The Silver Linings Playbook - By Matthew Quick Page 0,46

drunk. But it's all I can think about: how my mother is being driven to drink - how I'm driving my mother to drink, and my father isn't helping much either.

After grabbing my framed picture of Nikki, I climb the stairs to the attic, set Nikki up next to my pillow, and get into my sleeping bag. I leave the lights on so I can fall asleep looking at Nikki's freckled nose, which is exactly what I do.

When I open my eyes, Kenny G is standing over me, his legs bridging my body, a foot on either side of my chest; the sexy synthesizer chords are softly lighting the darkness.

The last time Mr. G visited my parents' attic flashes through my head - my father kicking and punching me, my father threatening to send me back to the bad place - so I close my eyes, hum a single note, and silently count to ten, blanking my mind.

But Kenny G is undaunted.

The soprano sax enters Mr. G's lips once more and "Songbird" takes flight. I keep my eyes closed, hum a single note, and silently count to ten, blanking my mind, but he continues to blow his horn. The little white scar above my right eyebrow starts to burn and itch as the melody flutters toward climax. Desperately, I want to pound the heel of my hand against my forehead, but instead I keep my eyes closed, hum a single note, and silently count to ten, blanking my mind.

Just when Kenny G's smooth jazz seems unconquerable -

Seven, eight, nine, ten.

Suddenly silence.

When I open my eyes, I see Nikki's still face, her freckled nose - I kiss the glass, feeling so relieved that Kenny G has stopped playing. I exit my sleeping bag, look all around the attic - moving a few dusty boxes and other items, searching behind hanging rows of out-of-season clothes - and Mr. G is gone. "I've defeated him," I whisper. "He didn't make me punch my forehead, and - "

I see a box marked "Pat" and begin to experience that bad feeling I sometimes get just before something unpleasant is about to happen. It feels as though I have to go to the bathroom very badly, even though I know I don't.

The box is at the far end of the attic. It was hidden under a braided rug I moved when I was searching for Kenny G. I have to navigate my way back through the mess I made during my search, but soon I reach the box. I flip open the flaps at the top, and my Collingswood High School soccer jacket is on top. I take it out of the box and hold the dusty thing up. The jacket looks so small. I'd rip the yellow leather sleeves off if I tried it on now, I think, and then set the relic down on another nearby box. When I next look into the "Pat" box, I am shocked and scared into rearranging the attic so it looks exactly how it was before I began searching for Mr. G.

When the attic is restored, I lie in my sleeping bag, feeling as if I am in a dream. Several times during the night I get up, move the braided rug, and look in the "Pat" box again, just to make sure I had not hallucinated before. Every time, the contents condemn Mom and make me feel betrayed.
Chapter 24

Mom's Handwriting Emerges

The sun bursts through the attic window and lands on my face, warming it, until I open my eyes and greet the day with a squint. After a kiss, I return Nikki to my bedroom dresser and find my mother still asleep in my bed. I notice that the glass of water I left her is now empty, and I am glad to have left it there, even if I am mad at Mom now.

As I descend the staircase, I smell something burning.

When I reach the kitchen, my father is standing in front of the stove. He is wearing Mom's red apron.

"Dad?"

When he turns around, he has a spatula in one hand and a pink oven mitt on the other. Behind him, meat hisses - a thick river of smoke flies up into the exhaust fan.

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking."

"Cooking what?"

"Steak."

"Why?"

"I'm hungry."

"Are you frying it?"

"I'm cooking it Cajun style. Blackened."

"Maybe you should turn the burner down?" I suggest, but he returns to his cooking, continuing to flip the sizzling cut over and over, so I go down into