melanoma. The girl I adore laughs at me compulsively. Aloud he said, “I’m fine, really .”
Delia sat down opposite him. She snapped open a can of diet pop. “Mum, I’m going to the rec centre tonight with my friends Katie and Jenn.” All her friends hung out at the rec centre where they could giggle and watch boys playing basketball. Girls!
“Is that so?” Mum opened the cupboard over the sink and took out plates. “Homework first.”
“Mu-UM …” Delia began to whine in the annoying way she had.
“Yes. Homework!” Mum turned away to fill the plates with pasta from the strainer in the sink. Delia sneered at Brendan and reached for a piece of bread, digging into the butter with her knife.
“We’re waiting for Dad!” Brendan said loudly.
“Yes!” Mum whirled around and pointed the pasta lifter at Delia. “He’ll be one more minute!”
Delia dropped the bread and glared at Brendan, who grinned back. Sadly, when Mum’s back was turned again, Delia flicked her knife and sent a gob of butter sailing across the table to splat on the front of Brendan’s shirt.
“Hey!” he began to protest, but at that moment, Dad came in through the door, his pant leg held tightly in a bicycle clip and a shiny silver bike helmet on his head. His hands were covered in black grease, and he headed straight for the sink to wash them.
“Darn bicycle chain. It falls off every ten feet!” He rinsed his hands and dried them. Satisfied, he turned with a flourish and a bow. “Clairs! I am arrived! Let the rejoicing commence!” He took his wife in his arms and spun her around once, eliciting a shriek from her as she tried to avoid spilling the contents of the plate she was holding. He set her back on her feet and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Gross,” Delia protested. “We’re going to be eating here in a minute!”
Her father made a pouty face. “What’s the matter, Delia? Oh, I know! You want some kisses, too!” He reached for his daughter. She reared back in horror, brandishing her butter knife. Her face conveyed a disgust reserved for plague carriers and affectionate fathers.
“Do not touch me!”
“Oh no, Brendan. She has a knife! Watch out!” Dad laughed and sat down in his customary chair as Mum set a steaming plate of spaghetti drenched in the fragrant sauce in front of him. He picked up a fork and began winding noodles around it. “So, children, how was school?”
Brendan opened his mouth to tell his father about Finbar, but Delia interjected. “Dad, can I go to the rec centre? Everyone’s going to be there.”
“I’m not going to be there,” Dad said, stuffing a forkful of noodles into his mouth. “How can you say that everyone is going to be there when I’m not going to be there?”
“Da-ad.”
“What did your mother say?”
“She said I could.”
“No, I definitely did not. I said you have homework to do.”
“But if I get it done? Then can I?”
Mom and Dad exchanged a glance, psychically connecting as mothers and fathers have since the beginning of time. “Fine. But the homework has to be done!”
Delia practically danced in her seat. She picked up her fork and dug in.
Brendan toyed with his food, adding grated cheese and pushing the noodles around. His father frowned. “Brendan? Everything all right?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
“He saw an accident today,” Mum offered.
“Really? What happened?”
Brendan reluctantly repeated the censored account he had given his mother earlier. When he was done, his father shook his head. “Poor old fella. Hope he’ll be okay. People used to have someplace to go when they were losing their marbles. Now they just end up on the street.”
“Was there a lot of blood?” Delia asked. “Any brains or things like that?” She was really into slasher horror movies, the gorier the better.
“Just leave it,” Brendan snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
An uncomfortable silence hovered in the room until his father
Delia sat down opposite him. She snapped open a can of diet pop. “Mum, I’m going to the rec centre tonight with my friends Katie and Jenn.” All her friends hung out at the rec centre where they could giggle and watch boys playing basketball. Girls!
“Is that so?” Mum opened the cupboard over the sink and took out plates. “Homework first.”
“Mu-UM …” Delia began to whine in the annoying way she had.
“Yes. Homework!” Mum turned away to fill the plates with pasta from the strainer in the sink. Delia sneered at Brendan and reached for a piece of bread, digging into the butter with her knife.
“We’re waiting for Dad!” Brendan said loudly.
“Yes!” Mum whirled around and pointed the pasta lifter at Delia. “He’ll be one more minute!”
Delia dropped the bread and glared at Brendan, who grinned back. Sadly, when Mum’s back was turned again, Delia flicked her knife and sent a gob of butter sailing across the table to splat on the front of Brendan’s shirt.
“Hey!” he began to protest, but at that moment, Dad came in through the door, his pant leg held tightly in a bicycle clip and a shiny silver bike helmet on his head. His hands were covered in black grease, and he headed straight for the sink to wash them.
“Darn bicycle chain. It falls off every ten feet!” He rinsed his hands and dried them. Satisfied, he turned with a flourish and a bow. “Clairs! I am arrived! Let the rejoicing commence!” He took his wife in his arms and spun her around once, eliciting a shriek from her as she tried to avoid spilling the contents of the plate she was holding. He set her back on her feet and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Gross,” Delia protested. “We’re going to be eating here in a minute!”
Her father made a pouty face. “What’s the matter, Delia? Oh, I know! You want some kisses, too!” He reached for his daughter. She reared back in horror, brandishing her butter knife. Her face conveyed a disgust reserved for plague carriers and affectionate fathers.
“Do not touch me!”
“Oh no, Brendan. She has a knife! Watch out!” Dad laughed and sat down in his customary chair as Mum set a steaming plate of spaghetti drenched in the fragrant sauce in front of him. He picked up a fork and began winding noodles around it. “So, children, how was school?”
Brendan opened his mouth to tell his father about Finbar, but Delia interjected. “Dad, can I go to the rec centre? Everyone’s going to be there.”
“I’m not going to be there,” Dad said, stuffing a forkful of noodles into his mouth. “How can you say that everyone is going to be there when I’m not going to be there?”
“Da-ad.”
“What did your mother say?”
“She said I could.”
“No, I definitely did not. I said you have homework to do.”
“But if I get it done? Then can I?”
Mom and Dad exchanged a glance, psychically connecting as mothers and fathers have since the beginning of time. “Fine. But the homework has to be done!”
Delia practically danced in her seat. She picked up her fork and dug in.
Brendan toyed with his food, adding grated cheese and pushing the noodles around. His father frowned. “Brendan? Everything all right?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
“He saw an accident today,” Mum offered.
“Really? What happened?”
Brendan reluctantly repeated the censored account he had given his mother earlier. When he was done, his father shook his head. “Poor old fella. Hope he’ll be okay. People used to have someplace to go when they were losing their marbles. Now they just end up on the street.”
“Was there a lot of blood?” Delia asked. “Any brains or things like that?” She was really into slasher horror movies, the gorier the better.
“Just leave it,” Brendan snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
An uncomfortable silence hovered in the room until his father
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