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Show Motherlunge a novel 219 Dinner was over. We were asking him about Dorothy, finally. "You know?" he shrugged. "She's down or she's up. She sleeps all the time, or never. She calls me to change the batteries in the remote control. I take her grocery shopping. And every few weeks, I drive her to the shrink." ' Xavier, crazy-eyed, worked his fingers into my father's chest hairs the way King Midas handled coins. "Yeah." Walter grimaced. "It's to the doctors for her regular follow-up. Assessment of compliance." "Clinical outcomes!" I said. "Functional measures!" Walter smiled. Pavia dropped her head forward and laughed. We had inherited my father's looks-Pavia more than me, but still-and his sense of humor. We had inherited his contempt and affection for our mother, marbled together like fatty meat. Our father had not been careful with his genetic material. "I sit in the car in front of the doctor's office and I honk until she comes back out," Walter said, coughing. We all laughed. Jack refilled our wine glasses. Pavia reached for Xavier and put him to her breast, then looked across the table at her father. "Talk about Judith," she said. Walter's eyes slid from Pavia to me. He patted the pocket on his t-shirt -reassuring himself that he still had cigarettes in the pack-but he didn't get up. "She was a good friend. I'm going to miss her." "Why?" I asked and then quickly said, "I mean, why don't you miss her yet?" I wiped my mouth. "You used to have coffee with her at the 3Bs every morning." |