Haunted to Death by Frank Anthony Polito

Author:Frank Anthony Polito [Polito, Frank Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2024-05-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Mom cleared away the dirty dishes.

JP pushed his chair back and stood up, in a show of chivalry. “Can I give you a hand?”

“That’s okay. I got it,” my mother insisted.

Since moving to Michigan, we’d taken to coming by my folks’ house on Sunday evenings. With baseball season still in full swing (pun intended), we usually arrived in time to catch the tail end of the Tigers game. Or as my mom would say: To watch the Tigers lose . . . again! Then, we’d sit down for dinner in my parents’ eatin kitchen. This was a feat not-so-easily accomplished, since the ten-by-eight-foot room could barely fit a dining table, let alone four adults sitting around it, and two dogs down on the floor below.

Mom stood at the narrow countertop, directly behind her seat. Recently, she stopped coloring her hair, and the light above the sink reflected off her silvery locks. “So, the renovations are going good?” she asked, filling the single basin with warm water.

“They are.” I slipped Clyde and Jack a piece of the chicken breast I’d brought along for them, before Mom snatched away my plate.

For dinner, she made her famous spaghetti Bolognese. But this time, she remembered JP was a vegetarian, so she swapped out the ground hamburger for a plant-based protein. My father wasn’t too thrilled about the substitution, but at least he made the effort to try it.

Dad sat at the table in his sleeveless T-shirt, bare shoulders on display. He stirred a heaping teaspoon of Cremora into his coffee. “You guys want some?”

“No, thank you. I take it black,” JP politely replied. He couldn’t stomach the thought of the non-dairy powdered creamer local to Michigan.

Dad helped himself to another scoop of the off-white powder. “More for me. Hey, how’s your contractor guy doing? Mom said he got drunk and fell off a ladder.”

My mother grabbed the dish towel and gave her husband a whack. “I didn’t say he was drunk, Jim! I said he was drinking. There’s a difference.”

“You see how she treats me? Spousal abuse!”

Mom raised her hand, as if she were about to strike the man she married over four decades before. “I’ll show you spousal abuse!” Then, she leaned in and softly kissed his cheek.

So went the game they played.

My parents liked to pretend they were arguing by talking in angry tones. It was something they did for amusement and to keep things interesting at their age. I didn’t doubt for a minute they loved each other. I prayed my and JP’s partnership would remain just as strong in the coming years.

After Mom finished dealing with the dishes, she poured herself a hot cup of coffee. “Any more ghost sightings, Peter?”

“Not since Chippy fell of the ladder.”

“So, that’s why he fell? He saw a ghost. Maybe he was drunk,” said Dad, giggling.

My father had an infectious, high-pitched laugh that never failed to make me smile. His eyes got all squinty and crinkly at the corners, as his face stretched into a wide grin.

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