Emily

Emily

My Dad had pretty much stayed drunk constantly since Mom left a year ago. He was an okay drunk - he was never mean or abusive. Mostly he'd sit at the table, staring at nothing, a bottle at his elbow. Sometimes he'd cry, but not too often. Sometimes he'd paint - for hours, even days, until he fell over from exhaustion and I'd get him to bed. So when Keeson dragged me home by my ear, I really didn't think I'd get in much trouble. But when we got there, Dad was not only upset, he was sober. And he was packing. I sighed, knowing what was coming.

Keeson and I stood in the foyer. He was staring at suitcases and piles of boxes in disbelief.

Dad glanced over his shoulder. "Thanks for bringing her home."

Keeson, a really big, beefy cop with a complexion as ruddy as a strawberry, leaned against the wall and asked "Goin' somewhere?"

Dad looked up from putting papers in a banker's box and nodded. "I've got a commission in Sarasota. We've got to be down there by next Tuesday." But his eyes slid away, back to the papers.

I took a sideways peek at Keeson to see if he knew that Dad was lying. He was frowning and looking back and forth from Dad to me. "What about this pain-in-the-ass kid of yours? Do you know she broke Eddie Farrell's arm tonight with a baseball bat?"

That stopped Dad. He glared at me. "Was there any particular reason for breaking Eddie's arm?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." I answered. "The little motherfucker was going to..."

"Emily!" snapped Keeson. "Watch your language!"

I saw Dad's lips twitch. "He was tying up a little dog and he had some gasoline and he was going to set it on fire!" I blurted.

Dad's eyes flicked to Keeson and then back to me. "Can you prove that?"

"Ty Garrett and Bobby Martinez were there. They saw the whole thing. But they're Eddie's friends."

Keeson smiled - a rather scary smile - and leaned toward me. "They'll tell me the story - the truth. Tony Martinez is a friend of mine. He won't want his kid mixed up with Eddie. But we're going to have a problem with Eddie's mother. She's already screaming lawyers and lawsuits and my poor little baby."

"Poor little baby, my ass!" I snarled, getting angry again. "That worthless little piece of.."

"Emily!" two voices yelped as one.

They glared at me and I went to the refrigerator and started pulling out salami and cheese and mustard, then reached for the bread. "You want a sandwich, Keeson? Dad?"

Dad said "That's Officer Keeson, Em." while Keeson shook his head. "I've got to get going if I'm going to talk to Ty and Bobby before Eddie gets to them." He looked at Dad. "When are you leaving?"

Dad looked up at the wall clock as if thinking. "Probably tomorrow afternoon."

Keeson looked at him for a long moment and then said "OK, but I'll want to talk to Emily again before you leave. And I'll need your new address and phone number."

Dad said “No problem.” but he didn’t look at Keeson.

After Keeson left, I took my sandwich into my room and dug out the two beat up suitcases in the closet. Between bites I packed everything that I couldn't live without. It had been 18 months since the last time we'd moved, but I remembered the drill. I didn't know why we moved, but I did know that we wouldn't be anywhere near Sarasota next Tuesday and that when Keeson came around in the morning, we'd be gone.

This was why Mom had left. She just couldn’t take it any more. We’d settle in someplace and she’d get a job and find friends and 8-12-18 months later, the suitcases and boxes would come out and we’d be off to a new place. I’d heard Mom and Dad arguing about it a couple of times. After the last move I heard Mom yelling that she was done with moving. And if he planned to go anywhere else, it would be without her. And here we were – moving without her. And I was in the middle of 6th grade.

That didn’t seem to matter either. When Dad decided to move, we moved.

I pulled everything out of my closet and dresser and from under the bed and looked at it all. I knew I couldn’t take it all. I made my decisions quickly and packed – leaving the sports equipment, except for my signed Barry Bonds baseball. I left the dolls. I took Mister Blue, my stuffed bunny. He always came with me. My clothes fit in easily. I didn’t have that many. And I took five books. I looked at my pink and purple bedspread with regret. It was so pretty.

Dad materialized beside me. “You want to take the bedspread?” he asked.

I jumped a little. It was like he was reading my mind. “It’s too big.” I said.

“We’ll throw it in the backseat. You can curl up in it and sleep.” He smiled down at me. “It’s too pretty to leave behind.”

We were on the road by midnight. I’d made coffee and sandwiches. Dad said “I’ve got a job offer in Dallas. It sounds really good.”

“Doing what?” I asked.

“Painting.” he said in a dreamy voice. “Mostly advertising, but some landscapes and portraits as well.”

He sighed and glanced at me. “It really sounds like something I’ll like.” And he started singing “Hey, Jude. Don’t be afraid. You were made to…go out and get….her.”

And we rolled south down the highway, singing old Beatles’ songs and eating salami sandwiches. I wondered how long we’d be in Dallas.