Everybody's Daughter (2 page)

She rolled her eyes. “What happened to the dad who came back from Jerusalem? That dad was way more easy going.”

“I’ve changed again. I’m a complex person.”

“Would you rather have me dating a seventeen-year-old or going to a concert with my girlfriends?”

“Neither. Oh, and he’s seventeen? Now the truth comes out.”

“Ugh.”

“Shh.”

“I don’t care.”

Michael bobbed his head, gesturing to the old man and woman listening. “She wants to go see that Lady Goo Goo person in the city.”

The couple half smiled then looked away and whispered to each other as they fiddled with their ear pieces.

Elizabeth took the bait. “Don’t you think my dad should let me go? I’m old enough to get married.”

“You are not.”

“It’s in the Bible.”

Michael waved to the couple and faced Elizabeth. “Enough. Leave them alone.”

“What about the Lady Gaga concert?”

Michael didn’t answer. The old man and woman got up, and walked slowly out of the church, taking quick, nervous glances as they went by.

Michael stood. “C’mon. I’ll get you an ice cream sundae, whatever toppings you want.”

Elizabeth yanked on his jacket, pulling him back down. “I’m not a little kid anymore where you can pacify me with ice cream when we’re arguing.”

“Chill.”

“Stop using that word.”

“Chill.”

“Stop.”

“The offer for ice cream is still on the table. Concert is closed for discussion. End of story.”

“I don’t want ice cream,” she said, folding her arms. “Told you, I’m past that now.”

“You’re sounding like an ice cream snob now.” He jostled her, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s go. I promise it’ll be a quick trip.”

She looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there anymore.”

“Why? You always enjoyed going there with me before.” He tried to stand up again but Elizabeth pulled him down harder. “Hey, take it easy on the jacket. It’s a gift from Susan.”

“I saw Linda with a man the other day.”

“So?”

“She was holding his hand and they kissed.”

Michael was quiet for a moment. “Oh.” He stood, banging his knee against the pew. “Ouch,” he said, trying to make a joke of it. “Look at that? Hurt twice in less than a minute. I guess I’m striking out in a couple of centuries. At least I’m consistent.”

He climbed over Elizabeth, tripping over the kneeler as he reached the aisle and headed toward the basement door.

“Dad, give it up.”

Michael stopped. “I need a minute, okay?”

“I know where you’re going,” she said. “The tunnel’s not open.”

“I have to finish cleaning the basement.”

“There isn’t a speck of dust left down there.”

He put both hands over his ears, not looking back at her. “You would be surprised how much dirt I find down there.”

Michael felt his daughter watching his every move as he veered toward the stairwell. He looked back and saw her shaking her head as she dropped her backpack on the pew and got up to follow him.

He rested his forehead against the door.

She stood beside him. “You’re going to go down there and nothing will happen. Just like the other hundred times.”

“I have to try one more time. Okay, kiddo?”

“If we had stayed in Jerusalem, we’d never have been safe.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and brushed the pink lock of hair from her eyes. For a moment he thought about grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting it off. “I know. But I’d feel responsible if Leah was hurt or had to live a life with that evil Roman. I know we made the right choice to come back. But I wish I’d gone back to be sure about her safety. I’m convinced of that now.”

She smiled. “By the way, where is your pastor buddy?”

“He’s never here on Friday afternoons. Takes off after lunch. Weird.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Probably goes joy riding on his Harley.”

“Maybe I’ll get one of those hogs.”

“Oh please, don’t.”

“Can you see me zipping along with the wind whipping through my hair? A lady holding onto me riding in the back. Baby, we were born to run…”

She ignored him. “Where does he go?”

“No idea.” He shrugged. “He never says and I never ask.”

“Huh, you sure you guys are BFFs?” They walked back to the pew and Elizabeth picked up her bag.

He shook his head and turned his back on the basement door. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

“I don’t need a ride. I’m going to catch a movie.”

“What are you going to do for dinner?”

“Pizza. Going to head over to Gino’s. RoRo’s working there tonight.”

They walked down the front steps to the sidewalk. “I guess you’ll need money.”

She held out her hand and smiled. “Twenty sounds about right.”

Michael took a deep breath, sighed, and pulled a bill from his wallet.

“You could make it easy on yourself and let me have your credit card.”

He ignored her. “Be home by nine and keep your cell phone on.”

“Relax. It’s not like I’m going to get stuck in Jerusalem or anything.”

“Very funny. What about your bike?”

“RoRo’s dad will give me a ride home. He can fit it in the back of the car.”

“Well, call me if you need a ride, okay? And don’t get in the car with anyone besides her dad.”

She gave a faint smile and Michael watched as she rode away. Once she was out of sight he unlocked the car and got in. The glove compartment door was open again. He saw his cell phone was still inside. He slammed the door three times before the lock finally caught.
Got to get that fixed
, he thought for the hundredth time. But it was never a high priority on his to-do list.

His stomach felt queasy as a sharp pain stabbed his right side. He wondered how he was going to spend his evening.
I’ve done this routine a few times.

As he pulled into the driveway, he gazed up at the darkening sky. The stars twinkled more brightly than he had ever remembered. Rolling down his window, he whispered softly over the gentle breeze, “Which star are you under tonight, Leah?”

After a less than satisfying bowl of Cheerios for dinner, Michael was restless and still hungry. Despite his better judgment, he downed two boiled hot dogs, further agitating his upset stomach. He carried the salty taste in his mouth while walking aimlessly up and down the stairs several times, occasionally clicking on the television to channel surf for a glimpse of hockey and basketball scores. He sat on his chair and perched his laptop on his knees. Just as he started an email, he heard the sound of a car door slamming near his house.

Curious, he got up to see who it was. He opened the blind to the front window. “Great. Here comes hell in heels.”

He watched as his sister headed toward his front door. He stared in shock.
What happened to her?
Michael rubbed his eyes in disbelief, squinting to be sure. She carried an extra thirty pounds or so on her once stick-like figure. An oversized man’s sweatshirt and loose jeans were clearly an attempt to hide her extra weight. Her blond hair, usually neatly kept, now looked straggly, and the dark roots were visible under the porch light’s glare. Age looked like it had not only crept up on Connie but trampled all over her. Her wrinkles had wrinkles, which were usually hidden under a ton of makeup.

His sister had been a thorn in his side since they were kids. She was a control freak in the worst sense, always plotting for ways to hurl verbal shots to get under his skin.

He took his time walking down the stairs
.
“I need this like I need a hole in the head,” he muttered.

Opening the front door, he tried to sound enthusiastic but couldn’t control himself. “Ah, the last person I want to see on a Friday night. I’m kind of busy.”

She looked at him through the screen door. “Oh, my little brother is doing something on a Friday night? Armageddon must be just around the corner then.”

Michael cringed as he held the door for her. He could tell it was going to be a long night. “What do you want?”

She swept past him and into the kitchen. “I need something to drink. I’m thirsty.”

He followed behind her and watched as she stared at the dishes piled in the sink and the cluttered countertop. She snickered and his stomach turned. He was acutely aware now of the pot on the stove, with its one remaining hot dog.

She laughed, pointing to the pot. “I see the gourmet cook is hard at work again. Bet you’re waiting for the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous to give you a call for a feature, huh?”

“That show is off the air.”

“So, apparently, is your life. How does my niece live in such a pig hole?”

“We like to think of it as a mud hole, and we love it.”

“Are you working?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, really? Where?” She reached into a cabinet for a glass and opened the refrigerator. “Oh, dear, Lord. Look at this mess. Old Chinese food, milk that’s expired. A cucumber? My poor niece.”

He grabbed the milk container away from her. “This is fine.” He put it back and closed the door.

She put her hands on her hips, her lips slanted in cockiness. “So where are you working?”

“At the church.”

“You? In a church? Hell hath frozen over.” She passed him and headed back to the living room. “I heard you talking to someone when I was at the door. Is someone here, or are you talking to yourself these days?” She danced a few odd steps around the room. “Are you finally dating? It’s about time. Where is she? Why haven’t I met her?” She laughed in the way that always grated on his nerves. “Are you embarrassed? Is she hideous or something? Does she look like one of the Teletubbies?”

I need a drink.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”

She sat in his favorite recliner and pushed the footrest up. “Wow, my little brother is asking me if I want to have a drink with him. My goodness, life is certainly getting better for me.”

“Do you want a glass or not?” he asked, raising his voice as he headed back into the kitchen.

“I’d better take your offer since it probably won’t happen again.”

He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine. He grabbed a couple of glasses and a corkscrew from the cabinet. He soothed his anxiety with a deep breath before returning to the living room. “Why am I blessed with your visit?”

“Blessed? Since when are you so holy?”

“Why are you here?”

“Do I have to have a reason?”

He plunged the corkscrew in and twisted. “You never stop by.”

“You never invite me.”

“And you really wonder why I don’t?” He pulled the cork out harder than he’d intended. “So, what gives?”

“Maybe I wanted to see how my little brother’s doing.”

“I’m fine. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I am worried.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “When’s the last time you were with a woman? Don’t tell me you still haven’t been with anyone since Vicki?”

He dropped onto the couch, pulled the coffee table closer, and poured them each a glass of wine. “It’s none of your business.”

She scoffed. “It
is
my business.” She gestured toward the wine bottle. “Keep pouring.”

He filled the glass nearly to the top and handed it to her. “No, it isn’t.”

She took a long sip. “Are you going to tell me or not? Or do you spend your nights drinking yourself into oblivion?” She took another sip and placed her feet on the ground as if to make an important point. “Like Dad.”

Like Jim? What a sucker punch.
“Knock it off.”

“Grumpy, just like the old man. And you’re living your life in that drunken illusion. How’s the writing going? Are you working for the
New York Times
yet? Did you win that Pulitzer?” She slapped her hand to her forehead in mock realization. “Oh, right, right. You’re a novelist now. One of those self-published people who can’t find a real publisher because your work is
misunderstood
. Shouldn’t you be a bestselling novelist by now? Oh, right, I forgot, it takes time,” she said, mocking the words he’d said a long time ago. “So, how many copies of the great American novel have you sold? Two? Three?”

Michael hadn’t talked much about his book nor had he shared the contents of the story with any member of his family. Apparently, word about the publication of his novel had made its way around his large group of relatives.

“Yup, you’re just like Dad.” She drained the last bit of her wine.

“You never change, do you?” He shook his head in disgust. “You come to my house, uninvited. And you sit here, drink my wine, and goad me.”

“Well,
excuse
me,” she said, drawing out the word. “Sorry for caring about you.”

“You call this caring?” He waved his finger at her. “I call it hateful.”

“Hateful? Oh, please. Come and join me in this great crap hole of life.”

She grabbed the bottle and filled her glass half way. They were both silent as he watched her take a long swallow.

“Look,” she said, her expression softening. “I really am concerned about you. This is how I show it.”

“Worry about yourself. I can handle my own life.”

He topped off her glass.
Maybe she’ll shut up and snooze if I ply her with more wine. Yeah, a silent Connie.

She raised her over-plucked eyebrows as he refilled his own glass. “Drinking a lot there?”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

“Maybe you should. You can’t find a woman while you’re sitting in your chair drinking wine on a Friday night.”

Can’t she stop her needling for five minutes?
“Get off it.”

“Oh, did I touch a nerve?”

“I had a good woman in Vicki. I had a good woman in Leah . . .”

She slammed the footrest down. “Hold on. Who is Leah?”

He recoiled. He had never told his sister about his trip to Jerusalem, knowing she’d be on the phone to the nut house in a New York minute to turn him in. He struggled to come up with an answer. “She lives far away.”

“Far away? Where? California? Europe?” She laughed, sounding like her younger self when she taunted him. “Is Leah your drinking buddy?”

“She’s out of my life. Subject closed.”