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Show in my father's house/196 wouldn't be in town. A week before the festival, this possibility occured to me, but I pushed the thought away. "He'll come," I told myself. "He has to come." Five days later, I went to my mother. "Our father-daughter party is Monday. Will you call Daddy and tell him to come?" I believed if she asked him to come, he would do it. She asked little of him except that he treat her sciatica or her nervous tension or her female trouble. My mother glanced up from her ironing. "Why we can't do that! He'd have to travel hundreds of miles, all the way from Wolf Crossing. She named the Montana village where he lived with Aunt Sarah. "Besides, it isn't our turn, honey." She gave me a pitying look. My voice was tight. "What will I do? I can't miss the banquet... and I can't go without a f-father." I bit my lip angrily. I hadn't cried for my father in almost two years, not even when I was alone at night. She sighed. "Maybe Saul would take you. Would that be all right?" I nodded dumbly. It wouldn't be the same as having my father beside me, but Saul was good to me. Despite the temper that flared more and more often, directing his foot into the side of his car, his fist against the house, and his voice at the ceiling, he was gentle - if distracted and distant - with me. "What if Saul won't go?" "Oh, I think he will. He knows what it's like. He misses having a father to take him hunting and to watch his ball games like his friends. I know it's hard on you kids. Sometimes I |