My Father Bet My Year at the Boucherie, So I Signed It Myself and Named the Terms novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Truck

Dolly's POV

I did not let Andrei take her.

I stood in the camp house kitchen at seven in the morning with the phone in my hand and Seb beside me, and Seb said into the receiver, "She's driving today, Andrei."

There was a long silence.

"Of course," said Andrei, pleasantly.

I hung up for him.

"Why was he on the road last night?" I asked.

"I don't know," Seb said.

"Does he do that?"

"He's never done that."

Seb's jaw was set.

"I'll ask him."

"Don't," I said.

"Not yet."

He looked at me.

I thought of a clock, and a rice cooker, and a number on a truck door.

I did not know what I thought.

I only knew I wanted to wait.

Margot rode in the front seat and counted oaks.

At St. Martin's I walked her across the brick yard.

At recess I sat down on the bench against the wall, the one under the live oak where she liked to sit, and I took out my lunch and ate it slowly.

She came and sat at the other end of the bench.

I did not look at her.

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