The Sky Beneath My Feet,Used

Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.The Sky Beneath My FeetBy Lisa Samson Thomas NelsonCopyright 2013 Lisa SamsonAll right reserved.ISBN: 9781595545459Contents1. Jesus Fish............................................12. Now I Lay Me Down.....................................183. Full Retreat..........................................394. Blue Throbbing Fullness...............................525. RentaMob............................................676. Desert Father.........................................787. Man Gave Names to All the Animals.....................1008. Good Christian Lady...................................1169. The Feast of St. Rick.................................13510. A Night Visitor......................................15111. Only Trying to Help..................................16712. The Reflecting Ditch.................................18313. Bad Habit............................................19914. Thelma & Louise......................................22115. A Little Rain Must Fall..............................23116. Home at Last.........................................24517. The Everything Fast..................................25518. Mural, Mural on the Wall.............................26519. It Takes a Village...................................27920. All Saints...........................................293Chapter OneJesus FishEvery once in a while, I glance at the rearview mirror and see my own eyes staring back at me. It's disconcerting. I'd forgotten you were in there.And then, blink, she's gone again.Or I am.Maybe it's the eighties music on the radio, or the breeze coming through the old VW van's rolleddown window, the warm sun on my bare arm. Maybe it's idling on the curb out in front of the high school, waiting as the kids tramp past in twos and threes, their backpacks slung over their shoulders. I don't know what summons her up. The old me. My former self.The hatchback pops open behind me. Without a word, Eli shoves his bike in, cocking the front wheel over the backseat. He slams the hatch and comes around to the passenger door. Some passing girls call out to him and wave, then he slumps into the seat, pulling the door shut.Unlike his older, bookish brother, who speaks with equal parts fear and condescension whenever the subject of public school comes up, Eli wouldn't have it any other way. He likes it. He's even popular."So what's wrong with your bike?" I ask.Eli doesn't answer, doesn't even acknowledge my presence. He just reaches for the radio and changes the channel. "How can you listen to that stuff?""Hey, you don't know what you're talking about. My music's cool again.""Whatever."He flicks his hand in the air, beckoning me to drive."What's that?" I ask."Let's go.""What was that thing with your hand?""What, this?" He does it again with an impish smile. "That's called a gesture.""I'll show you another gesture if you keep it up. I'm your mom, not your taxi driver. So what's wrong with your bike, anyway?""Don't let the people at church catch you making rude hand gestures," he says. "Or the people on the road, now that we have the Jesus fish on the bumper.""I told you the fish was ironic.""Sure it is." He glances over his shoulder. "I bent the back wheel again.""Again? You weren't doing tricks, were you?""Tricks?" He smiles at the word. "Yeah, I was doing tricks.""Is that not what they're called? I can't keep up with the lingo.""Don't try," he says. "I don't want to have the Cool Mom.""Too bad." Reaching in the door compartment, I pull out my white plastic shades. "You already have the Cool Mom, so deal with it.""Right," he says, dragging the word out and smiling at his reflection in the window."And stop admiring your own reflection."On the verge of his sixteenth birthday, my younger son is becoming a narcissist. Born with the kind of languid masculine grace that pairs well with the squarejawed facial symmetry and thick, black