home any second.
The following morning, we packed up the car while Dad sat in the living
room sulking. We tied Mom's art supplies to the roof and filled the trunk
with pots and pans and blankets. Mom had bought each of us a warm
coat at a thrift store so we'd have something to wear in West Virginia,
where it got so cold in the winter that it snowed. Mom said we could
each take only one thing, like the time we left Battle Mountain. I wanted
to bring my bike, but Mom said it was too big, so I brought my geode.
I ran into the backyard and said goodbye to the orange trees, and then I
ran out front to get in the Oldsmobile. I had to crawl over Brian and sit
in the middle because he and Lori had already staked out the window
seats. Maureen was in the front seat with Mom, who had started the
engine and was practicing her gear shifts. Dad was still in the house, so I
leaned over Brian and shouted at the top of my voice. Dad appeared in
the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.
"Dad, please come, we need you!" I hollered.
Lori and Brian and Mom and Maureen all chimed in. "We need you!" we
shouted. "You're the head of the family! You're the dad! Come on!"
Dad stood there looking at us for a minute. Then he flicked the cigarette
he was smoking into the yard, closed the front door, loped over to the
car, and told Mom to move aside—he was driving.