"Coming, damn it," I call.

Fighting an amazing hangover, I reach the idiotic phone. "Hello?"

Avery long pause precedes, Hello. This is your grandmother.

Another very long pause.

Long enough for anger to blossom inside my traitor head.

"Oh, really? Well, it's a little late now, don't you think?"

Come on, you old bitch...

Excuse me? A little late for what, exactly? Who is this?

443.

I can't believe I'm rising like this.

Who cares, anyway? Loyalty **

to my parents? Definitely not me.

Still, I continue, "A little late to ask for money. The election's over."

Yes, I realize that. But why on earth would I ask for money?

Who told you that, anyway?

"Your ex-husband. He told us you wanted hush money."

My ex-husband? Ted? But why...? W-well. young lady...

A voice, heavy and masculine, falls over my shoulder.

Who is that? Daddy.

Of course.

I turn to face him, and what I see in his eyes chills me to my core.

Don't dare lie. "It's your mother."

444.

Daddy Grabs the Phone Out of my hand, and his intensity makes me back quickly away.

If he lashes out, I don't want to be standing in his path.

But no, he's relatively collected.

This is Raymond. May I ask exactly why you've been bothering my family with calls?

I can't hear her response, but Daddy's posture goes from wood to pulp. It's like he shrunk sizes. Shrunk years.

He's a small boy, and he's found his mommy again, only he doesn't like the idea.

Everyone is just fine.

Thanks for your misplaced concern.

Whatever she's saying now hits like hammer blows. His breath comes in short, stuttered bursts, and his teeth crunch together.

"I.

couldn't care less about your "programs." I will never forgive you, and you will never be welcome in this house. Good-bye, Mother.

445.

Unable to Guess What he'll do next, I start to retreat toward the kitchen.

Daddy pounces, fists clenched.

Why did you answer that?

If he weren't so angry, I'd have a smart-ass comeback. But as it **

is, I play humble. "It kept ringing, so I thought it might be important."

He draws right up against me.

What did she say to you?

"Nothing. Only that she wasn't calling to ask for money."

His muscles relax, but only a little.

Are you sure that's all?

"Yes, Daddy, that's all." I finally chance looking into his eyes, **

and this time what I find isn't anger. It's--can this be right?

Yes, I'm right. It's fear.

446.

The Bad Thing About Fear Is it requires a reaction. Some hide.

Some cry. But, like a dog condemned to a walled yard with no hope of escape or affection, some learn to bite. Daddy is a fear biter.

Lucky for me. Mom seems to sense the approaching maul and comes to my rescue.

Good morning.

Much too cheerful. Her head rocks back and forth between us.

What's going on?

Daddy snaps out of his fugue, into the moment.

Seems my prodigal mother managed to get one of her calls answered this morning. I took care of it, though.

The congresswoman-elect searches my face for some kind of sign.

Are you okay?

At my nod, she detours Daddy.

May I speak with you for a moment?

They withdraw to the bedroom and I hustle into the bathroom, determined to reach there before last night's champagne and this morning's turmoil escape my belly.

447.

The Bad Thing About Puking Regularly [in the print book the words on this page are separated in such a way that they form the picture of a champagne flute. The words in each half of each couplet are spaced left to right to form the sides of the glass. The bottom part is the bottom of the glass and then the stem.]

Is how you come to rely on it.

Hungover?

Go puke.

Feel a bit fat?

Go puke.

**Confused?

Go puke.