Saturday is the only day that is meant for sleeping in. Monday through Friday are for work or school, and Sunday is for church, football, or family. But Saturday is the day to turn off the alarm clock, pull the covers up over your head and do nothing.

"Ror, get up," Dad says after he throws open my bedroom door. "She'll be here at eleven."

I'm not good with words first thing in the morning. So all I can do is hold up my index finger. Sometimes it means one more minute, be right there, or I got your back. Today my dad takes it as an obscene gesture.

"Rory! Get up now."

My feet hit the floor before he gets to the end of the statement.

"Take a quick shower, then come out to the living room. We have to clean up."

I have never understood why I even have to be here when she comes by. She doesn't even notice me. All she does is stare at my dad with those big green eyes of hers while he fidgets nervously.

She is Kathleen Gedes, the woman who gave birth to me. I would say she is my mother, but nothing could be further from the truth.

"How long do you think she'll be here?"

Dad pauses at the door. There's a look in his eyes that I've seen before. It's the look of a condemned man.

"Couple of hours, I don't know."

"Well, I'm not gonna sit here for two hours while she moons over you."

Dad cuts his eyes at me in warning.

"You'll sit there until I tell you otherwise. Now go take your shower."

Two frozen waffles are in the toaster oven by the time I get into the kitchen. "Eat up, then wash the dish."

A few seconds later I hear the sound of the vacuum. Now my dad isn't cleaning the house to impress Kathleen. He's burning off nervous energy. Later, after she leaves, he'll walk down to the creek and toss rocks in the water. Like I said, nervous energy.

I forgo the plate and smear peanut butter on both, then press them together and eat it like a sandwich.

I tap his shoulder and he turns off the vacuum.

"Dad, what was Kathleen like before I was born?" He starts wrapping the cord around the hooks and doesn't answer me right away.

When he does finally answer he looks me in the eye and gives me the saddest smile I've ever seen.

"Same as she is now. A mannequin, an empty, beautiful mannequin."

Most fathers would try to sugar coat the truth, not Dean, not my dad.

My dad says there is no favor in sugar coating anything. He says that sweetening the truth may let it go in easier, but it will still leave a bad taste in your mouth.

Today is going to be uncomfortable. Not just for me, but for my dad as well.


My dad's hands shake all the time. Some days a little. I mean you wouldn't even notice unless you knew what to look for. Today his hands are going crazy.

Dad's an alcoholic. He says it's like having the devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The problem is the angel keeps flying away, leaving the devil to whisper in your ear.

His father was an alcoholic and from the few stories I've heard, he made my dad's childhood miserable.

My granddad doesn't strike me as a bully, but I saw some pictures of Dad when he was younger. There was always some bandage or cast on him. He had a sorrowful look on his face in each picture.

It makes me sad that my daddy doesn't know Granddad like I do. I bet if he did, he'd really like him.

"Rory, go sweep the porch off, will you?"

I leave him, knowing that the answer I just got, is the most information I'm going to get.

I'd no sooner swept the bottom step when I see a sports car leading a trail of dust towards the house.

"Kathleen's here," I call over my shoulder.

Out of the darkened interior I hear my dad answer flatly. "Yippee."