The Last Cadillac by Nancy Nau Sullivan Read Free Book Online Page A

wish I could help.” Her face registered sympathy.
    â€œOh, thanks. That’s so sweet, but we’re just about finished,” I said. “The kids are so excited, and Dad is, too.” I stretched a bit, awkwardly, and then sat down. We went back to thoughtful chewing of the crescents, sipping our coffee tentatively. Margie, clearly, however, was not through with me. I had tried to gently end the discussion, and failed. She waited expectantly for me to continue, and I bit.
    â€œMargie,” I said, “my father really doesn’t need two houses.”
    â€œOh, you’re right about that.”
    â€œHe says he wants to go to Florida with me. That would make him happy. I think my mother would have liked that. Don’t you?”
    â€œYes, oh, yes. Definitely,” she said. “You’re so right about that.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œBut it’s all happening so fast.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, you have our love, love, love.”
    â€œThe condo, I guess, won’t sell overnight,” I said, standing up again. I began to inch away from the table with a peek at the clock. It was nearly noon, and my stomach dropped at the thought of all I had to do. I sidled in the direction of the front door. “Wish us luck on our adventure!”
    â€œAdventure! Oh, that’s darling,” she said. “We’ll see then, won’t we?”
    She got to her Ferragamo-ed feet. Margie checked her watch, pecked me on the cheek, and was off to lunch. I stared at the door that clicked softly behind her. With all of her fluff and meddling, Margie was concerned. She did, in fact, give me something to chew on besides the crescents.
    I didn’t believe for one minute that Dad would come back to Indiana. I hoped The Adventure worked, because if Dad were to return, I was afraid he’d die in no time. I had that much blind faith in myself to believe I could keep Dad happy down there in the good ol’ Florida sun. Yes, I could do it. I did not accept the fact that I was dispensable. However, the Ex had made it perfectly clear that I was entirely dispensable by divorcing me after twenty-some-years and settling down with the adoring, flannel-mouthed church lady on our street—after dropping the trailer-trash girl friend from southern Indiana.
    I had to put it past me. The kids needed me, I was sure of that, and Dad needed me, or he would sink into deep sadness and listlessness—with a strange, Polish maid taking care of him in the dollhouse. I could just see Dad trying to get used to this stranger, while she explained a Julia-inspired, new-found miracle pill, and how to work the remote on the television, and get his teeth in and out, and put one foot in front of the other, and get him all around town to five or six doctors, all in Polish, which was Jack’s dream. It made me frantic. In that case, he might as well be in Poland, or Paris, or in
Star Wars
.
    I looked down at the squashed crescent in my fist, dropped it in the cardboard box, and went back to the mess. The crescents somehow ended up in Florida, packed up with butter in the butter dish, and an ashtray full of cigarette butts.
    The dollhouse drew an offer nearly overnight, which made me frantic to finish the tasks. A mystery person, probably someone around the age of ten, broke the leaded glass in the front door. A toilet got plugged, and the realtor found what appeared to be a leak in the basement, which I traced to the piddling stowaway kitten. Tick had hidden the cat downstairs at the dollhouse, because he couldn’t keep it at “the museum.”
    â€œIt looks like a story out of Edgar Allen Poe over there, Mom. The cat will get nightmares.”
    â€œI thought they had cats.”
    â€œThey do, but they’re all scared, and weird.”
    The to-do list before our move kept growing. And then there was Jack. I was going to prevail upon him to babysit the cat until further arrangements