Page 13 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

have to worry about?” Ash had started calling their father by
his first name a few years back. It drove Patty crazy.
Greta thought about this, how lost their father had been
after their mom died. She nodded. It made sense. Patty—
dictator of a country too tired to retaliate. “Time for a coup?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Don’t think it’ll work.”
Ash was right. There was no military in this country. Just
one despot and a few unarmed civilians.

W

Their dad called a family meeting when he got home from
work. “Patty says there’s been some disrespect,” he said.
They sat in a circle around the kitchen table, which was
practically in the living room. The basement suite squeezed

all the furniture into the same space. Roger pinched his
eyebrows together and tried to look stern, but Greta noticed
his jowls—the loose skin trembling around his jaw as he
spoke. His blue eyes watered, and she could see his scalp
through his thinning gray-blond hair. He looked old.
Patty nodded smugly. She stopped to give a wheezing
cough and resumed nodding. Greta, distracted by the bobbing
of Patty’s yellowish perm, forgot to answer. Ash glowered at
Roger and Patty across the table.

“Yes,” Ash said, clearing his throat, “I’d like to lodge a
complaint against Patty for interfering with how I wipe
myself.”
“Ash…” Roger warned.

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