Lori caught up with me, and we walked for a while in silence. "Poor
Mom," Lori finally said. "She's got it tough."
"No tougher than the rest of us," I said.
"Yes, she does," Lori said. "She's the one who's married to Dad."
"That was her choice," I said. "She needs to be firmer, lay down the law
for Dad instead of getting hysterical all the time. What Dad needs is a
strong woman."
"A caryatid wouldn't be strong enough for Dad."
"What's that?"
"Pillars shaped like women," Lori said. "The ones holding up those
Greek temples with their heads. I was looking at a picture of some the
other day, thinking, Those women have the second toughest job in the
world."
I disagreed with Lori. I thought a strong woman would be able to
manage Dad. What he needed was someone who was focused and
determined, someone who would set ultimatums and stick to them. I
figured I was strong enough to keep Dad in line. When Mom told me I
was so focused it was scary, I know she didn't mean it as a compliment,
but I took it that way.
My chance to prove that Dad could be managed came that summer, once
school was out. Mom had to spend eight weeks up in Charleston, taking
college courses to renew her teaching certificate. Or so she said. I
wondered if she was looking for a way to get away from us all for a
while. Lori, because of her good grades and art portfolio, had been
accepted into a government-sponsored summer camp for students with
special aptitudes. That left me, at thirteen, the head of the household.