Mom Over Miami - By Annie Jones Page 0,42
dull roar.
Hannah shut her eyes to blot out everything but her sister’s voice. “Say that again, Sadie. Daddy went where and asked for what?”
“He went into the vet clinic with his neighbor’s new kitten tucked under his arm and announced, ‘I’m here for my cat scan!’”
Maybe it was the ridiculousness of her situation. Or maybe having the image form in her head of her daddy clutching a small furball to his blue sweater, his gray hat screwed down tight to hide the orneriness in his eyes that set her off. Hannah didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. She had to laugh.
“Great fun for you, sure.” Sadie’s bristling carried like an electrical current through the lines.
“Besides, if anyone is acting infantile around here, maybe we should look to the person whose immature artistic style belongs stuck up on a refrigerator, not factored into a design scheme.” Jacqui shook her head to loosen more caulk.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Sadie asked.
“Yes.” Hannah moved to the doorway that separated the two rooms. “You did. Excuse me just a second.”
She caught Jacqui by the arm and helped her through to the next room, where her sister stood surveying the wreckage that had once been a pair of hand-decorated shoes.
“Jacqui? Cydney? This is an important phone call. It’s concerning my family. For the next few minutes, all issues concerning my family will be being conducted over there.” She pointed to the toddler room. “All issues concerning your family will be contained in here.”
Wham. She slammed the door between herself and the wide-eyed, paint-slopped sisters.
“But then, there doesn’t seem to be such a thing as a good time to catch me these days,” she told her own sister in the sweetest tone imaginable. “So go on talking.”
“Okay. So Daddy pulls this stunt at the vet, and after the giggling died down in the waiting room, he tells everyone there to be sure to let his busybody daughter know that he’d reported for his test as per her orders.”
“Did he now?”
“I’ve been fielding calls all day long.”
“Interesting.”
“Interesting that Daddy pulled this stunt, or interesting that he actually listened to what I told him and acted on it—childishly—but acted on it just the same?”
“Interesting that when told to get word to his busybody daughter, everyone called you.”
Sadie chuckled soft and quick before clucking her tongue. “I guess if he’d said call his celebrity daughter, you’d be the one trying to convince Lollie Mulldoon that Daddy’s actions sprang from sarcasm, not a desperate plea for help.”
“Sarcasm? What’s prompted Daddy to resort to sarcasm now?”
“Not like he needs prompting.” Aunt Phiz and Sadie treated Hannah to the remark in stereo.
Hannah blinked.
Aunt Phiz suddenly got terribly involved in not looking like she’d been eavesdropping. She gave the far corner of the carpet a mighty yank.
A long, ominous ripping sound tore through the vacant room as the flooring came loose.
Sadie pressed on. “What usually leads him to sarcasm? He’s trying to take the heat off.”
“The heat off?”
“Because he doesn’t want to have the tests.”
“Oh.”
Hannah rubbed her forehead, but that didn’t ease the tension brought on by the reminder of their father’s transient ischemic attacks. He had the first about the time she’d learned she was pregnant with Tessa. The same time they had all learned about the ultimate, heartbreaking fate of their mother.
“What?” The carpet fell from Aunt Phiz’s grip, sending a load of musty-smelling dust through the room.
Hannah bounced Tessa on her hip, turning away so she wouldn’t show her disappointment and concern to her aunt as she answered the question. “The tests.”
“He still hasn’t gone for those?”
Hannah shook her head.
Payt had tried to hook Daddy up with the best neurologists in Kentucky for a year now, but the old man always had an excuse to cancel the appointments.
“He says he feels fine,” Hannah relayed to her aunt.
“Let’s just see if he’s still saying that once I get a hold of him.” The old gal slapped her hands together. Her ample upper arms swayed and joggled, making her look pretty formidable for a senior citizen with a clown-hair-colored poodle perm.
“You?” Hannah asked.
“Who?” Sadie shot back.
“Me!” Phiz motioned for Hannah to hand her the small cell phone. “Sounds like our Sadie has her hands full. And since you don’t seem ready or willing to accept my help, why shouldn’t I hie myself down to Wileyville to see what I can do?”
Because you’re my help. You came to me. To impose yourself on my life. Not Sadie’s. Mine.
Mine, mine, mine.
Not