Nothing Happens Until It Happens to You by T. M. Shine

Author:T. M. Shine [Shine, T. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307589873
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2010-09-07T04:00:00+00:00

sexy bones

Dad, you reek,” Kristin says. “The guy in the wheelchair said he couldn’t even wake you up.”

“Marty called you? How’d he even get your number?”

“Your friend—some friend—Artie gave it to him.”

“It’s not Artie’s fault. I told him I’d be fine.”

“What kind of bar is that? It doesn’t even have a name outside.”

“A lot of businesspeople. Networking-type people. I guess no name is trendy now. Thanks for coming so quickly. Here’s some gas money.”

“I don’t want your money. I just want to get home. I have to be at work by five-fifteen.”

“Can we just make one quick stop while we’re up in this area? It’s on the way,” I say, digging around in my wallet for the directions Linda had given me. “My head’s killing me. Can you look at this map?”

“On the way? This isn’t on the way to anywhere.”

Kristin’s cheeks blow up and she huffs. She does that a lot with me now, releases these little huffs and puffs of toleration that seem to say, “Well, he’s my dad. I’ll work with what I’ve got.” That’s her nature, working with what she’s got. And she’s good at it.

She has one shoe on and one shoe off, a bare foot on the gas pedal. When I asked her about it another time she said, “It just makes driving seem more organic.” I like the way she’s turned into this … this person.

I give her so little guidance, and I don’t know if that helps or hurts in the long run. My parents were the same way. I knew they cared about me and loved me, but they always played the role of observer more than participant. All they seemed to do was watch me grow up, watch me live. I’m not sure if it was only because by the time they got to the second child the whole act was getting old, or because having experienced my older brother’s attitude, they realized that no matter what they did it could all go to hell in an instant. I don’t even have that excuse. For the past several years, all I’ve done is watch my children live. Is that wrong?

“Dad, what are you staring at?”

“I’m watching you live.”

“Lordy, go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“It’s just up the road.”

She lurches, toes pressing hard on the gas to bolt through a yellow light but then changes her mind at the last second and jams on the brakes as the light turns red above us.

“Good choice,” I say.

A car full of teenage girls pulls up beside us and they are laughing their heads off. For some reason, every time I see a group of young girls together lately, they are laughing their heads off. I don’t see that with guys. The young males of the species seem glum and solemn while the girls are giggling and falling on the floor in hysterics. It must be glorious to be young and pretty in America.

“Teenage girls have too much fun,” I say.

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