â€œWait!” I follow her down the stairs and into the living room. Xander flips on the light and stares into Mom’s curio cabinet.
    Mom collected bird figurines since she was ten years old. She and her grandpa used to go bird watching together, and he’s the one who started the collection for her. Every year for her birthday he bought her