I look forward to coffee and you coffee and you and you you.

Take out the "coffee" and what have you got? Words. Decaf words.

295.

Coffee Actually Sounds Pretty damn good right now (coffee and...him).

All I had for lunch was a big **

fat doobie and an overdose of Mick. My blood sugar has bottomed out.

I told Daddy I'd be home about six, and it's only a little after five now. I'll grab a quick **

something before I try to walk home. It's not too far, mostly downhill, but a quick **

carb injection will not hurt one bit. I drop into the little market nearby, grab a Nutri-Grain **

Bar and a Diet Coke. Mmm. Well, at least it will get me home. As I exit, a silver car zips **

into the parking lot, radio blaring.

Hey!

calls Brittany.

What's up? Need a ride somewhere?

296.

I Know Daddy Has Issued A "no rides with Brittany" edict.

But that was to Kaeleigh, not me, and I really don't feel like walking.

Besides, he's probably halfway to drunk by now. If I'm lucky, he won't notice me come in at all.

"Sure," I agree. "Why not?" Just in case, I point Brittany in the opposite direction, around the block from how I usually go.

No need to tempt the devil, I always say.

As she cruises slowly up the street, something makes me turn my head.

We're passing Hannah's house.

She's the not-yet-nurse with the big mouth, the one who busted Kaeleigh.

She's standing on her front step, talking to the devil himself. In fact, she is standing very close to Daddy.

To an outsider, they are the picture of propriety. Neighbor to neighbor, discussing the weather, perhaps.

297.

But I see something more in the way he leans toward her, close, as if he's hard of hearing.

Darkness has closed in, but Hannah might recognize Brittany's car.

I think I am too obvious, and duck.

"Don't slow down. Keep going."

Yeah, sure, she says, and she does, apparently used to such deception.

I poke up my face, barely over the seat, look out the back window, fingers crossed I remain incognito.

Daddy and Hannah are lost in each other, and Daddy's body language tells me everything I need to know.

298.

I'm an Expert Interpreter Of body language: slant of face, arc of hand, frame of shoulder, the whisper of knee against willing knee.

I know that one well.

I recognize anger in a certain arch of Mom's spine; obstinacy, double- clenched in her jaw; the tip of chin signaling imminent tears.

Desire? Every man displays it differently.

Some, like Mick, wear it puffed up, peacocks strutting ostentation in lieu of real substance.

Men like Ty are harder to read--granite-faced, molded smiles that can mean anything. You find their fire in the unfathomable pewter of their eyes.

299.

Lawler-types store lust not in sinew or bone, but rather just beneath the skin, a steady pulse at the wrists and temples. And when need rises, easy beat becomes throb.

But I know one man better than the rest.

I know when it's safe to be near him--when booze or pills divorce every muscle from stress.

I know when it's best to sneak away--when he comes in the door stiff and heavy as iron, eyelids wide and ears practically steaming.

And I know when his face flushes and his breath comes in raspy little pants and his red-rimmed eyes fall on all the wrong places, it's definitely time to run.

300.

Right Now His Eyes Fall on all the wrong places, and those places belong to Hannah. I should yell, "Run!" It doesn't really surprise me that he's hitting on her, I suppose. She's only a few years older than me, and looks like she's twelve. I guess she's about five feet tall and size three. (And how will someone that little handle ER work, anyway?) She's married, I'm pretty sure, to some guy who I've never seen. Soldier?

Merchant marine? Jailbird?

No matter. He's not around much and hey, lucky her, Daddy's just down the street, and always up for some young- looking meat. And just maybe this little detour means Daddy won't be screwing Kaeleigh, too, at least not for the foreseeable future.

301.

Kaeleigh Today Was Incredible Today was impossible.

Today was perfect and terrible and filled with surprise after surprise. The thing with Ian scares the living hell out of me. Love, I know, isn't something to second- guess, but in my world, love is always defined by ulterior motive. To say yes, give my whole heart away, simply terrifies me. But who can I ever trust, if not Ian?

Trust--another indefinable word. I'm not sure how to process learning about Daddy's possible affair, not that there's much overt proof of it. Even if it's the real deal, I doubt Mom would care. It's not like the two of them do much screwing, at least not with each other.

So why should I care?

302.

My Parents Aren't Real Parents anyway.

They're cardboard cutouts. I mean, aren't parents supposed to care about their kids? Care for their kids? Not abuse them or use them or lose track of them.

And aren't they supposed to care for each other? Not use each other or lose the love that was once central to each other's existence.

Not toss each other aside because life threw a curveball their way, even if it was a major curve- ball. No wonder I'm a little paranoid about giving away my love. What if I go ahead, give it, and he decides to re-gift it?

303.

Of Course, Maybe Daddy Isn't really sleeping with Hannah.

Maybe it's a harmless flirtation.

(Harmless? Daddy?) Maybe they were just having an innocent conversation.

(Innocent? Daddy?) Maybe Daddy was just trying to be helpful with some legal advice.

(Helpful? Daddy?) Maybe he was just trying to offer a selfless act of kindness.

(Selfless? Daddy?) **

And just why am I offering him such an easy out?

(Easy? You?) Am I overly generous, or just totally ignorant?

(Ignorant? You?) Am I being loyal, or am I, in fact, a little jealous?

(Enough said.) 304.

Whatever Daddy Did With Hannah wiped him out. Okay, that and his usual Wild Turkey dinner, plus OxyContin dessert. He's snoozing in front of the TV set, and the TV is off.

Kinda creepy, but oh so very Daddy.

Guess I'll make myself something to eat. Something substantial.

I'm starving. Too bad the pantry looks like a raiding party came through. Manuela usually handles **

grocery store duty, but she had an asthma attack and wound up in the hospital. Wonder if Hannah took care of her in the ER. Wonder if Hannah will do the shopping **

this week. Wonder if I can make spaghetti with tomato soup and ramen noodles. Sounds disgusting, but beggars cannot be choosers. Oh, wait. Two boxes of mac and cheese.

At least it's the kind with the cheese in a can, not the stuff with fluorescent orange chem cheese powder. I make both boxes, because two is always better than one. That's my motto.