Now, since I know they're definitely dead inside, I don't want to listen to their ever- expanding list of unfinished rants and just-boiling-to-the-surface raves.

(Not talking about the fun kind!) 'Cause once the bitch bus starts rolling, it's practically unstoppable.

380.

Topping Today's Rant List Is, of course, my dear grandmama.

And guess who's going to get ranted at.

Spot on! It's me.

Daddy: Why didn't you bother to tell me about my father's call?

I suppose I could deny knowing about it. But why lie? I shrug.

"Guess I forgot. Sorry."

Mom: Sorry? That's the best you can do? Under the circumstances...

Patience was never my forte.

"Under what circumstances?

I don't even know the man."

Daddy: Beside the point. You couldn't tell the message was important?

"The guy sounded like some sort of nut job. Anyway, why don't I know him?" Way to flip the tables!

Mom: Your father and I have reasons for the things we do or don't allow.

381.

I hate her. She never lets her guard down and always has a ready answer.

"So...

is he a nut job, then?"

Daddy, trying not to lose it: No, he's not a fucking nut job.

Not doing a good job of not losing it, Daddy, love. "Totally okay? Cool.

Next time I'll pick up and talk to him.

Mom, definitely losing it: Are you trying to make us angry?

The game's getting fun. Keep playing. Smile pretty. "Why would I want to do that, Mom?"

Daddy, closer and closer to losing it: Extremely good question, I'd say.

All of a sudden, I don't want this to be a game anymore.

I want answers. Honest ones.

382.

This Is a Rare Opportunity With Mom sitting right here, Daddy cannot so easily dismiss my questions. Valid questions.

I look him directly in the eye-- something I don't often dare.

"Why don't you talk to your father?

And why won't you let him be a part of our lives?" Like anyone is a part of our lives. Including us. Truth is, there is no "our." No "us."

Mom stares at Daddy, waiting.

Doesn't she know? Daddy glances back and forth between us, like a corralled coyote.

Let's just say he made my childhood extremely hard.

If he thinks that's communication, he should think again. Whose childhood isn't hard? I shake my head. "Like how, Daddy?

Can you be more specific?"

His eyes glaze over, and I know he's fallen into the past, a place he most definitely does not want to revisit. He exits quickly.

I.

don't want to talk about him.

383.

Surreal I swear, I've never seen Daddy look so shaken.

So...wow. Scared.

He looks like a little boy who has been sent to the principal's office **

or to the woodshed to wait for a switching.

I almost feel sorry **

for him, operative word being almost.

Because the mold of his face **

reminds me intensely of Kaeleigh, when she know she's on his way to her.

Like father, like son?

One day I'll get my answers.

One day very soon.

384.

Meanwhile, Think I'll Dive A little deeper into the shit pit.

What have I got to lose?

"If you won't tell me about my grandfather, what about my grandmother? What's all the hype about, anyway?"

Daddy shifts gears to angry, jumps to his feet, stalks to the counter to refill his glass from the fifth of Turkey, drained **

half-dry since this morning.

It's not even dinnertime yet.

I think he just might leave the room, highball in hand.

Mom stops him with the weight of her voice.

Don't you dare walk away from her. Raymond.

Tell her about your mother.

She has the right to know.

385.

Daddy Takes a Gulp Of his whiskey, adds a big splash to the glass, rotates toward us on one heel. His expression is a curious mix of fury, resignation, and anguish.

Finally he returns to the table.

So you want to know about your grandmother? Fine.

Let me tell you all about her.

What I remember, anyway.

I remember coming home from school and finding her passed out in front of the TV set, sweating cheap scotch and cigarettes....

Holy crap! Deja vu of the most unpleasant kind and he doesn't seem to get it at all. Only difference is the choice of booze.