But hey, I'm gonna try, at least as long as there's food in the house **

and Daddy isn't home. He's not.

The garage is vacant, awaiting **

the Lexus's return. I glance at the grandfather clock in the hall.

Not yet four. I should have an hour or more, all to myself and my genie.

It's screaming to be fed.

Begging to be satisfied.

138.

It's Probably Weird To think about an addiction like it's a sentient being, but that's how it feels.

Like it's something living inside you. Something you can't get rid of because killing it means killing you.

I can't really understand addictions to drugs or alcohol.

Things that control you.

But an eating disorder is an addiction you control.

Wait, is that paradoxical?

I prefer to believe not.

Either way, I kick off my shoes, slide along the tile and into the kitchen, calming my genie **

with promises. Twinkies. Ice cream bars. Halloween candy.

Screw the trick-or-treaters.

Little heathens are bums.

139.

Sweet Stuff Sounds good, but I know from experience I'll get sick before I can eat enough sugar to satiate this kind of need. I should start with something else. Hey.

I know. I'll binge healthy and do the five food groups.

Crackers. Chips. Both whole grain. Salsa. Fruit salad.

Canned, but oh well. Cheese for the crackers. (And later, ice cream, dessert dairy.) Protein? Think there's lunch meat in the refrigerator.

Hope it's bologna.

That just leaves fat. So I'll butter my bologna. First, I spread a quarter roll of paper towels on the table. Have to do this crumb free. Next I arrange silverware in a perfectly straight line.

About the time I turn toward the cupboards, I notice the obnoxious repetitive noise.

140.

The Answering Machine Is beeping, accompanied by a red warning light.

Blip-blip-blip.

Three messages.

One: Mom.

Can't talk long. But thought you'd want to know, in case you haven't checked, the campaign is picking up. I'm ahead in current polls. Will be home to watch the election coverage.

Click.

Awesome. Looks like we'll lose her completely. Not that I expected anything else. No, not at all.

Two: Daddy.

Can't talk long. But wanted to let you know I'm going out to dinner with a colleague.

It could go pretty late, so don't worry if you don't see me tonight. Any problems, call my cell phone and I'll get back to you ASAP.

"ASAP," pronounced like a word, instead of initials. No problem, Daddy. I'm feeling pretty good now.

141.

My Head Is in the Fridge When the third message fires up. The voice is unfamiliar, but it's someone I sort of know.

Hello? I'm trying to reach Raymond Gardella. Ray?

This is your father. I know it's been a long time with no word from me. But something has come up that I thought you should hear about ASAP....

A-S-A-P. Unlike Daddy, Grandpa Gardella uses the initials, not the acronym.

I had a visit from your mother, returned from who-knows-where.

She wanted to know how to find you. Apparently, she's actually paid attention to the news lately. She knows your wife is running for Congress.

My guess is she's out to make trouble unless you shove a few dollars in her direction.

If I were you, I'd expect a call.

142.

The Impossible News Steals my breath, chases away all desire for food. I thought for sure my grandmother was dead And now this not-so-distant relative crawls from the grave, a ghost.

I wonder where she's been, why it's taken so many years for her to reappear. And now, three weeks until the election, she materializes from the ether, robed in evil intent? What information can she possibly have? What dark recess of Daddy's past harbors secrets that could sway voters away from Mom now? Will my grandmother really, truly appear on our doorstep, hugging malevolence, money her only motivation?

Has she no desire to reconnect with her son, meet his family, become our family too? Do we want that, even if she does? One of those faded filmclips flickers in distant memory.

143.

Raeanne Rich!

Both the Haagen-Dazs bar dripping into my mouth and Grandpa Gardella's phone message.

A ghost from Daddy's past, one who has remained invisible (almost so, anyway) for a very long time, materializes from some sordid history we probably don't want to know about. Kaeleigh, the dimwit, is thrilled. She harbors some idiotic curiosity about our genealogy, as if dissecting the beast could help us escape its malevolence.

But I know that this poorly timed turn of events can only lead to more pain. Sorry, Kaeleigh, but Daddy's mommy can only want one thing: more than a few bucks.

144.

What a Great Thing To come home to. Something new. Sure to cause a major stir.

Life is rarely dull around here.

I consider calling Daddy, **

more to mess up his dinner out than anything. But then it strikes **

me that I want to see the look on his face when he hears the news.

Maybe I should call Mom instead.

Someone should break it to her.

Wonder how long she'll be ahead in the polls, should the ghost decide **

to spread some unimaginable rumors about dear old Daddy.

145.

What Could the Gossip Be?

She can't have a clue about Daddy and Kaeleigh. Unless she's been spying, completely covertly, for a very long time. Grandpa Gardella didn't even know about us until just a few years ago.

And our grand- mother was still, to everyone's knowledge, totally out of the picture then--gone or dead.

So what can she possibly hold over Daddy's head now? Could it have something to do with why Grandpa and Daddy don't speak to each other? Did my father shoot up heroin? Sacrifice neighborhood pets? Hit-and-run, DUI, or shoot someone, by accident or on purpose?

My curiosity is killing me because nquiring minds want to know.

146.

Mom Will Want to Know Although maybe not from me.

But hey, what's a daughter for?

Not sure what city she's touched down in tonight, but it will be pretty late. It's ten here.

Mom's cell rings five times, threatens to go to voice mail, but she picks up before it does.

Yes?

Okay, she's miffed, but not as miffed as she's going to be.