A Moment of Weakness by Karen Kingsbury

sober enough to talk.
    There was a crash in the kitchen, and Jade followed the sound. The cracked kitchen countertop was covered with a dozen empty beer bottles, the mangled remains of five fried chicken parts, and congealed pools of spilled gravy. Her father was leaning against the refrigerator, swaying slightly and standing in a pool of beer and broken glass.
    He saw Jade and scowled. “Don’t jus’ stan’ there!” He glared at her with bloodshot eyes. “Clean it up!”
    Jade sighed. “Daddy, why do you have to do this?” She set down her purse and stooped to pick up the larger pieces of glass. “Did you cut your foot?”
    “Footz fine. Hurry up. You think I like bein’ stuck here?”
    For as long as they’d lived in Kelso, Jade had had two fathers. One, a quiet, hard-working man who was humbly apologetic to her for his ineptitude at knowing what it took to raise a little girl. The other … the other stood before her now. A belligerent, drunken, miserable man who took out his frustration with life on Jade because she was the only one around.
    Mornings were the best. He would wake up groggy and pained from the hangover, and his voice, his eyes, his entire countenance would be different.
    “Jade, baby, could you be a doll and pick up some milk when you’re out today?” he would say on his way out the door. Sometimes he’d search for her and hug her. Occasionally he would apologize for the night before. Always he wore regret in his eyes and the haunting shades of failure.
    Jade took a rag and began cleaning the floor as her father stepped unsteadily around her and wiped his wet feet on thethreadbare carpet. She was still picking up broken glass as he shuffled to his easy chair. She would never understand how he managed to hold a job at the garage, fixing cars and making enough money to get by, when he went to work each day ravaged by the effects of another hard-drinking night.
    She could hear him pop the top on another bottle. “Where ya been?” He didn’t talk when he was drunk, he barked. His voice was abrasive, short tempered, and full of accusation.
    The glass was cleaned up, and Jade ran the cloth once more over the floor, hating the way it made her hands smell like beer. “I ran into an old friend, someone from Virginia.”
    Her father was used to holding conversations in a drunken state. He thought over Jade’s comment and then bellowed. “What friend?”
    Jade wiped her hands on a towel and took a spot on the sofa across from her father. “Tanner Eastman. Remember him?”
    Her father belched loudly. “Eastman … Eastman. Oh, yeah. Snobby folks across the street.”
    Jade noticed the gravy stains on her father’s undershirt and the chicken crumbs scattered on the floor around him. She wondered what he would think come morning if he could see how he looked now. “Tanner wasn’t a snob. He and I used to play together.”
    “You did?”
    “Yes.” Where had her father thought she was all those hours she spent away from home?
He didn’t care then, and he doesn’t care now
.
    “I don’t remember it.”
    “It’s true, Dad. Until we moved he was my best friend.”
    “Whas he doin’ here?”
    “An internship for the university he attends.”
    Her father scowled. “Told ya he was a snob.” He raised hisbottle and took a long swig. “Ahhhh. What about ol’ Jim Rudolph? Whatever happened to him?”
    “I’m not talking about Jim, Daddy.”
    Her father raised part way out of his chair in a threatening motion. “Don’ get smart with me, y’ng lady. You might be grown up but you still haffa show a little respect.”
    Jade stared at her hands. Why did she bother?
    Her father plopped back into his chair. “Don’t get your hopes up, Jade.”
    “What?”
    “That Eastman’s a snob. ‘S too good for trash like you an’ me.”
    Jade stood to leave. She’d had enough of her father’s encouragement for one night. “Tanner’s my friend. We had a nice dinner and caught up on our