Page 126 of Error Handling

“Dinner is ready,” Mary says, too loudly for the size of the room.

We all head to the dining room table. The cottage is open-concept—the kitchen, dining room, and living room all under a vaulted roof. Chris and I sit on one side, Mom on the other. Dad takes the head of the table, and Mary sits opposite him after she’s set all our plates.

“Fried?” Mom says looking down at her plate of fish and chips.

“Hand-battered and fried in a fresh bath of peanut oil,” Mary says.

“Oh.” Mom studies her food another moment and then grabs a paper napkin and places it on her lap. “Chris has baked cod.”

“Chris is celiac,” I say.

“And we knew he was coming, Pat,” Dad says without looking up. He’s already made quick work of one of his filets.

“I know,” Mom says. “I’m not complaining. I’m just thinking of your arteries.”

“My arteries are fine,” Dad says.

“Is that why you had a heart cath?”

Dad drops his fork. “Who told you about my heart cath?”

Mom looks at Dad like he’s an idiot. “Your daughter.”

“No, I didn’t.” I shake my head. “I didn’t know anything about it.”

My back goes stick straight. I force myself to grab my fork and commence eating.

“Oh?” Mom says. “I thought you told me. Well, it must have been Karen.”

“I’m sure it was,” Dad says. “Tell her to keep my business to herself.”

“Shecaresabout you, Lloyd.”

“That woman wouldn’t care about a lost puppy.”

Instead of taking a bite, I fantasize about jabbing someone with my fork. “Um, can you guys...? We have a guest.”

“Yes, let’s keep this cordial,” Mary says.

“Daniel is married to her so she must have some good qualities according to your estimation,” Mom continues.

Dad grunts. He sinks his knife into his second filet.

I’ve finally managed to take a bite of mine. The batter is light, and the taste is pleasantly mild and salty, but I still don’t want to eat it. I grab a French fry and nibble on it.

“What were the results of the heart cath, Dad?” I ask.

“I told you. My arteries are clear.”

Mary clears her throat. “Lloyd.”

“What?”

“You also had an angioplasty.”

“And I’m good as new.”

“You’re giving Lloyd fried food when he has clogged arteries?” Mom says, gaping at Mary.