Chapter 8: Dad Tries a Bit

Dad stayed overnight at Memorial Hospital, and on Sunday morning he tried to apologize to me by doing my job.

I walked into his room with a coffee I had bought myself.

He was sitting up in bed in a paper gown, with an IV in one hand and a small velvet box in the other.

"Sit down," he said. "I have something for you."

Mom had gone to find a vending machine.

June sat in the corner chair with her knees drawn up, and she did not look at me.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and Dad handed me the velvet box.

Inside was a pair of aviator sunglasses with gold frames.

"The good ones," he said. "The man at the counter said they were Italian."

"I have eleven pairs."

"Not of those."

He took the box back, took the glasses out, and slid them onto his own face, crooked, over his reading glasses.

"Bobby Halvorson," he said, in the deepest voice he owns. "You have been caught skipping your own life."

He waited.

It was the worst impression I had ever heard.

It was my bit with his voice in it, and his voice was flat.

"Come quietly," he went on, "and nobody gets hurt."

Nothing happened in the room.

His mouth was working.

"I thought it would be funnier," he said.

"It's not funny, Dad."

"I know."

"It's not even the right sunglasses. I put mine on the outside of the badger."

Keep reading free with an account. Start No Longer the Family Clown from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.