foot and traveled a few feet. I smiled, feeling good at what I’d taught.
Then I turned and trotted back to my parents.
Chapter Thirteen
Now
There is no living room. Just a fort made of telephone books, plastic bags and Christakos Creatives flyers. Cora is on one chair, Dion on another and Natalie is perched on one side of the long pink couch. She’s dressed in black and pink again, this time in reverse—pink shirt and black pants. Her pale hair is in a knot on top of her head. She’s sipping at a soda and staring at the stack of flyers like they’re garter snakes—not dangerous, but not something she wants to handle.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Cora asks, coming over to me. Before she can grab me by the elbow again, I slip over to Natalie’s couch and sit.
“I can relax here,” I tell her. “Plus, you said everyone needs to do their part.”
She is seething. Smoke practically pours from her ears. But Dion is the one who speaks. “She looks like she’s doing fine, hon. Leave her. I’m sure she’ll get either tired or bored after a few minutes. I am already and I’ve only been doing this for an hour.” He chuckles and something deep inside me glows. Old Liv loved her father’s laugh.
“So what are we doing?” I ask before Cora can change her mind.
Natalie says, “We put a Christakos Creatives flyer into a telephone book, the book into a bag and stack it by the front door. When they’re all finished, we’re going to pack them up in the back of Dad’s truck and deliver them to the neighborhood.”
I nod slowly but don’t get it. “Why?”
Natalie shrugs and looks over to her dad. To my dad.
“For advertisement,” Dion says. “We could use a few more customers.”
Casting my glance around the room, I try to understand. It’s a bit of an outdated way to dispense information. Couldn’t they set up a website or pay for some online advertisement or something? Do people even use phonebooks anymore? “So these telephone books go to the neighbors?”
“Yeah,” Dion says, stuffing one of them and bagging it. “We were only allowed to take enough phone books for one neighborhood. Plus, they’re paying us an entire hundred bucks.” He winks at me. “Just trying to get the word out, kitten,” he adds. Today, the pet name sounds less like he’s being patronizing and more like it’s out of habit.
I pick up a flyer and stuff it into a nearby book with my one good hand. If they advertised online instead, their reach would be much longer than just our immediate neighborhood.
Cora opens her mouth—to protest again, I’m sure—so I turn to Natalie. Her face beams. “You know I don’t like your hair up like that,” I say.
Natalie’s jaw tries to touch her collarbone. “You remember this hairstyle?”
It takes me a minute to realize what I’ve said. I’m so excited and surprised that I can’t see straight. I push my brain to give me more.
The room goes silent. Chloe, who’s been standing silently in the entryway this entire time, steps closer. “Holy Christ!” she says, earning a gasp from Cora. Apparently, curse words are okay but using
Christ
as one of them is not. “What else do you remember?”
I stare at Natalie, trying to uncover more of the memory. “I don’t know. There’s just this dull feeling. Like when you first wake in the middle of a dream. You remember some of it, but the more you try to focus on all the details, the faster it fades away.”
The hope in the room flattens like a week-old balloon. After staring at Natalie a few more minutes without any result, I shrug and continue my work, trying to stuff the book into a bag but it doesn’t work. I need two good hands. Chloe moves closer to me. “You stuff ’em, I’ll bag ‘em.”
For the next few hours, I try to keep my mind on the work. Maybe if I don’t think about all the things I’ve forgotten, they’ll come back to me. Like the pot will start boiling if I stop staring at it.
My ribs
Then I turned and trotted back to my parents.
Chapter Thirteen
Now
There is no living room. Just a fort made of telephone books, plastic bags and Christakos Creatives flyers. Cora is on one chair, Dion on another and Natalie is perched on one side of the long pink couch. She’s dressed in black and pink again, this time in reverse—pink shirt and black pants. Her pale hair is in a knot on top of her head. She’s sipping at a soda and staring at the stack of flyers like they’re garter snakes—not dangerous, but not something she wants to handle.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Cora asks, coming over to me. Before she can grab me by the elbow again, I slip over to Natalie’s couch and sit.
“I can relax here,” I tell her. “Plus, you said everyone needs to do their part.”
She is seething. Smoke practically pours from her ears. But Dion is the one who speaks. “She looks like she’s doing fine, hon. Leave her. I’m sure she’ll get either tired or bored after a few minutes. I am already and I’ve only been doing this for an hour.” He chuckles and something deep inside me glows. Old Liv loved her father’s laugh.
“So what are we doing?” I ask before Cora can change her mind.
Natalie says, “We put a Christakos Creatives flyer into a telephone book, the book into a bag and stack it by the front door. When they’re all finished, we’re going to pack them up in the back of Dad’s truck and deliver them to the neighborhood.”
I nod slowly but don’t get it. “Why?”
Natalie shrugs and looks over to her dad. To my dad.
“For advertisement,” Dion says. “We could use a few more customers.”
Casting my glance around the room, I try to understand. It’s a bit of an outdated way to dispense information. Couldn’t they set up a website or pay for some online advertisement or something? Do people even use phonebooks anymore? “So these telephone books go to the neighbors?”
“Yeah,” Dion says, stuffing one of them and bagging it. “We were only allowed to take enough phone books for one neighborhood. Plus, they’re paying us an entire hundred bucks.” He winks at me. “Just trying to get the word out, kitten,” he adds. Today, the pet name sounds less like he’s being patronizing and more like it’s out of habit.
I pick up a flyer and stuff it into a nearby book with my one good hand. If they advertised online instead, their reach would be much longer than just our immediate neighborhood.
Cora opens her mouth—to protest again, I’m sure—so I turn to Natalie. Her face beams. “You know I don’t like your hair up like that,” I say.
Natalie’s jaw tries to touch her collarbone. “You remember this hairstyle?”
It takes me a minute to realize what I’ve said. I’m so excited and surprised that I can’t see straight. I push my brain to give me more.
The room goes silent. Chloe, who’s been standing silently in the entryway this entire time, steps closer. “Holy Christ!” she says, earning a gasp from Cora. Apparently, curse words are okay but using
Christ
as one of them is not. “What else do you remember?”
I stare at Natalie, trying to uncover more of the memory. “I don’t know. There’s just this dull feeling. Like when you first wake in the middle of a dream. You remember some of it, but the more you try to focus on all the details, the faster it fades away.”
The hope in the room flattens like a week-old balloon. After staring at Natalie a few more minutes without any result, I shrug and continue my work, trying to stuff the book into a bag but it doesn’t work. I need two good hands. Chloe moves closer to me. “You stuff ’em, I’ll bag ‘em.”
For the next few hours, I try to keep my mind on the work. Maybe if I don’t think about all the things I’ve forgotten, they’ll come back to me. Like the pot will start boiling if I stop staring at it.
My ribs
Similar Books
