Adam’s eyes narrowed. “These ‘modulators’ are what shocked me?”
“Yes. At the moment my brain comprehended that you intended physical harm, they reacted, transferring calibrated electrical charges to the region of your brain that controls motor function. I did release you immediately . . . ?” he seemed to be asking for forgiveness, as if it was just an accident, no harm done.
“And you did try to kill him,” I pointed out. So that’s how I fell asleep. Sneaky bastard. The repentant expression on Sal’s face was comical, and I had to bite my lip.
“Well, you two seem to have things figured out,” Adam said.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” His voice was hard. “I’m sure he knows where my house is. What time do we leave?”
“I will be there at five-thirty.”
“Fine.”
“What is it Adam?” Eileen was squinting at him, seeing what only she could see. I didn’t dare look for my angels, being only too grateful that they’d stayed away.
“Nothing, kid. We’ll see each other soon. You’ve got to help me be a good dad.” He wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug and said something in her ear that was too low for me to hear.
Sal stiffened. Something anti-alien, then—surprise, surprise—but judging by the way my daughter was reluctant to let go, Adam had said exactly what she needed to hear.
“You’re going to be a great father.” My voice sounded thick, although I meant to be cheerful. It would be easier if the expressive lines of my daughter’s face weren’t quite such a mirror of his.
“Come on, alien. I’m hungry.” Eileen motioned Sal over to the kitchen, leaving us with no choice but to face each other and say our goodbyes.
Except I couldn’t make myself say the words. Adam was a few feet from me, but close enough that I could smell the salt on his skin, and see the bridge of his nose slightly sun-pinked in contrast to the darkness around his eyes. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and the day’s growth that outlined his jaw and mouth made him look rough—and angry.
“I only came in for my bag.” He hauled the duffel from underneath the table and opened the screen door while I was still searching for words.
“Wait!”
His shoulders tightened, and he turned around with a neutral expression that stabbed at my heart.
“Be careful tonight? And please listen to Sal . . . I know everything’s horrible, but he really is trying to help.” I took his scowl as a yes and rushed on, “We’ll visit as soon as Cara is up for company! And just call me if y’all need any . . . ”
At his stillness, my words trailed off into the bruised space between us. He was watching me—so guarded, so resentful; and all I could think to do was to reach for him, to hold him close for a moment, just so he’d know how much he meant to me. Just long enough to say thank you. But I couldn’t.
The screen door banged shut, and he was gone.
I was still listening to the fading rumble of his truck when I realized Eileen was beside me. Surprisingly, she had nothing to say.
How Many Rights Make a Wrong?
The clatter of pans made us both turn around. Sal had pulled out my father’s old cast iron frying pan and my huge stew pot.
“Where do you store your meat?”
“We don’t. We’re more enlightened than you are.”
Eileen’s sass prompted a laugh. “You may be correct!”
“Do you need meat?” I asked. “We could . . . ”
“Mom! Don’t enable him! If he wants it, he can go to the store and get it himself!” She marched into the kitchen and planted her hands on her hips. “All that snooping and you’re too stupid to realize we’re vegetarian?”
“Eileen, that’s enough.”
“Why? I need to be polite to the aliens who’ve ruined our lives?” She turned back to Sal, “Well? Why didn’t you know?”
Even though she was tiny compared to his bulk, he seemed to shrink. “I should have noticed,” he apologized.
“No. You shouldn’t have! Because it’s none of your business!”
“Eileen. That’s enough!”
“But, Mom—”
“Nope!” I scooted her aside and opened the refrigerator to offer its leafy contents to the carnivore. “You’ll treat him with respect, just like he’s treating you with respect. Ask all the questions you like, but without the attitude.”
Her face reddened, but as she turned to stomp away, Sal stretched to catch her arm. Furious, she jerked free, but he seemed determined to show her kindness.
“I do understand how you must be feeling.” He cast me a worried look. “Your reactions are more normal than your mother’s—but do not misconstrue that as a foible on her part. It is only her fear that I will abandon you that influences her behavior with me.”
“Sal, I . . . ”
“Lila, my choices are my own to make.”
“You’re so gross! Stop hitting on my mother!”
“Yes, child. I am repulsive. And it is refreshing to keep company with someone who sees me clearly.” His stomach gurgled loudly. “But could we perhaps discuss my shortcomings over a meal?”
Glad for the mundane distraction, I scraped together a protein-heavy snack; and once we were seated at the table, Sal seemed excited by his own personal dish of hummus. He dunked multi-grain crackers, celery, and bell pepper slices with enthusiasm, drinking an entire carton of soy milk, before asking if he could have some of the yogurt that he’d spied in the fridge . . . perhaps sprinkled with those chocolate morsels from the cabinet where I stored the cinnamon? Oh, and if I didn’t mind, cinnamon on top would be wonderful, thank you.
Other than feeling like a waitress, it was pretty amusing; and once Eileen had a little food in her, she wasn’t quite as touchy, either. Of course, if he was going to be staying with us, my grocery bill was going to quadruple.
“Sal, how do you get food?”
“The markets . . . ?”
“No, I mean, how do you pay for food? Where do you get
