have"
"Oh, hush. It's as good a surprise now as it would've been in the morning."
"Yes, and you're the sweetest daughter in the world for buying it, but" She picked up the empty bag and started fitting the carton back into it. "These things aren't cheap. Why, a fancy gizmo like this"
"Is top-of-the-line and worth every penny." Dina snatched the receipt from her mother's hand and crumpled it. The shopping bag was taken away and wadded. "You'd buy one for me, if I was being poked and pinched bloody all the time, so end of discussion."
Oops. She grinned, hoping to magically turn the last part, that teensy finis which might be interpreted as an order, into a joke. A witty rejoinder. A
Her mother bent down and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, baby. You shouldn't have spent the money, but it is a trial when my fingers are too sore to work a crochet hook."
She was quick to grouse about everything from foods she craved that were on the restricted list to unwed celebrities who hatched their young like guppies. Aches, pains and physical discomforts were endured in silence.
Bravery was admirable. Except it forced constant vigilance, attentiveness to every subtle twitch, grimace, blemishany deviation from whatever constituted normal. Had Harriet hovered over Dina and Randy as diligently when they were children, they'd have whistled up the stork and demanded a change of address.
The paper bags contained an anti-inflammatory prescribed for arthritis and two types of ophthalmic drops to control Harriet's glaucoma. One of the latter required refrigeration. As she moved to the kitchen, Dina cocked an eyebrow, angled sideways in the chair, then looked back toward the hall. No oxygen hose trailed along the carpet.
"Something seems to be missing. But jeepers, I can't imagine what it is."
Her mother shrugged and closed the fridge. "So I left my leash on the bed for a minute or two. What's the harm?"
Dina dropped her head into her hands. Maybe it wasn't too late to whistle up that stork.
* * *
Jack raised his head from his hands and blew out a breath. It stank of beer, rancid onions from the chili dog and rings he'd gulped for dinner and the five pots of coffee he'd chased them with.
A scrambled egg, dry toast and a glass of milk next door at Al's diner would absorb the acid gnawing craters in Jack's stomach. A glance at his watch, then at the parking lot visible out the office window nixed the idea. Neighborhood bars had poured their customers out on the street over an hour ago, but Thursday-night-into-Friday-morning crowds were different from weekenders.
Rebels without a brain, in Jack's opinion. As if knocking back a sixer the night before the work week ended was a form of social commentary. Clock in Friday with a killer hangover and perfect impression of a toilet bowl's rim carved on your face and that'll by God show the boss who's boss.
"Nice attitude, McPhee," he muttered. "Speaking from experience, I presume?"
He was. His throbbing neck and shoulders brought back memories of regular worship services at the porcelain altar. Hunkering over a desk for hours on end exacted similar punishment with none of the fun of getting there.
Sitting back in his chair, he surveyed the ream of photocopies and newspaper stories separated into categorized stacks. A case beginning with little or nothing to go on was common. One with an old-growth forest in paper form splayed across his desk should solve itself. And might, if he could see the pattern for all the damn trees.
It was there. He was just too bleary-eyed to find it. The usual remedy for mental fatigue was a good night's sleep. A fabulous idea, if he could unplug his overloaded brain and stuff it in his sock drawer. Otherwise, the yammering in his head would be like the New York Stock Exchange after the opening bell.
A legal pad lay on the floor
"Oh, hush. It's as good a surprise now as it would've been in the morning."
"Yes, and you're the sweetest daughter in the world for buying it, but" She picked up the empty bag and started fitting the carton back into it. "These things aren't cheap. Why, a fancy gizmo like this"
"Is top-of-the-line and worth every penny." Dina snatched the receipt from her mother's hand and crumpled it. The shopping bag was taken away and wadded. "You'd buy one for me, if I was being poked and pinched bloody all the time, so end of discussion."
Oops. She grinned, hoping to magically turn the last part, that teensy finis which might be interpreted as an order, into a joke. A witty rejoinder. A
Her mother bent down and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, baby. You shouldn't have spent the money, but it is a trial when my fingers are too sore to work a crochet hook."
She was quick to grouse about everything from foods she craved that were on the restricted list to unwed celebrities who hatched their young like guppies. Aches, pains and physical discomforts were endured in silence.
Bravery was admirable. Except it forced constant vigilance, attentiveness to every subtle twitch, grimace, blemishany deviation from whatever constituted normal. Had Harriet hovered over Dina and Randy as diligently when they were children, they'd have whistled up the stork and demanded a change of address.
The paper bags contained an anti-inflammatory prescribed for arthritis and two types of ophthalmic drops to control Harriet's glaucoma. One of the latter required refrigeration. As she moved to the kitchen, Dina cocked an eyebrow, angled sideways in the chair, then looked back toward the hall. No oxygen hose trailed along the carpet.
"Something seems to be missing. But jeepers, I can't imagine what it is."
Her mother shrugged and closed the fridge. "So I left my leash on the bed for a minute or two. What's the harm?"
Dina dropped her head into her hands. Maybe it wasn't too late to whistle up that stork.
* * *
Jack raised his head from his hands and blew out a breath. It stank of beer, rancid onions from the chili dog and rings he'd gulped for dinner and the five pots of coffee he'd chased them with.
A scrambled egg, dry toast and a glass of milk next door at Al's diner would absorb the acid gnawing craters in Jack's stomach. A glance at his watch, then at the parking lot visible out the office window nixed the idea. Neighborhood bars had poured their customers out on the street over an hour ago, but Thursday-night-into-Friday-morning crowds were different from weekenders.
Rebels without a brain, in Jack's opinion. As if knocking back a sixer the night before the work week ended was a form of social commentary. Clock in Friday with a killer hangover and perfect impression of a toilet bowl's rim carved on your face and that'll by God show the boss who's boss.
"Nice attitude, McPhee," he muttered. "Speaking from experience, I presume?"
He was. His throbbing neck and shoulders brought back memories of regular worship services at the porcelain altar. Hunkering over a desk for hours on end exacted similar punishment with none of the fun of getting there.
Sitting back in his chair, he surveyed the ream of photocopies and newspaper stories separated into categorized stacks. A case beginning with little or nothing to go on was common. One with an old-growth forest in paper form splayed across his desk should solve itself. And might, if he could see the pattern for all the damn trees.
It was there. He was just too bleary-eyed to find it. The usual remedy for mental fatigue was a good night's sleep. A fabulous idea, if he could unplug his overloaded brain and stuff it in his sock drawer. Otherwise, the yammering in his head would be like the New York Stock Exchange after the opening bell.
A legal pad lay on the floor
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