Sarah thought. Or a week.
Or one day on a mountain with Joe Burke.
“Where’d you just come from?” Sarah’s father asked.
“Salt Lake City.”
“Never been,” he said.
“It’s pretty,” Sarah told him. “You two might like it. Cold, though.”
She knew that would be enough to keep her father away from there forever. The man could never abide the cold.
While Sarah’s mother busied herself at the stove, Sarah couldn’t help noticing how worn out she seemed. Both her parents always looked tired to her these days. She wondered if they had always looked that way, and she just never saw it when she lived at home. But now that months went by between her visits, she could see how they aged. It was one of the reasons she was so happy when they finally started accepting money from her. She had visions of helping them both retire within another few years. It was just one more dream she lost on April 6.
“How’s the car running?” her father asked.
“Really well. No problems. That was a good find, Dad. Thanks.”
“I’ll tune it up for you again over Christmas,” he said. “Don’t take it to any of those L.A. shops. They’ll ruin that car if they touch it.”
“I won’t let anyone else near it,” Sarah promised.
Her father nodded and went back to reading the paper.
“So, how’s it going with Joe?” Sarah’s mother asked.
Sarah knew that question would come. Ever since she told her parents who her opponent was, Sarah’s mother acted particularly protective.
“It’s fine,” Sarah said. “It’s not a big deal. We’re all so exhausted all the time from the travel, no one even bothers talking to each other very much.”
She knew she should feel bad about lying that way, but it was better than the alternative. If her mother had any hint of what happened with Joe the day before, she would have lectured Sarah for hours about how untrustworthy he was, how maybe he was trying to take advantage of their relationship so he could win his case, how Sarah was too good for him back then and far too good for him now, and of course he realized that, but too bad, he’d had his chance and thrown it away, he never should have treated her like that . . .
Only some of which Sarah agreed with.
“I don’t know how you’re doing it,” her mother said, taking the potatoes off the stove and draining them over a colander. “If your father ever left me, I’d never forgive him. You remember that, Gene.”
“I’ll remember,” he said, winking at Sarah.
“I don’t know how I’d ever be able to sit in a room with him even once,” Sarah’s mother said, “let alone over and over, week after week. I’d be so angry I couldn’t stand it.”
“Oh, come on,” Sarah’s father said. “Work’s work. You can’t always choose who’s on the job with you.”
“That’s right,” Sarah said, grateful that her father was always so practical. “I’m just glad to make money again. I should be out of debt by the middle of next month. Then I’m going to start sending you some again. Yes, I am, Dad,” she said before he could argue. “When’s the last day off you had? Either of you?”
“We’re both taking the whole weekend off,” Sarah’s mother said.
“Good. That’s progress,” Sarah answered.
“What do you think will happen when your five months are up?” Sarah’s father asked.
“I’m hoping they’ll offer me a permanent job there. If not, at least I have something new on my résumé. I’ll be fine. Things are already so much better.”
Sarah got up from the table before her mother could steer the conversation in the wrong direction again. “Want me to mash those?”
“Sure, honey. Butter and milk in the fridge.”
Sarah and her mother had reached a compromise about her food: Sarah wouldn’t eat any meat—not the Thanksgiving turkey or the Christmas ham or any of the other standard meals her mother made for every holiday, including the meatloaf Sarah used to love to have any time she came home—but Sarah also wouldn’t be such a stickler about butter and cream and other dairy products her mother insisted made every dish of hers as rich and delicious as it was. So she accepted the milk in her mashed potatoes. And the butter dripping on the rolls. And every other off-limits item her mother depended on in her cooking.
Sarah could have another green smoothie when she got home. Until then, she was in her mother’s work-worn hands.
“Bet that Joe Burke wishes he could