Page 106 of Error Handling

Velveeta appears from under the bed and begins rubbing her body against my ankles. At eighteen years old, the long-haired yellow tabby is looking a bit worse for wear herself. Her hair has lost its fluff and hangs in clumps along her side like she doesn’t have the will or the ability to lick herself anymore. I pick her up, and she immediately starts purring. I can feel her ribs as I pet her.

“So, what’s this about you moving to Puerto Rico?” Dad asks.

“I suppose Mom told you about that.”

“Of course. She came to me all frantic after she hung up the phone. I tried to calm her down.”

Velveeta makes two turns before finally curling up on my lap. So much for not getting any cat hair on my jeans.

“I accepted a construction position down there. It starts soon. But I’m not sure I should go.”

“Because of me?” Dad points a knobby finger at his chest.

I shrug. “Yeah. Mostly.”

“There’s another reason?”

I ponder whether I should talk to him about Sarah. When I was growing up, I never talked to my dad about anything. He was either at work or drinking a few nightcaps. In hindsight, I suspect my dad had a slight drinking problem, but no one ever talked about it.

“I like Charleston.” I scratch behind Velveeta’s ears.

“And...”

“And it feels like home.”

“And...”

“And you’re sick.”

Dad grabs his glasses from the nightstand and slides them onto his face. “There, I can see you better.”

“Could you see the TV without those?”

“I don’t need to see the news. I mostly just listen. Now, tell me about this girl.”

A blush rises to my cheeks.

“I knew it. There’s a girl.”

“I’ve only known her for a few weeks.”

“Long enough to consider changing your plans for her.”

“I have a good job in Charleston, and if I stay there, it’s only a twelve-hour drive home if something happens. And, who knows, I may need to move closer to help you and Mom out.”

“Your brother and sister are here, and they’re not going anywhere.”

“I feel guilty making them do all the work.”

“I may be a little feisty, but I’m not much work. Once these bruises heal, I’ll be up on my feet again.”

I look at my dad’s emaciated frame. I hope he’s right, that maybe he’ll get back on his feet, exercise, and eat more. Maybe the oxygen tank will help.

“When is the last time you had a real girlfriend, Chris?”

“As opposed to an imaginary one?”

We both laugh.