Page 16 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

Roger shook his head.
The words just leave paralyzed Greta. What did he mean?
Coming from her father’s mouth, those words didn’t make
sense—a foreign language.
“How are they ever going to learn responsibility?” Patty
asked.
“They’re still in school!” Roger’s voice rose to near-
normal, and Patty shushed him. Greta darted back to her

bedroom, flicking off the light but leaving the door open.
“I worked all through high school,” Patty said. “I know
the value of a dollar.”
“It doesn’t seem right.” He sounded tired.
“Well, this isn’t right either—mooching off you, expecting
everything on a silver platter. How are we ever going to get
into a house while we’re dragging all this around?” ADVANCE READING COPY

Greta almost snorted out loud. Dragging this around—
two heavy rocks. And the silver platter? After their mom died,
when Greta and Ash were eight, it had been a steady down-
ward spiral to this—a damp basement suite with a yellow-
permed scarecrow. Greta remembered how Roger, after the
funeral, had been home with them, sleeping a lot. After a
few months he’d tried going back to driving truck, leaving
them with his sister, Aunt Lori, for weeks at a time. Then
he’d gotten a dui and lost that job. He’d sold their house,

and they had stayed with Aunt Lori for a while. The following
year they had moved two—three?—more times, now a blur of
stark walls and industrial carpets. Then to the condo on the
north side, and Roger started driving again.

6