“Did he?”
“I had to get you out of the house. I didn’t want the girls to
see him.”
“Well, they saw him anyway. Zipping his fly on the front
doorstep. Next time, how about I meet him at the police station
to pick up the check? Or how about he
mails
it
on
time
, like he’s
supposed to? Or ask the courts to take it out of his paycheck
like every other normal person!”
She pulls her robe more tightly around her thin body.
I make a beeline for the steps—half a flight down to the
foyer, half a flight down to the basement where my room is.
“I’m going to be late.”
“You can’t go out.” She’s pounding down the steps behind
me. “Weren’t you listening? I have to work tonight. I need you
to watch the girls.”
“No, you needed me to watch the girls last night after my
game. You needed me to watch them today. I’m off the clock,
Rosie.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“You spend the afternoon in bed with this schmuck, and
I’m supposed to drop everything to cover your ass again!”
“You live here, too, you know. You have to pull your own
weight.” We’re in the basement now, damp and dingy.
“I had a job,” I remind her. “You made me quit. You made
me choose between football and work.”
“And you chose football.”
If I ever want to get out of this hellhole and go to college,
football’s my only hope for a scholarship. No one’s going to
give me tuition money for spreading mulch. Of
course
I chose
football.
“So now you have to pony up and babysit.”
17
