the apartments to her and the other squatters for one dollar apiece. She
couldn't accept our invitation to stay awhile, she said, because she had to
get back for a board meeting of the squatters. Mom also said she'd been
in touch with Maureen, who was still living in California, and that our
kid sister, whom I hadn't spoken to since she left New York, was
thinking of coming back for a visit.
We started talking about some of Dad's great escapades: letting me pet
the cheetah, taking us Demon Hunting, giving us stars for Christmas.
"We should drink a toast to Rex," John said.
Mom stared at the ceiling, miming perplexed thought. "I've got it." She
held up her glass. "Life with your father was never boring."
We raised our glasses. I could almost hear Dad chuckling at Mom's
comment in the way he always did when he was truly enjoying
something. It had grown dark outside. A wind picked up, rattling the
windows, and the candle flames suddenly shifted, dancing along the
border between turbulence and order.
About the Author Jeannette Walls lives in New York City and on Long
Island and is married to the writer John Taylor. She is a regular
contributor to MSNBC.com.