Chapter 7

Dad sits in his recliner, staring at the screen, but he’s not laughing and during commercials, I see him glance at me. At Dan’s arm around me. What I wouldn’t give to know what he’s thinking. Did he even hear what I said? Maybe I should say it again, just to get a rise out of him. Mom sort of hogged the spotlight in the dining room. Now she’s in the kitchen, phone in one hand as she washes up the dishes, and over the running water I can catch phrases of her conversation—she’s running down the relative list in her address book, calling everyone she knows to share the bad news. Not about me, thank God. Aunt Evie. As if she might actually call someone her sister missed.