Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend by Lynda Curnyn

Author:Lynda Curnyn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Dress Ink
Published: 2002-10-12T16:00:00+00:00

Eight

“There are very good reasons to medicate oneself.”

—Dr. Steven Coburn, author of The American Family: A Survival Guide

“Read this book!”

—Virginia McGovern, Emma Carter’s mother

Confession: I discover dysfunction is only a phone call away.

The next morning I woke up to the sound of a ringing phone, which reverberated maddeningly in my alcohol-soaked brain. I picked it up, if only to stop the sound.

“You’re still sleeping? It’s ten-thirty already. Whatsamatter?”

It was my father, full of the usual moral indignation he suffered whenever he was forced to recognize that neither of his children had inherited his solid discipline of early to bed, early to rise. My father was a firm believer in the early bird catching the worm. Even during his darkest drinking days, he always managed to pull himself out of bed, as if getting up before dawn might somehow save him from whatever damage his night-before debauchery had done.

“It’s Sunday,” I said, knowing my protests were falling on deaf ears. I settled the phone comfortably against my ear, nestled farther into my pillow and prepared for the long haul. My father didn’t call me on Sunday mornings without a very good reason.

“I’ve been up since five-thirty,” he said. “Not that it did me any good.”

“What happened?” I asked, bracing myself for whatever disaster he had heaped on himself.

“I had a little accident while I was replacing some roof tiles on the house.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, fine. Nothing that a couple of months in a sling won’t cure.”

“What?”

“Well, I broke my right shoulder,” he finally admitted, sounding almost embarrassed.

“What?” I repeated, alarmed.

“And my right arm. But it’s no big deal,” he said, brushing off the concern he must have heard in my voice.

“What happened?” I asked again, waiting for an opportunity to give him my biannual speech about how he had reached a time in his life when home repairs, especially ones that required him to scale the house, might best be left to professionals. Somehow my father could not bring himself to pay for the kind of repairs he still felt young and able enough to do himself, despite all the mishaps he brought on himself.

“I was up on the roof, working, you know,” he began. “Everything was going fine. I even had on that harness Shaun bought for when he used to go rock climbing. I found it lying around in the garage and figured it might keep me from falling off of the goddamn roof. And then what do you know? One minute I’m working, the next I’m on the ground.”

“Did the harness break?”

“God only knows. It was all in one piece, according to Deirdre. But there must be something wrong with the clasp. In fact, I called Bernie—” my father was on a first-name basis with his lawyer these days “—to talk to him about it, and the bastard would barely listen to what I had to say. All he kept telling me was that I didn’t have a case!”

I was immediately suspicious. “Were you drinking while

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