Nick and my father seemed minor; what really mattered was lunch. I was famished. Probably that was why I felt light-headed. I hadn’t eaten since the cereal I’d toyed with at breakfast, and it was past one. Even if I weren’t, the baby growing inside me was hungry, demanding to be fed.
E LEVEN
I N THE END, THE Tigers won, 7-5. Molly had scored two of the Rams’ goals. The coach and team members praised her after the game, and Emily, a year older, was jealous, pretending not to care.
“Let’s get some lunch.” Susan tried to console Emily, smoothing her hair.
“Whatever.” Emily shrugged.
“Can we get Chinese, Mom?” Molly was a fan of chicken with broccoli.
“I hate Chinese.” Emily sneered.
“You do not,” Molly argued. “You love Lo Mein.”
“That was a long time ago. I outgrew that.”
Ouch. Emily was pulling the “I’m older than you are” string, trying to make Molly feel bad. “Okay, so where would you like to go, Emily?” I tried to cut her off.
“I don’t care. Anything but Chinese.” Emily could be a brat at times.
“How about pizza?” Susan put iced tea mugs back in the cooler.
“Yeah—let’s have pizza!” Molly looked at Emily.
“Not again,” Emily whined. “All we ever eat is pizza.”
“Don’t whine, Emily.” Susan frowned.
“Then what do you want, Emily? You pick.” I’d had it. I wanted food. Any kind of food. And I wanted it immediately.
Emily avoided my eyes. “Oh, fine. Chinese. Whatever. I don’t even care. I’m not even hungry.” She pouted, martyr-like.
“Good. Chinese. Let’s go.” I helped Susan fold up the chairs while Molly and Emily headed to the car, carrying the cooler.
“So. What now?” Susan pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head.
“I guess we have Chinese.”
“I don’t mean about lunch. I mean about your father.”
Oh. “They’re doing a workup. He’ll be in the hospital for a few days.” I riffled through her knitting bag, hoping to find a granola bar. Even a cracker. Nothing.
“But what about afterward? You’ll have to find a place for him.”
A place?
“What is he—you said he’s about eighty?”
“Almost eighty-three.” We followed the girls toward the car.
“Well, assuming the DA doesn’t charge him with anything, it might be time for him to move out of the house. You said he was unkempt. He might need to live somewhere he can get cared for.”
Like a nursing home? I’d have to move him? The idea stopped me cold. I hadn’t yet decided that I would see my father again, much less that I would find a place for him to live. But Susan wasn’t finished. She kept listing things for me to do. “In that case, you’ll have to assess his belongings, maybe sell some or give stuff away. And you’ll need to get power of attorney. That way, you can sell the house. What shape is it in?”
My head was spinning, trying to absorb what she was saying, to comprehend what would have to be done. Visiting nursing homes. Moving my father. Packing up his house. Figuring out his finances, taking care of his bills. Getting the house in shape to sell. Susan was still talking.
“… But it’s got to be strange. All those years with not a word, and suddenly you’re in charge of the man’s entire life. His future is in your hands.”
Oh, Lord. I covered my eyes with my hands. Why had I gone to see him? Why had I answered the phone when Lettie Kinkaid had called? Why hadn’t I simply ignored her and stayed at home?
“But look at the bright side.” Susan smirked. “All the grudges you have against your father? Now’s your chance for revenge.”
I kept walking, suddenly cold. Susan was kidding, but in fact there had been years when I’d longed to get back at the man. The idea didn’t seem funny.
“And revenge, they say, is sweet.”
I supposed it could be. But it didn’t feel that way. “Well, they’re wrong. Revenge is overrated. The truth is, sometimes when you get what you want, you don’t want
E LEVEN
I N THE END, THE Tigers won, 7-5. Molly had scored two of the Rams’ goals. The coach and team members praised her after the game, and Emily, a year older, was jealous, pretending not to care.
“Let’s get some lunch.” Susan tried to console Emily, smoothing her hair.
“Whatever.” Emily shrugged.
“Can we get Chinese, Mom?” Molly was a fan of chicken with broccoli.
“I hate Chinese.” Emily sneered.
“You do not,” Molly argued. “You love Lo Mein.”
“That was a long time ago. I outgrew that.”
Ouch. Emily was pulling the “I’m older than you are” string, trying to make Molly feel bad. “Okay, so where would you like to go, Emily?” I tried to cut her off.
“I don’t care. Anything but Chinese.” Emily could be a brat at times.
“How about pizza?” Susan put iced tea mugs back in the cooler.
“Yeah—let’s have pizza!” Molly looked at Emily.
“Not again,” Emily whined. “All we ever eat is pizza.”
“Don’t whine, Emily.” Susan frowned.
“Then what do you want, Emily? You pick.” I’d had it. I wanted food. Any kind of food. And I wanted it immediately.
Emily avoided my eyes. “Oh, fine. Chinese. Whatever. I don’t even care. I’m not even hungry.” She pouted, martyr-like.
“Good. Chinese. Let’s go.” I helped Susan fold up the chairs while Molly and Emily headed to the car, carrying the cooler.
“So. What now?” Susan pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head.
“I guess we have Chinese.”
“I don’t mean about lunch. I mean about your father.”
Oh. “They’re doing a workup. He’ll be in the hospital for a few days.” I riffled through her knitting bag, hoping to find a granola bar. Even a cracker. Nothing.
“But what about afterward? You’ll have to find a place for him.”
A place?
“What is he—you said he’s about eighty?”
“Almost eighty-three.” We followed the girls toward the car.
“Well, assuming the DA doesn’t charge him with anything, it might be time for him to move out of the house. You said he was unkempt. He might need to live somewhere he can get cared for.”
Like a nursing home? I’d have to move him? The idea stopped me cold. I hadn’t yet decided that I would see my father again, much less that I would find a place for him to live. But Susan wasn’t finished. She kept listing things for me to do. “In that case, you’ll have to assess his belongings, maybe sell some or give stuff away. And you’ll need to get power of attorney. That way, you can sell the house. What shape is it in?”
My head was spinning, trying to absorb what she was saying, to comprehend what would have to be done. Visiting nursing homes. Moving my father. Packing up his house. Figuring out his finances, taking care of his bills. Getting the house in shape to sell. Susan was still talking.
“… But it’s got to be strange. All those years with not a word, and suddenly you’re in charge of the man’s entire life. His future is in your hands.”
Oh, Lord. I covered my eyes with my hands. Why had I gone to see him? Why had I answered the phone when Lettie Kinkaid had called? Why hadn’t I simply ignored her and stayed at home?
“But look at the bright side.” Susan smirked. “All the grudges you have against your father? Now’s your chance for revenge.”
I kept walking, suddenly cold. Susan was kidding, but in fact there had been years when I’d longed to get back at the man. The idea didn’t seem funny.
“And revenge, they say, is sweet.”
I supposed it could be. But it didn’t feel that way. “Well, they’re wrong. Revenge is overrated. The truth is, sometimes when you get what you want, you don’t want
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