Glass (11 page)

Runs to the window.
Who

the heck is that?

Mom joins him.
Can you

believe he didn’t have

the decency to call?

He? Who he?
insists Jake.

Will someone please tell me?

Scott starts toward the door.

Did you think he would

suddenly learn manners?

Jake’s face flares, cranberry

red over freckles.
Ahem! Who…?

Heather peeks over Jake’s

head.
I don’t know, but he sure

looks like a shark out of water.

Fine! I’ll just go ask him

myself! Jake follows Scott

out the door. I glance in

Leigh’s direction. Her face

is white as fresh fallen snow.

Oh my god,
she says.
He’s so

old, so…so…decrepit.

He looks faded,

travel-worn, threadbare.

High.

I can tell,

without getting close,

that he’s sweating

speed.

Linda Sue doesn’t look

the part of a serious

meth user. Only serious

pursuit

of my dad (don’t ask

me why—who can say

what evil pheromones

must have been at work!)

could have dropped

her into his personal

hell

and kept her there,

smoldering at his side.

True love, between

a fairy and a troll,

bent on

proving he still has

what it takes to attract

someone ten years younger.

And both, at this moment,

look on the verge of

crashing.

Even totally glazed, I know

Dad will be asking to share

what’s left of my stash,

which makes me angry. Pissed.

Relieved. Some deep down straight

part of me wants to shake the monster.

Maybe I can if I quit right now.

I’ll worry about it later. Right

now I’m worried about Leigh,

whose eyes are wide with emotion—

a strange mix of hate, love, and apathy.

If Mom is smart, she won’t let Dad

inside. But ever the hostess, Mom

would be hard-pressed to dismiss

even a troll and his fairy

without first offering refreshments.

As they all start toward the door,

Leigh’s body language changes

from curious to volatile. Every

inch of her tenses like a cheetah,

ready to pounce. Heather notices,

goes over to Leigh, strokes her hair,

kisses her lightly on the mouth.

Don’t take the offensive.

Don’t give away your power.

My respect for Heather

swells. I instruct myself

to remember that advice

whenever I happen to sense

confrontation, or feel the

urge to turn tail and run.

Today confrontation

is immediate, the instant

Dad lurches through

the front door.
Hi, honey,

I’m home.
The joke falters.

And then he catches sight

of Leigh.
Oh my God.

It can’t be my little Layla.

You really grew into

a beauty….
He pauses,

waiting for some response.

Nothing.
Can I have a hug?

Out come Leigh’s claws.

I don’t hug strangers.

Who the hell are you?

Her face contorts, a

subconscious effort to

make itself less beautiful.

It fails. I steel myself

for a lob of curses, but

Heather refuses to let

the verbal battle begin.

She walks over to Dad,

extends a hand, and tries

(obviously so) not to inhale

too deeply. I can smell

Dad from across the room.

The girl is brave. Really

brave.
Hello, Mr. Snow. I’m

Leigh’s partner, Heather.

Dad checks her out too

long. The cheerleader

facade has him completely

confused.
Uh. Oh, yeah,

right. Partner, huh?

Well, knock me over with a feather.

I told you once before

my dad was the King

of Cliché. And when

it comes to tact, I’m

pretty sure it isn’t listed

in his internal dictionary.

Stands next to Dad, mouse

brown hair hanging in long

knobby ropes well past her

shoulders. Somewhere beneath

a thick sheet of makeup hides

a quite pretty woman.

After a silent minute or two

it becomes clear Dad isn’t

much for introductions either.

Finally his new attachment

says,
Hello. I’m Linda Sue.

Sorry to barge in on you—

Dad interrupts, in a majorly

rude way.
No problem, L.

They knew we were coming,

right gang?
He moves toward

Leigh, who retreats slightly.

Well, I’m happy to see
you.

Leigh’s face has gone

from ivory linen to scarlet

fleece, especially the tips

of her ears.
What took you

so long, Father? Too

busy to pick up the phone?

I…I…I…,
he stutters, his

inability to respond fueled

by the monster. [The monster,

on a crash diet of guilt.]

I don’t know what to say

except I’m sorry. Forgive me?

This could be fun to watch,

as long as the sniping doesn’t

turn into sniper fire—the battle

of the Snows. “No hello for

me, Dad?” I complain, adding,

“Nice to meet you, Linda Sue.”

Everyone turns startled eyes

in my direction, as if they

can’t believe I had the guts

to interfere. But a broad sense

of relief floods the room. No one

wants a battle between the Snows.

Scott takes the reins, offers,

Let’s go out on the patio.

Can I get you something

to drink? Iced tea? Lemonade?

We have some soda, too, I

think. Coke. Root beer…

Dad just can’t not be Dad.

How ’bout real beer? Any

kind will do. We’re not

picky, are we, Linda Sue?

He gives her a kiss unsuitable

for mixed company.

[Not picky? Ha! Major

understatement!] I stuff Bree

back inside as Scott guides Dad

and Linda Sue outside. Mom

goes to hustle up a couple of

beers. Heather follows Leigh

upstairs. Jake and I stand here,

exchanging looks of disbelief.

Then we both break down

into a fit of uncontrollable

laughter.
Your dad is really

weird,
Jake can finally say.

Another major understatement.

Overstay their welcome.

[Huge surprise!]

We have planned a birthday

dinner at our favorite

Italian restaurant in Reno

and as the hour of our

reservation approaches,

Mom and Scott grow a bit

antsy; Leigh and Heather

still have not reappeared;

and Hunter wakes from an overlong

nap hungry, wet, and otherwise

irritated. When I go to mitigate

that, Dad decides to tag along.

As I discard a soggy diaper

in favor of a nice dry one, Dad

says,
That boy is going to make

some woman very happy one

day! Takes after his grandpa,

in more ways than one.

Okay, that’s much more than

I want to know. “Well, I guess

he has your eyes. And not a lot

of hair. So yes, I guess he takes

after you a little bit, Dad.”

We laugh as I dress Hunter

in cute overalls and a plaid shirt.

Can I hold him?
asks Dad,

and my look is all the reply

he needs.
Hey, I’m no worse

off than you right now! Relax.

I remember how to hold a baby.

I promise I won’t drop

the little guy on his head.

He takes Hunter gently

from my arms, and though

the smell of Dad’s crank

sweat makes me cringe,

Hunter doesn’t seem

to notice one little bit.

Despite my trepidation,

Dad looks completely

comfortable, holding

a baby.
See?
he says.

It ain’t rocket science.

Hunter also looks comfy

as Dad carries him back

to the living room.
Check

him out, L. Looks just like me.

Linda Sue agrees, but everyone

else just stares at me like I’ve

totally lost my mind.

I’ll admit I’m slipping into

the crash zone. Only one

way I know to fix that.

And, all things considered,

I probably shouldn’t try

to sneak off for a walk

with the monster.

So I’ll make it through

dinner somehow (might

even manage a nibble

or three) and crash like a dead

jet plane tonight. Of course,

first we have to
get
to dinner.

So where are you staying?

Scott asks Dad. [Hint!]

Some little dive in downtown

Reno,
answers Dad.

Figures,
Leigh whispers

to Heather, who laughs out loud.

It’s not so bad,
offers Linda

Sue.
Small rooms, but clean.

Mom bustles onto the scene

with her purse.
Let’s go!

Go?
says Dad.
Do you have

plans? Don’t let us interfere.

We weren’t planning on letting

you interfere,
Leigh chimes in.

Scott moves between Leigh and

Dad.
We have dinner reservations.

Linda Sue starts toward

the door.
Time to go, Wayne.

Sure,
says Dad.
Good seeing

you all. Kristina? Walk me out?

Okay, that’s really creepy. “Uh, Dad?”

I hurry after him, Linda Sue, and my

baby, but have to fight my way past

Mom.
Wayne?
she calls, wrinkling

her nose at the stench he’s left

in his wake.
I’ll take the baby.

Dad turns, grinning.
You didn’t think

I was kidnapping him, did you?

Sheesh. I’ve got enough problems!

[No shit!] Still, both Bree and I

are relieved when he hands off Hunter

to Mom. He gestures for me to follow

him to his car.
I want to take you

out tomorrow night for your birthday.

As you can probably tell, I brought

a little go-fast along, but it’s mostly

gone. I’m thinking you’ve got stash

of your own. Can you spare some?

[Whose birthday is this, anyway?]

“I have a little I can share,” I admit.

“But only about half a gram.”

If I give you some cash, can you

score some more?
He extracts two

wadded hundreds from a pocket.

“I’ll try. But just so you know,

this was the first time I’ve done

any since Hunter was born.”

Okay.
He slides behind his steering

wheel.
Oh. I ran into Buddy before

I left. He said to send you his love.

Leaves me coughing

on his exhaust fumes and shaking

at his parting remark.

I haven’t stopped

to think about Buddy, aka Adam,

in a very long time.

Adam, who started me

on the highway to nowhere. And guess

where I’m standing now.

[Pretty damn close to nowhere.]

Still, remembering our

time together brings more happiness

than anything else.

They say you’ll always

love your very first

love. I’ll always love Adam a little.

But he’s married, with

a baby just about Hunter’s age. Why

would he send his love?

[Because he’s a fucking player.]

Of course he’s a player.

But he was my player once, at least

for a few great weeks.

Everyone piles out the

door.
We’ll have to take two cars,

says Mom.
Jake, you ride

with Dad. Ladies, we can

squeeze into mine.
But I volunteer to go

with Scott. “More room.”

[Less nervous conversation.]

Jake sits up front. I take

the backseat for me, Bree, and

memories best forgotten.

Dad stirs them up too,

and something else—a big ol’

cauldron of guilt.

Two weeks and I’m most

of the way through a ball. What have I

done? Can I undo it now?

[Fat chance, now you’ve set me free.]