Chapters (65)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Part Two
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Part Three
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- About the Publisher
“I think that’s enough.” Deena winked at me, got her coat on, and went out the back door. Like she didn’t have a care in the world. Like she was enjoying this. She sat in her car for a couple minutes, warming it up, then drove away.
I was stuck here with the kid and Mrs. Z. And a shitload of work. I thought about taking the baby and heading down to the Cities by myself. Just take my chances. But I didn’t want to be alone with the kid in the truck for three hours. It would be easier with Deena. And I had no fucking clue where or how to do this. So I’d have to wait till Deena got back. She had the upper hand. And she knew it.
When she got home, I was napping on the living room sofa. I’d done everything except the bathroom drip. I heard her come in and rustle with grocery bags. Chopping sounds. Hissing. Then something smelled good. She walked into the living room and laughed at me. I opened my eyes, and she threw a kitchen towel at my head.
“Hey,” I said.
“You did good out there,” she said. “I took a peek before I came in.”
“Checking up on me?” I sat up and rubbed my face.
“You never know.” She shrugged and went back into the kitchen. “Is Z at cribbage?”
“Yeah,” I said, yawning. While I was outside working, Mrs. Z had been watching the baby. When I came back in, the kid was asleep in the dresser drawer, and Mrs. Z said she was going to the senior center. Said she’d be back for supper.
“You wanna help me with this?” Deena said.
“No.” I walked into the kitchen. “But I’ll eat one of these.” I opened a package and grabbed a biscuit.
“Hey, that’s for the chicken à la king,” she said, chopping mushrooms.
“We should get going,” I said, eating another one. “It’s already four-thirty.”
“After dinner,” said Deena. “Let’s eat, and then I’ll get ready to go.”
I sighed. Deena was always better at making plans. But I hated feeling this helpless.
The front door opened and Mrs. Z walked in. “Hello,” she called out. “I’ve got cookies from the senior center.”
The baby cried and Deena motioned for me to go get her. “Jesus,” I said, but I went.
“Someone’s hungry,” said Mrs. Z, taking off her coat and watching me struggle with the baby.
“How was cribbage?” asked Deena. I brought the baby into the kitchen and Mrs. Z followed. Deena was taking the bottle out of the pan. The screams were loud.