life. “Nothing like a purring engine,” she said, her breath visible in the freezing temperature. She checked the digital reading on her car’s panel. Twenty-eight degrees. She felt every bit of it, too, as she waited for the engine to warm up so she could turn the heater on. Once she flipped the switch on to HIGH HEAT, she delighted in the warmth as she directed the vents toward her hands. She’d left the house this morning without gloves. Knowing the temperature was predicted to be well below freezing, she’d try to remember to stuff her gloves in her coat pocket before she left the house in the morning. Along with a note to herself to remember to place a call to Roger Riedel to set up a bank transfer to Razzle Dazzle’s business account.
She drove down the long drive leading up to the house. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was almost 6:00. Unsure how the time had gotten away from her, she hurried inside and was greeted by the sumptuous smell of her mother’s pot roast.
“I’m home,” she called out as she headed upstairs to change. When she’d moved back into her childhood home three years before, she’d returned to her childhood room, and with her mother’s help, they’d redecorated it in cool grays and whites, a décor that a thirty-five-year-old woman was comfortable with. While she appreciated her mother’s keeping her room as it had been, she couldn’t imagine living in her former girlish room after living on her own since she had left for college. They’d packed the memories away, and Lauren had thought at the time that maybe someday she’d share the mementoes with her own daughter. But at the rate she was going, she’d be too old to remember them herself. Smiling at her own silly thoughts, she undressed and took a hot shower. As the water slid down her back, easing the stiffness in her muscles, she felt the tension of the day wash away. She hadn’t washed her hair, but she did re-braid it in a long French braid. She didn’t bother with makeup but added a touch of mascara to her blond lashes.
She put on a pair of soft, faded jeans with a worn Florida Gators sweatshirt and a pair of thick socks. She hadn’t realized how tired she was and, for a moment, wished she hadn’t invited Brent to dinner. But reminding herself how this would make her father’s evening, all traces of “poor me” were wiped away with the thought. Dad spent most of his days in the house, and given his limited mobility, having a visitor was a big deal to him.
Downstairs, Lauren joined her mother in the kitchen. “Yum, I’m starved,” she said as she peered through the oven’s glass door.
“I am too,” said her father as he made his way to the table in the center of the large farmhouse kitchen.
“Hey, Dad, how are you feeling?” Lauren asked as she gathered plates and flatware for the table.
“I’m pretty good today, despite this chilly spell we’re having.” He sat down, and Lauren knew he was in pain from the look on his face.
Once a towering man at six feet, he’d appeared to have lost a bit of height a few months after he’d been diagnosed. His features were still that of a handsome, middle-aged man. Despite his illness, he remained hopeful, and never, at least that she knew of, allowed himself to go into a dark, depressive place. His dark-blond hair still smelled of Prell shampoo, and she knew he still used Mennen After Shave. Smiling to herself, as she thought of these features of her father, her dread of the evening ahead vanished.
“What are we drinking tonight?” Lauren asked her father.
“I’m sticking to the hard stuff,” he said, and pointed to the pitcher of water her mother was bringing to the table.
“Don’t say I can’t read your mind,” her mom told him, then winked at Lauren.
“I know better than to get involved in this conversation,” Lauren said, filling a glass with ice and placing it on the table in front of her father.
They went through a similar routine almost nightly, and Lauren knew this was their way of trying to keep their lives as normal as possible under the circumstances. It broke her heart, yet she was amazed by the strength of character they exhibited by refusing to wallow in self-pity. Her parents were good people. Hardworking and tough. She wished she could just