Page 107 of Error Handling

“It’s been since Allison, hasn’t it?” Dad says.

I focus on scratching under Velveeta’s chin, so I don’t have to look my father in the eye. “Maybe.”

“It’s time to move on.”

“I’ve moved on. It’s just... I have an idea... A dream, I guess, of flipping houses for a living. I’ve been focused on saving money to make that possible. The job in Puerto Rico would allow me to save up enough to get my business started.”

Dad leans back and raps his fingers against the comforter. “That’s a noble dream. But take it from me. Don’t follow your dream at the expense of everything else. I look back, and all I see are the hours I put in, and how my work distanced me from your mom and you kids.

“How many of your baseball games did I miss?” he continues. “How many band concerts went by while I was on the phone negotiating contracts? Far too many. You don’t get those moments back.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty about anything, Dad.”

“I do, and I should. I carried the stress of work with me everywhere I went. I took it out on you and yelled when I should have been patient. You have no idea how much I regret some of the things I said to your mother. I’m surprised she didn’t divorce me.”

“We all survived. The past is the past.”

Dad sits straighter and looks directly into my eyes. “But I can counsel you now and teach you, so you don’t make my mistakes. There’s nothing wrong with following your dreams, but make sure you don’t do it at the expense of the people you love. People are more important than work. It took me a long time to figure that out, but God was patient with my hard-headed self. Thankfully, I still have some time to make it right.

“If you ever need to talk about anything,” Dad says, “I mean anything, I’m here, okay? Your mom made me get rid of my flip phone and now I have one of those fancy touchscreen ones.” He motions to the cellphone on the nightstand. “You can call me from wherever, even Puerto Rico if you decide to go there.”

The thought of calling my dad just to chat is foreign. He might want our relationship to evolve into something more, but I’m not sure I’m ready. Old habits are hard to break. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. All that. But the old dog lying on the bed seems to be learning some new ones, so maybe it’s possible.

Not today, though. I’m not ready. I’ve had to flip from going solo to being a contributing family member in less than twenty-four hours. It will take all my energy just to remember how to make small talk with my extended family on Sunday.

“I think I’m going to head downstairs,” I say. “Do you need anything besides that milkshake?”

“Just the cat. She and I have been commiserating about getting old. You’d be surprised how much wisdom a feline can impart.”

I chuckle. “She’s all yours.” I gather up Velveeta’s lanky bones and set her on my dad’s lap, where she instantly curls up to continue her nap.

Chapter 18

Sarah

I sit on a not-so-comfortable chair in Charleston International Airport. I’ve been here since nine o’clock, per my mother’s request. It’s eleven-thirty now. My stomach growls in tandem with my mood.

Nathan’s Hot Dogs call my name even though I haven’t eaten a hot dog since I was fifteen and learned about mechanically separated meat, a.k.a. pink slime or meat slurry. Meat isn’t meant to fit through a straw. Nathan’s probably has fries or chips that I could munch on instead, but I don’t want to ruin my appetite in case Mom expects a nice lunch.

Since nine o’clock, I’ve made six crochet mandalas out of purple, green, and red yarn. I’ll have another blanket put together in no time, hopefully not before my mother arrives. My bum is over this plastic chair.

The airport’s waiting area looks like a mall with stores lining the sides and a rotunda in the center with domed windows that allow ample light in. As nice as it is, I’m ready to ditch this place for the beach. The temperature is in the eighties,uncharacteristically warm for March, and Folly Island’s waves are calling.

If I spend most of my time lying on a towel in the sand (assuming the weather holds), my mom and dad will leave me alone. I’ll have to see them during lunch and dinner, but that won’t be so bad. Folly Island has plenty of delicious eateries where I can stuff my face rather than socialize with the parent of the day.

I need to adjust my attitude and quick. My mom and dad are good people. Mostly. Except when they’re together. Then they’re like a wolverine and a honey badger going after the same quokka. Hopefully, my mom’s cottage is on the opposite side of the island so there aren’t any accidental encounters.

I hear castors rumbling over tile, a sound often repeated since I arrived at nine o’clock. This time the sound approaches, which prompts me to look up from my seventh mandala. My mom parks the suitcase next to my feet and stands with her arms outstretched.

Mom is wearing a raincoat over her thin frame. It looks two sizes too big. Her ribbed turtleneck sweater and joggers aren’t appropriate for Charleston’s weather either. I decide not to mention it. She’ll find out she’s overdressed when she steps into my car.

I gently hug my mom. She’s always been skinny, but she’s giving new definition to the word.

“Mom, I think you forgot to eat.”

“They don’t feed you on planes anymore. Not even a bag of peanuts.”

“No. I mean, you’re awfully skinny.”