over the cash, as if he knew I didn't have it in me to say no. And I didn't.
I took out my green plastic change purse and pulled out a crumpled five
and passed it over slowly.
"You're a doll," Dad said and gave me a kiss.
I pulled my head back. Giving him that money pissed me off. I was mad
at myself but even madder at Dad. He knew I had a soft spot for him the
way no one else in the family did, and he was taking advantage of it. I
felt used. The girls at school always talked about how this or that guy
was a user and how such and such a girl got used, and now I understood,
from deep inside, the meaning of that word.
When Dad asked me for another five bucks a few days later, I gave it to
him. It made me feel sick thinking I was now ten dollars off budget. In a
few more days, he asked for twenty.
"Twenty dollars?" I couldn't believe Dad was pushing me this far. "Why
twenty?"
"Goddammit, since when do I have to explain myself to my children?"
Dad asked. In the next breath, he told me that he had borrowed a friend's
car and needed to buy gas so he could drive to Gary for a business
meeting. "I need money to make money. I'll pay you back." He looked at
me, defying me to disbelieve him.
"I've got bills piling up," I said. I heard my voice growing shrill, but I
couldn't control it. "I've got kids to feed."
"Don't you worry about food and bills," Dad said. "That's for me to worry
about. Okay?"
I put my hand in my pocket. I didn't know if I was reaching for my
money or trying to protect it.