don't say, 'for fifty dollars.' I don't want him to think I'm irresponsible.
"So you're staying?"
I bite my lip. "Not sure."
"Are you going back?" Just like a cop to ask the same question a whole new way.
"No."
"Are you going somewhere else? You're making me work awfully hard."
"You cops love to interrogate. I don't know yet. Or what. It feels…good to be home. I might even…live here."
"Might?"
"What do you want from me?" I really mock now.
"You don't know what you're going to do," he says.
"That's about it. Except now I find my dad…."
"Your dad is fine. If he gets wind you're staying for him, he'll be upset."
"Are you trying to talk me into leaving?"
"You said you couldn't imagine spending your life here."
That was because of him, not Lowland. I couldn't imagine living in his blind spot for the rest of my life, marrying there, having children there, possibly watching him move on like I knew he would, someday.
"Maybe I have a better imagination…now."
Chapter 20
We order pizza for supper. By eight, we've done all we can until tomorrow, the day before the feast. So tomorrow it gets real. But for now, we've crumbled the four loaves of bread, and everything is chopped. Artie's brought the turkeys home, and Marcus has shown me the craw just like he promised.
Juney begs to stay again, and Marcus says, "No, you need to go home."
And Juney begs and I intervene and Marcus relents. But first Juney must go home and clean up and get ready for bed then he can come back.
"Dad," I say after the Stovers leave and the house seems a little deflated, "Juney mentioned something about a medical condition…you have."
"Oh now," Artie scoffs from his recliner, snapping the newspaper he still reads in half, "what'd he say?"
Dad's not going to make this easy. He's still hoping I just heard about his high cholesterol. "Parkinson's?"
"Yeah I was going to tell you before you had to go back to Chicago," he says.
"Well, I hope so," I say, a little sternly. But I don't feel stern. Not really. I feel like I want to cry. I'm staring at his hands, and the one has a little shaking in the fingers. I love those hands…my whole life has come from…those hands. They're strong, indestructible. This is my dad. I hate Parkinson's or any disease that thinks it can weaken…those hands.
"Come here," Dad says, and I end up kneeling by his feet with my head on his leg and having that cry after all. I had meant to be positive, but I can revert to Juney's age real quickly around my dad.
"I'm sorry," I say after a couple of minutes. I'm sniffing, and he grabs a Kleenex off the box on the end table.
So I wipe my nose, and I end up sitting there looking at him like a puppy, a big puppy. Boy, it's been a long day.
"I'm your dad."
"I know."
"Nothing is going to lick me."
"I know."
"People live for years with this."
"I know. Google," I say softly.
He reaches to stroke my hair. My dad tells me he loves me all the time. He's always been affectionate with me. I know it doesn't come naturally, but he's worried that I haven't had a mother. The day I graduated college, I thought he'd pop a couple buttons he looked so proud. He has no idea that I'm really a loser. He has no idea that he is my sun and without him I whither.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"I ah…I'm not going back to Chicago."
The petting stops. He doesn't withdraw his hand, but it's frozen there.
"Why not?"
"I…I want to be here…in Lowland. I want to stay in Lowland."
"Oh no, you don't." He pulls his hand away now, and I sit my ass on the floor by his feet and wipe my face and look at him.
I radiate patheticness, so I hope he goes easy.
"What?" me
"You are not," he says not with force, "staying here."
"You…don't want me?" Blink, blink.
"Of course, I…what happened? Did something happen? Were you…oh God, were you…?"
"No! No. No." Why does he always go there? I wasn't raped.
He looks dazed as he sits back. Even the thought has his hand shaking a little more. I
"So you're staying?"
I bite my lip. "Not sure."
"Are you going back?" Just like a cop to ask the same question a whole new way.
"No."
"Are you going somewhere else? You're making me work awfully hard."
"You cops love to interrogate. I don't know yet. Or what. It feels…good to be home. I might even…live here."
"Might?"
"What do you want from me?" I really mock now.
"You don't know what you're going to do," he says.
"That's about it. Except now I find my dad…."
"Your dad is fine. If he gets wind you're staying for him, he'll be upset."
"Are you trying to talk me into leaving?"
"You said you couldn't imagine spending your life here."
That was because of him, not Lowland. I couldn't imagine living in his blind spot for the rest of my life, marrying there, having children there, possibly watching him move on like I knew he would, someday.
"Maybe I have a better imagination…now."
Chapter 20
We order pizza for supper. By eight, we've done all we can until tomorrow, the day before the feast. So tomorrow it gets real. But for now, we've crumbled the four loaves of bread, and everything is chopped. Artie's brought the turkeys home, and Marcus has shown me the craw just like he promised.
Juney begs to stay again, and Marcus says, "No, you need to go home."
And Juney begs and I intervene and Marcus relents. But first Juney must go home and clean up and get ready for bed then he can come back.
"Dad," I say after the Stovers leave and the house seems a little deflated, "Juney mentioned something about a medical condition…you have."
"Oh now," Artie scoffs from his recliner, snapping the newspaper he still reads in half, "what'd he say?"
Dad's not going to make this easy. He's still hoping I just heard about his high cholesterol. "Parkinson's?"
"Yeah I was going to tell you before you had to go back to Chicago," he says.
"Well, I hope so," I say, a little sternly. But I don't feel stern. Not really. I feel like I want to cry. I'm staring at his hands, and the one has a little shaking in the fingers. I love those hands…my whole life has come from…those hands. They're strong, indestructible. This is my dad. I hate Parkinson's or any disease that thinks it can weaken…those hands.
"Come here," Dad says, and I end up kneeling by his feet with my head on his leg and having that cry after all. I had meant to be positive, but I can revert to Juney's age real quickly around my dad.
"I'm sorry," I say after a couple of minutes. I'm sniffing, and he grabs a Kleenex off the box on the end table.
So I wipe my nose, and I end up sitting there looking at him like a puppy, a big puppy. Boy, it's been a long day.
"I'm your dad."
"I know."
"Nothing is going to lick me."
"I know."
"People live for years with this."
"I know. Google," I say softly.
He reaches to stroke my hair. My dad tells me he loves me all the time. He's always been affectionate with me. I know it doesn't come naturally, but he's worried that I haven't had a mother. The day I graduated college, I thought he'd pop a couple buttons he looked so proud. He has no idea that I'm really a loser. He has no idea that he is my sun and without him I whither.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"I ah…I'm not going back to Chicago."
The petting stops. He doesn't withdraw his hand, but it's frozen there.
"Why not?"
"I…I want to be here…in Lowland. I want to stay in Lowland."
"Oh no, you don't." He pulls his hand away now, and I sit my ass on the floor by his feet and wipe my face and look at him.
I radiate patheticness, so I hope he goes easy.
"What?" me
"You are not," he says not with force, "staying here."
"You…don't want me?" Blink, blink.
"Of course, I…what happened? Did something happen? Were you…oh God, were you…?"
"No! No. No." Why does he always go there? I wasn't raped.
He looks dazed as he sits back. Even the thought has his hand shaking a little more. I
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