| OCR Text |
Show 181 halfway through the dishes before he finished-Oscar demanded that everyone clean his plate. But tonight he was still picking at the carrots which were left on his plate as Sharon began on the pots and pans. "Come on, Marty, finish your supper. I'm going to be done with these before you've finished eating." He looked at the mound of carrots, lethargically pushing one apart with his fork. "What's the matter? You seem tired tonight." He looked up at her, the blond hair falling down over his forehead, and then looked back down at the mutilated carrot. "I want to talk with Dad." "He's reading the paper. He's got to go back to work tonight." "I know. That's why I've got to talk with him now." "You know he doesn't like to be disturbed when he's reading the paper. Besides, you haven't finished eating." "I got to talk with Dad, Shar." "What about?" He didn't look up at her; he separated off another carrot and began to jab at it with his fork, scooting around uncomfortably on his chair. His eyes were troubled. "Are you feeling okay?" He continued to push the carrot around with the prongs of his fork. She had discovered long ago that when he acted this way, he was often coming down with a cold. Or the stomach flu. It was best not to make him behave as she would ordinarily. She felt his forehead-was he feverish? She couldn't tell. He might be a little warm. |
