Page 18 of A Class of Her Own

Me: House is dark and cold. No sign of my dad. Ash is mad

Ruby: Does it smell like dead people?

Me: No. But it might soon

Aryn: Is he in his workshop?

Hailey: Shoot, did the power get turned off again?

Me: Workshop doors are closed. House lights are working. Gas might be off though. It’s chilly and the oven isn’t working

Aryn: Sorry about Ash

Me: Jake is being cool. Poor guy

Ruby: Do you need blankets?

Me: No. I need Forest to show his face and explain himself

At the top of the stairs, I knocked on my dad’s closed bedroom door. When there was no reply, I opened it and entered the darkened space. Dad had always slept with light dampening shades because, as a dedicated artist, he created whenever the mood hit and slept when he could. As a result, although it was sunny outside, my eyes were having a hard time making sense of anything in the room.

“Dad?” I called. There was a moaning sound from the direction of the bed. “We’re all here. The food is ready.”

“Food?” he mumbled.

“It’s Thanksgiving. Ash is here with her boyfriend.”

“Ash?”

“Your youngest daughter.” My tone was deeply sarcastic, and I knew it.

My phone dinged, saving him from my sharp tongue.

Aryn: Any luck?

Me: Found him in bed. How illegal is patricide?

Ruby: I think you have a case

Lizzie: Is he sick?

Me: No. Probably stayed up too late.

Hailey: Can you get heat going in the house?

Me: Still figuring that out

“Dad, why is the house so cold?” I asked. My eyes had adjusted enough that I watched as he moved into a sitting position. “Did the gas get turned off?”

He rubbed his face. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” I asked, striving to keep my tone light.

“You know I’m not good at keeping up with bills, and I’m usually outside anyway.”

I sucked in my lips and took a deep breath. “Dad. It’s Thanksgiving. Take a shower, wake up a little, and then you’re going to eat some turkey with your daughters and meet Jake.”

“I don’t eat . . .”

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