Lori could tell by my face that something was wrong. She stood up so
abruptly she knocked over a bottle of india ink, and ran into the
bedroom. I braced myself, expecting to hear a scream, but there was only
silence and then a small, broken whimpering. Lori stayed up all night to
confront Dad, but he didn't come home. She skipped school the
following day in case he returned, but Dad was AWOL for three days
before we heard him climbing the rickety staircase to the porch.
"You bastard!" Lori shouted. "You stole our money!"
"What the goddamn hell are you talking about?" Dad asked. "And watch
your language." He leaned against the door and lit a cigarette.
Lori held up the slashed pig and threw it as hard as she could at Dad, but
it was empty and nearly weightless. It struck his shoulder lightly, then
bounced to the floor. He bent down carefully, as if the floor beneath him
could shift at any moment, picked up our ravaged piggy bank, and turned
it over in his hands. "Someone sure as hell gutted old Oz, didn't they?"
He turned to me. "Jeannette, do you know what happened?"
He was actually half grinning at me. After the whipping, Dad had jacked
up the charm with me, and even though I was planning to leave, he could
make me laugh when he tried, and he still considered me an ally. But
now I wanted to knock him over the head. "You took our money," I said.
"That's what happened."
"Well, don't that beat all," Dad said. He started going on about how a
man comes home from slaying dragons, trying to keep his family safe,
and all he wants in return for his toil and sacrifice is a little love and
respect, but it seemed these days that was just too damn much to ask for.
He said he didn't take our New York money, but if Lori was hell-bent on
living in that cesspool, he'd finance her trip himself.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few wadded dollar bills. We