I watch as twogulls fight over a discarded French Fry. A little girl sitting withher mother at a table behind me slides off her chair and runs up tothe window to watch the squawking birds. She’s a pretty littlething, blonde curly hair and large blue eyes—she reminds me ofAbby. Her mother yells for her to come back to the table, but thechild ignores her, transfixed on the seagulls.
“Do you thinkthey will hurt each other?” she asks, sadly.
“No. I don’tthink so. I think they’re just having a disagreement.” I answer,consolingly.
“But theyshouldn’t be mean to each other. They should be nice andshare.”
“You’re right.That’s always the best way to do things, isn’t it?”
She nods andlooks back at her mother.
“Katie, comeback to the table and quit bothering that lady,” orders hermom.
“Your name isKatie?” I ask, smiling.
“Yep. What’syours?”
“Its, Jules.You know, you should probably listen to your mom.”
The childshrugs then walks back to the table.
I can’t helpbut see the irony in our meeting. She looks like Abby and her nameis Katie, both are people who mean so much to me. I’ve been sopreoccupied with what I might lose, instead of being grateful forwhat I have and still have.
* * *
Back on thepassenger ferry, I text Katie and briefly tell her about the cutelittle girl I met with the same name as her’s. Katie sends a smileyface and texts me saying that she’ll talk to me when she’s back ather apartment tonight. I hope like hell that everything goes wellwith Slinky so that I can come home to start a new life with Katie.Other than my father, she’s the best thing in my life.
I keep as busyas possible at home, doing laundry, washing windows and sweepingthe floors. When Dad returns, he brings a bag of groceries and saysthat he’s making us a nice dinner. While we unpack the food, hetells me about meeting with his parole officer and how afterwards,Charlie took him for lunch at the legion. He’s walking even slowerthan when he left this morning and his squinting eyes hint that hemay be in pain as well. The day’s events must be taking their tollon him.
He tells methat he’s going to lie down for a while before preparing supper. Iask if we should invite Charlie over to eat with us?
“That’s a greatidea,” he says, as he walks down the hall and into his room. Iwonder if Dad has told Charlie about his condition? Probably not.Weakness is not an option for my father and if he told his newfriend about being sick, Charlie might feel sorry for him.Considering the type of person my grandmother was—closed offemotionally, I can see her influence on him.
I sit down towatch TV but don’t really retain anything. All I am thinking aboutis how scared I am to go to Fournier’s Bar. I just hope Slinkyknows what he’s doing. After about an hour of sitting with my headspinning, I hear Dad’s bedroom door open. Leaning my head over, Ilook down the hallway and see him with a couple of pill bottles,going into the bathroom. I sigh and sink back into the couchwishing there was something I could do to alleviate his pain.
Dad walks intothe living room with a brave face and a forced smile, “Well, kid.Are you ready to make a mess and a good dinner?”
I smile backand then remind him to ask Charlie if he wants to join us. When Dadleaves the apartment, it occurs to me that I’d better touch basewith Slinky and confirm the plan for tonight.
I text Slinky.‘Are we still on for tonight? If not, I’m totally ok with waiting.In fact, I’ve been thinking about it and if you want to cancel fortonight, maybe we can meet for a coffee tomorrow and discuss thingsso they are a little clearer to me?’
I place thephone on the counter hoping that Slinky agrees with my suggestionand texts me back. But something tells me that he won’t. When Ispoke to him on the phone earlier, he sounded hell bent on goingthrough with things tonight.
When Dad walksback into the apartment, we start to make dinner, chicken withcream sauce and steamed carrots and rice. Trying to work side byside over the stove, my dad shakes his head at everything I touch.Finally, he orders me out of the kitchen and tells me to set thetable.
“Really, Dad?You’re firing me as sous chef already?”
“Yep, you’reall thumbs. You’ve been demoted to table setter.”
I laughgrabbing the plates and cutlery.
While puttingout the table settings, my father starts to whistle a song that Ihaven’t heard in years. Immediately my mind is transported back towhen I was a child and my parents would be goofing around whilethey cooked. Mom would hum while Dad whistled a tune, the same onehe’s whistling now. I feel my eyes well up with tears and I ask himwhat the title of the song is?
He thinks for amoment then says, “Après De Ma Blonde. It’s a French song that myfather used to sing to me, only I could never remember the words,so I just whistled the melody.”
I nod, thinkingabout how I need to look up the tune so when he’s gone, I canlisten to it and feel closer to him.
Dinner is tastybut the company is boring. Dad and Charlie spend the whole timetalking about old war planes and ships while I eat and wonder whatKatie’s doing? After everyone’s finished, I gather the dishes andwash them while the men sit at the table and eat pumpkin pie fordessert. When I’m done in the kitchen, I glance over at myphone—still no message from Stinky.
I decide totake a quick shower while Dad and Charlie finish visiting. When I’mfinished, I throw on my robe and start walking to my room when myfather calls me from the kitchen. The seriousness of his tonereminds me of when I was a child and in trouble. Walking up to him,I see that Charlie has gone home and Dad is standing beside thecounter holding my cell in his hand.
Why does helook pissed off? Did I get a text and
