sure he ate. He had. He takes after me that way. Every little
meat-flavored morsel was gone. I was sorry I missed it. Vinnie's so
low to the ground that he has to reach his neck up over the bowl and
then plop his whole face inside to eat. Then he picks out all the soft
and chewy nuggets from his Kibbles 'N Bits. When those are gone, he
eats the dry stuff. When he really gets going, he breathes fast and
loud like an old fat man.
I must've been really hungry, because that mental image actually made
me think of food. I was torn between the refrigerator and my bed.
I was leaning toward the latter when I noticed the message light
flashing on my machine. I knew if I tried to sleep now, I'd be lying
in bed wondering who called. I hit the Play button and unpeeled a
banana that was turning brown and spotty on the counter.
'Sammie, it's your old man. Are you there? I guess not. Glad to see
you're out and not sitting at home alone reading a book with that
rodent you call a dog. Hi, Vinnie. You know I'm only kidding. You
can't help being ugly, little man.'
I love it that my father laughs louder at his own jokes than anyone
else. I wonder if he knows the people doubling up around him when he
talks are enjoying Martin Kincaid's contagious delight with life and
not the substance of what he's saying.
'Anyway, baby, I hope you're doing OK. You got a hot date or
something? I was going to come by today and mow your lawn if it was
dry again, but old Mother Nature, she had other plans. I went and saw
a movie instead. I tell you, that Kevin Spacey is something else. You
have to see this picture. OK, I don't want to take up your whole
machine. You've probably got all kinds of men trying to call you. Some
real winners from down at the courthouse. I'm just giving you a hard
time, Sammie. You know I'm proud of you. You're a top-notch human
being. Give me a call tomorrow if you've got some time. 'Bye.'
I'd finished my banana by the time he hung up. The length of my
father's phone messages correlates directly with how lonely he is in
his empty house. My mother died almost two years ago, just seven
months after doctors found a lump in her right breast. As much as I
wish I had never married my ex-husband, the marriage had at least
brought me back to Portland, so I was here for my mother's last few
months.
In retrospect, it was quick as far as those things go, but at the time
it seemed like an eternity. Mom was as tough a fighter as they make,
but in the end the cancer was too much even for her. People like to
say that my father and I are lucky that she passed quickly, once it was
clear that treatment was futile. Maybe I'm selfish, but I don't
agree.
Since Mom died, I'd spent more time with my father as he adjusted to
life as a widower. He was doing as well as could be expected under the
circumstances. He retired from federal employment as a forest ranger
last year, so he has a good pension and reliable benefits. Without a
job to go to, he now finds comfort in his routine. He goes to the gym,
takes care of the yard, watches his shows, goes target shooting, and
plays checkers with his ninety-year-old next-door neighbor.
I see my dad at least every weekend. We usually catch a movie and then
wind up talking for a few hours afterward. Grace comes with us
sometimes. So does Chuck, when we're getting along. I think it makes
Dad happy to see me with friends he's known and liked since I was a
kid. He never did like Shoe Boy and thinks most of my lawyer friends
are snobs. Too bad I didn't inherit his good judgment.
It was much too late to call him back, so I got ready for bed, snuggled
into the blankets, and picked up a mystery I'd started the week before.
Vinnie followed me into bed, lying by my feet on his stomach with all
four legs splayed out around him like a bear rug. I only made it
through a few pages before I nodded off and dropped the book on my
face. There's a reason I only read paperbacks.
The sun shining through my bedroom window woke me the next morning
before the alarm. It was a nice change from a typical Portland
February, when the excitement of the holidays is over and the endless
monotony of dark, wet, gray days makes it hard to get out of bed. It
was just after six o'clock, leaving me enough time for a quick run
before work. I hopped out of bed, pulled on my sweats and running
shoes, and brushed my teeth before setting out on a four-mile course
through my neighborhood.
For the first time since October, I was able to look around clearly at
my neighborhood rather than squint through a steady fall of drizzle. As
I ran past the coffee shops, bookstores, and restaurants along the
tree-lined streets of my historic neighborhood in northeast Portland
called Alameda the brisk dry air stung my cheeks and filled my lungs.
Running clears my head and helps me see the world in a better light.
I finished up my fourth mile about a half hour later, and hung on to my
good mood while I listened to a block of 'Monday Morning Nonstop Retro
Boogie' in the shower. One of the benefits of living alone is that you
can belt out the entire Saturday Night Fever sound track in the shower
if you feel like it, and no one complains, even if you sing like me.
Grace had recently convinced me to trade in my usual shoulder-length
bob for a wispy little do. When she dried it at the salon, my hair
looked like it belonged on one of the more glamorous CNN anchors. When
I tried it at home, I ended up looking like a brunette baby bird. It
