by Roger Hayden
***
Ana was dropped off by Jessica’s mom around eight p.m. She walked up the driveway with her book bag over the shoulder of her blue cardigan sweater. Her short black hair bounced above her neck, and she quickened her step when she saw two cars parked in the driveway. There was her mother’s Tahoe and what looked like her father’s Toyota pickup truck. Ana was suspicious. She walked in between the cars and hurried to the front door as lightning quietly flashed above like white electric veins.
She walked inside and could smell the aroma of Hamburger Helper. Her mom’s voice sounded from the kitchen. She was talking to someone, likely her dad, and when Ana came around the corner of the foyer into the kitchen, she could see him sitting at the table, just like the old days, his same short, frazzled dark hair and good tan, looking like he always had. He raised his head and smiled at her. Her mother stood against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed, as if Ana had interrupted something.
“Hey there,” Freddy said. His thin face looked more sunken than before. He looked tired and overworked. He had issues Ana knew little about. Issues that had driven her parents apart, though her mother wasn’t entirely innocent either.
Ana stood motionless for a moment with her backpack still in hand. Her dad pulled a chair out from the dinner table and patted the seat with a smile. “Come sit next to your dad.”
She hung her backpack over one chair and sat in the other, next to her father.
“I’ll go ahead and make you a plate,” Miriam said, turning to the stove.
“I already ate at Jessica’s,” Ana said.
Miriam dropped the spoon into the pot and sighed. “I told you I was going to make dinner.”
“Relax,” Freddy said. “You can’t expect a kid to wait that long to eat, can you?”
Miriam said nothing as she held the pot up and shoveled the rest of the food into a Tupperware container with a spoon. Ana looked toward the sink and saw two empty bowls. Confused, she wondered what it was all about. Had they eaten dinner together? Her dad lived close but rarely visited. Why was he there now? When they spoke, their courteous tones made her suspicious.
Miriam placed the Tupperware in the refrigerator and walked to the table. “I asked your father here tonight so we could all talk.”
“About what?” Ana asked.
“Your mom has to do something important, and I’m going to be watching you for a little bit,” Freddy said.
Miriam cut in, as though she didn’t trust Freddy’s assessment of the situation. “I’ve been called back onto a case that’s very important to me. It’s important to a lot of people.” She stopped and placed a hand on the back of Ana’s chair. “I’ll be gone for a week, and I’d rather you stay here and continue school. Your father agreed to stay here and take care of you while I’m gone.”
Ana looked from parent to parent, confused. “So does this mean you guys are getting back together?”
Freddy smiled and shook his head. “No, honey. That’s not it.”
“Why not? If you’re going to stay here a week, you might as well just move in.”
Both parents looked at each other, then back to Ana.
“That’s not happening,” Miriam said, patting her head. “I have a job to do, and I’m leaving tonight.”
In the past, Ana had heard them fighting. She had seen her father drink and drink. She had seen him sitting around the house all day while her mom worked. She had seen him go to jail for driving after drinking. She saw a lot. But the scene before her at that moment was perhaps the most surreal of all.
“Can’t I just go with you?” she blurted out, noticing a disappointed expression cross her father’s worn face.
“No,” Miriam said. “You’re going to school. Nothing changes. Your father is going to watch you, and that’s that.”
Ana looked around, thinking of some way to keep her mom from leaving. “What about my spelling bee on Thursday?”
Miriam nodded with a look of regret. “Your dad can record it for me.”
Freddy took Ana’s hand and squeezed. “It’ll be okay. Don’t you want to see me?”
Ana shrugged. “I guess.”
“Ana, that’s enough,” Miriam said, startling her. “Now go take your things to your room and let us talk this out.”
“Whatever,” she said, without making eye contact with either parent. She grabbed her backpack and left the kitchen, walking toward the hall where her room was. She flipped her light switch on and closed the door. A week with her father. She supposed that things could be worse.