Page 17 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
Mom looks up. “Oh, there you are, dear.” She smiles and points at the cabinet above the stove. “Would you mind grabbing me a box of Earl Grey?”
“Would I mind…?” He takes a step forward. His face is blank. “What?”
“Earl Grey. The tea?”
He takes another step forward. “I know…” His voice trails off. He shakes his head. “Are you…are you back, then?”
“Back from where, dear?” she asks, picking absentmindedly through bundles of sugar and Saran wrap. “I’ve been here this whole time.”
Karma, Taz, and I glance at each other.
Speedy blinks. Something about his expression scares me. It’s completely lifeless. He steps forward again, but this time it looks mechanical, as if there’s no purpose behind the movement, as if he’s being dragged. I want to stand up and yell at him to stop. To my right, Karma’s fingers close around her butter knife.
The last step my father ever takes happens right there, right before our very eyes. He tries to lift his leg, but as he does, something short-circuits. His knees buckle. His ankles collapse. He screams, and Karma screams, and my mother screams, and his legs fold beneath him, and his body hits the floor.
7
NOW
“SO, BOOSE,” SAID CALEB.
At the sound of my name, I jumped. A small wave of water splashed out of my cup.
“Tell us about your job.”
I straightened. I was childish to be so excited by the prompt, but I couldn’t help it. It was finally my chance. My turn to talk.Why yes, ladies and gentlemen, Ididland a job right out of high school. Iamself-supporting at the age of twenty-one. And no—I didn’t use a dime of our drug money to do so!
“Well.” I raised my voice. Tried not to think about the spit still clinging to the burger on my plate. “Blossom is pretty amazing. It’s a startup that—”
“Wait,” interrupted Karma. “What exactly is your job title, again?”
“Global Content Manager.”
“Which means…?”
“She’s a copywriter,” said my mother proudly, as if she had any idea what that meant.
Karma waved a hand. “Whichmeans…?”
“It means she writes the jingles that brainwash you into buying expensive toothpaste,” said Clarence.
“No,” I said. “What I do is—”
“And how did you get that job?” Karma asked. “Don’t copywriting positions usually require a college degree?”
“They do.” I nodded. “But I started at the bottom at Blossom. Assisting other writers or doing admin work for the executives. Getting coffee, answering emails. That sort of stuff. But I worked really hard, and after two and a half years—”
“Personally,” interrupted Caleb. “I think what Boose is doing is awesome. I mean, just look at how packaged organic products are disrupting the food industry.”
“Yes, well,” Clarence responded. “It’s hardly surprising that you would approve of Boose’s job, seeing as you only ever think about pumping money out of patients and insurance companies.”
“Oh, is that so?” Caleb asked. “And what do you say to yourself, Clarence, after looking in your bank account and seeing a pile of money you made thanks to buying up patents that you can then shield from the rest of the research community?”
Clarence sat back in his chair and smirked. “You mean, the same money that you’ll inherit as soon as Dad dies?”
“That’s different,” said Caleb. “At least I make a real, everyday difference with my patients. All you do is peddle Prozac and Cialis, while perfectly viable cures for cancer sit on a shelf somewhere, gathering dust—”
Caleb kept talking. I sighed. There was no point. Nobody actually cared.
