Snowflakes & Fire Escapes by J. M. Darhower Read Free Book Online Page A

code?”
    “They don’t get paid enough to enforce it.”
    “They’re nuns, for Christ’s sake,” he grumbled. “They’re supposed to do it because the good book tells them to.”
    I didn’t argue, but seeing as he probably knocked out every last commandment from his to-do list, he was the last person who ought to lodge a complaint about someone’s holiness. He shook his head, meeting my eyes, but he said nothing else. He didn’t look angry, at least. Maybe just exasperated.
    “Is there, uh … is there a reason you’re here?”
    “Just wanted to see how your first day back was.”
    My brow furrowed. “You couldn’t ask me that at home?”
    “I had some free time so I thought I’d make up for what I missed. You know … thought we could go see your mother today.”
    I just stared at him as those words sunk in. It had been over a month since the anniversary, over a month since he forgot . I figured he just chalked it up to a loss, that it was time to move on, but this? This was even worse.
    He was just now making time for me.
    Just now making time for her.
    I didn’t argue, although I was scarcely in the mood to go. My father called for a car to drive us to Queens, right to the cemetery. My mother was buried in a family plot, a massive headstone adorning it that would someday also have my father’s name on it.
    It was nothing like it usually was.
    Usually there were flowers, and tears, sometimes laughter and stories.
    We were both quiet today.
    Very little was spoken before we left again, heading to a small restaurant around the corner, the same place we ate at every year on the anniversary. It was my mother’s favorite. I couldn’t remember that, but my father told me.
    We both ordered meatloaf, also my mother’s favorite.
    Another thing I didn’t remember.
    He ate while I picked at my food, wanting to just go home and end this sham of an outing. Sometimes ‘better late than never’ was complete and utter bullshit.
    “You know I love you, right, Grace?”
    The question surprised me, not because he had to ask, but because he said that word: love . He said it less than Cody acknowledged Cormac as his father, which was practically never. Not to say I doubted my father’s love. He loved me in his own way. I just always doubted his ability to express it normally. “Yes.”
    “You’re everything I got that means something. I know you hate all these rules, but you’re only sixteen …”
    “And three quarters.”
    “And three quarters,” he agreed, “but it’s still not seventeen, and certainly not eighteen. It’s my job to keep you safe, so that’s what I do.”
    I heard it all before. My lack of friends, my not being allowed to go anywhere that isn’t pre-approved … it was for the best, he claimed. You don’t need all that anyway . But that was easy for him to say. Let him shove his feet in those ugly Mary Janes and walk a mile in the shoes of the girl he wanted me to be, and then let him come tell me she didn’t need anything else.
    “I want you to listen to me, and listen to me good ,” he said, a stern edge to his voice when I didn’t respond to his declaration. “I’ll do anything I have to … anything … to keep you out of trouble. And you aren’t always going to like it, but it’s not my job to cater to you. I gave you life. My only job is to make sure you stay living.”
    “Living,” I muttered. “I think we define that differently.”
    “You’re still breathing, aren’t you? Still got enough breath in those lungs to complain, don’t you? Then I’d say you’re doing a lot more living than some others I know. These kids running the streets after dark, raising hell, smoking pot and hanging out on the corner, fighting and fucking off … they’re not living, Grace. Those kids are just slowly dying. It’s only a matter of time.”
    He was talking about Cody. He didn’t have to use his name to get his point across. I continue to pick at my food, wishing he would