After the orange hunk landed on the doormat, the hallway was quiet for a few seconds except for the sound of my sobbing. All I did the whole time until Jesse saved Dad was scream, and all I did afterward was cry. This was back when I wasn’t so great in emergencies. But I was only seven.

The lawyer’s cat ran out between Jesse’s legs and walked around sniffing everybody’s doormats while Dad thanked Jesse about a hundred times. The next day he made Jesse a coffee cake. They became friends. When the lawyer came home, Jesse left. But Dad and Jesse stayed friends. When Dad moved out, Jesse’s big sister, Sheila, started babysitting for me and cleaning up for Dad. After a while, Dad and Jesse fell in love.

Angus asked me once if I thought my dad “turned gay” when he choked on that orange. But Dad said no, that being gay had been a part of who he was from the beginning of his life. The orange just showed him how short life could be.

—

After I saw Dad almost choke to death, I had a worrying problem. I started to worry all the time. I worried that one of my parents would die while I was at school. I worried that I would die while I was at school. If I fell and scraped my knee, I worried that all my blood would fall out of my body.

One of the first things Miriam told me about was how to worry. She wanted me to worry for five minutes straight, two times a day. She said I should sit quietly somewhere, maybe with a piece of paper and some colored pencils, and just worry, one time in the morning and once at night (but not right before bed). And if my worry showed up at any other time, like during school or at Angus’s house, Miriam said I should tell it, “Go away, and I’ll see you later.”

It actually works. Sitting down to worry on purpose is kind of like sweeping the wood floor at the lake cabin (which I have always loved to do). Everything ends up in two big piles that I can step around (instead of walking around with sand stuck to my feet all the time, which I hate).

By the time I was ten, I only needed to worry once a day. Usually I worried around dinnertime. After Lizette went home, I sat on my bed and worried about spelling (mostly about the party, not the spelling itself) and I worried about Mom.

Angus called right after I finished.

“Did you get stitches?”

“No. Just a bandage.” Angus knew that “stitches” was on my list of nightmares. Angus’s number one nightmare was eating a scallop.

“Lizette said there was blood all over.”

“There was blood all over.” Some kids might have wanted to see that, but Angus was not one of them.