American Chordata: Magazine of New Writing Issue One, Spring 2015 | Page 70

52 • FI CTION

me standing here in the doorway. I can either go back upstairs or
I can stand here wondering is that long ash ever going to fall off
his cigarette?
“Sweetheart?”
He turns the faucet off hard because it still drips.
“What do you need?” He smiles his normal Saturday smile, a
little more relaxed than a weekday smile.
Need? He never asked me that before, but he’s right; sometimes
I need help with my science report or I need him to sharpen my
ice skates.
“What? No questions?”
He’s right about questions, too. I ask a lot of questions in school
and at home. Well, my home question now is: did he hear the click
when I put down the receiver and who is Honey?
He looks at me straight, like every day we ever lived. He has
always looked at me straight. And he has always talked straight.
Now he looks straight, but he isn’t straight. He has crossed the line.
It might be a figure of speech, but I know what Mother means now.
You step over and you can’t step back.
“Okay,” he says, picking up his cigarette, the ash still not falling,
not falling, amazing—until he flicks it in the sink. Then he walks
towards me. I can’t move. Then he turns around and walks towards
the back hall just as Mother drives up the driveway. By the time
she comes through the back door, he is halfway down the basement
stairs and I am turned around because she will take one look at my
face and start asking questions.
Marky is dozing in the living room in front of the window seat.
I half expect his nose will be dry and we will have to take him to
Dr. Hanawalt, so many things are wrong in our family now. I’m
not going out to the kitchen. I am going to stay right here with
Marky and look at this straight.
When my father isn’t home, I imagine him driving on highways
with the sun in his eyes, having lunch at lunch counters in Toledo
and Detroit, talking to waitresses, taking mints from the bowl by
the cashier, meeting customers in offices in tall buildings. When
he goes to the lumberyard I go with him, and he takes me to the