expert." He and Lori cracked up. I glared at them. I knew more about
Dad's situation than they did because he talked to me more than anyone
else in the family. We'd still go Demon Hunting in the desert together,
for old time's sake, since by then I was seven and too grown up to
believe in demons. Dad told me about all his plans and showed me his
pages of graphs and calculations and geological charts, depicting the
layers of sediment where the gold was buried.
He told me I was his favorite child, but he made me promise not to tell
Lori or Brian or Maureen. It was our secret. "I swear, honey, there are
times when I think you're the only one around who still has faith in me,"
he said. "I don't know what I'd do if you ever lost it." I told him that I
would never lose faith in him. And I promised myself I never would. A
few months after Mom had started working as a teacher, Brian and I
passed by the Green Lantern. The clouds above the setting sun were
streaked scarlet and purple. The temperature was dropping quickly, from
searing hot to chilly within a matter of minutes, like it always did in the
desert at dusk. A woman with a fringed shawl draped over her shoulders
was smoking a cigarette on the Green Lantern's front porch. She waved
at Brian, but he didn't wave back.
"Yoo-hoo! Brian, it's me, sugar! Ginger!" she called.
Brian ignored her.
"Who's that?" I asked.
"Some friend of Dad's," he said. "She's dumb."
"Why is she dumb?"
"She doesn't even know all the words in a Sad Sack comic book," Brian
said.