with an au pair. Then, the only person who ever watched us was...was...a face **

surfaces in memory. She looked like Daddy, and her breath always smelled like Dewar's.

366.

Oh Yeah, Blast from the Past I sat there last night, shaking, no Raeanne to make the jolt of remembrance better.

And it was about to get worse.

Mom greeted Daddy about as expected, with a clipped Good to see you.

Next came several minutes of usual campaign banter.

Daddy went on to talk about plans for Tuesday, skipping the Hannah part. I just about fell asleep.

Around the time I decided to go ahead to bed. Mom began, Oh, I spoke with your father....

My father?

Daddy's voice was startled.

Why in bloody hell would you do that?

Mom's turn for surprise: You don't know?

Daddy: I.

couldn't hazard a guess.

So you haven't heard from your mother? No demands?

Her words sank in slowly.

367.

I could imagine the expression on his face.

What in the fuck are you talking about, Kay?

She spoke slowly, as if to a dull- witted child.

Your father called to let you know you might expect **

to hear from your mother. His take was she wanted money to keep quiet.

Quiet about what, Raymond?

I have no idea, answered Daddy, a little too quickly.

Frankly, I'd be shocked to hear from her....

So long, with no word. What, exactly, happened between them? Surely something more than just the scene **

after the funeral. I shifted my weight and the floorboards groaned.

Conversation skidded to an abrupt halt.

Finally, Mom said, We'll finish this later. I'm exhausted anyway. We'll both be clearer tomorrow.

Finis.

368.

I Lay Awake Most of the night, pondering mysteries. Where did my father **

come from? Who made him, and who made him the way he is?

Who is my grandmother? Where has she been all these years, and what **

does she know that Daddy wouldn't want us to know? What happened **

between her and Grandpa Gardella?

What happened between Daddy **

and him? Does Mom know the answers to these questions?

If she does, why hasn't she ever talked about them? If she doesn't, **

why doesn't she? Why don't I?

Why are there so many mysteries **

shrouding our lives? Will I ever know the answers? If so, when?

If not, why?

369.

Not a Good Time For those questions. Of course, I doubt there will ever be a good time for those questions.

Our family puts the "dys" in dysfunctional. And every time I start to think I'm the sanest **

in the bunch, I turn around and do something completely insane, like letting myself **

fall hard for Ian. He called yesterday, caught me on my cell.

Hey, you. What's up?

Just hearing his voice warmed me, from the inside out. "Same ol'. What's up with you?"

Not much. In fact, I'm bored as hell, so I thought I'd call and tell you how much I miss you.

I'll be home Sunday morning.

Think you could steal a few minutes with me?

370.

"Maybe after work. We can always try, although my mom is supposed to be home."

Oh, that's right. The election is Tuesday, huh? How's it looking for your mom?

**"Okay, I guess. Barring some major revelation, she's got a pretty good shot."

Major revelation, huh?

He laughed.

And what are the odds of that?

At the time, I thought they were pretty long.

But now I have to wonder.

371.

I Want to Talk to Ian About Mom and Daddy and Raeanne and Grandma Gardella, whose face keeps trying to materialize behind my eyes, and whose motives for appearing now can't be guessed.

But I don't dare talk to him about any of that, because then he'll realize how truly screwed up my family is, and that includes me, and if he knows all that, he'll dump me.

I want to talk to Mom about Daddy and his parents and most of all about Ian, who I think I might really be in love with. I want to talk to her about love and what that means.

But I'm not sure she knows what it means or that she cares in the least that I might have found it. I'm not sure she cares about me at all, and that's what I'm really afraid of.

Afraid, afraid, afraid. I'm always afraid and I'm sick of it and I don't know any other way of dealing with it than to go find food and stuff myself with it. So I do.

372.

And Still No One's Awake So I bundle up against the drear November fog and pedal off to work. I pass a church, starting to fill with early risers, almost think about going inside.

Like what for, Kaeleigh?

Forgiveness?

You'll burn.