A Bit of Sweetness

September 4th

Dad wasn’t too surprised last night when I joined him in the kitchen. I tried to be calm, walk in, sit at the table and wait until he had finished cooking the milk. But when I saw him in his old flannel robe and slippers, standing in front of the stove, stirring slowly, gazing into the steam that was just starting to rise off the milk, I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him. I leaned my head against the soft spot right beneath his shoulder blade.

“I’m sorry we woke you up, Mandy girl,” he said softly.

“I don’t want to go back to the Addicted Cities, Daddy.” I blurted out my worst fears.

He turned around and held me against his chest. “You won’t have to, honey. Your mother’s just tense because of her pregnancy. It’ll pass.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will, don’t worry.” I could tell he was trying very hard to keep the worry from showing in his own voice.

“Does the warm milk really work?”

“It used to when I was a kid. Want to try some?”

“Yes.” I released my hold on him and sat down at the table.

He reached into the cupboard and brought down my hot chocolate mug. “Personally, I don’t like the taste much unless you add a little sugar and cinnamon. So let me know.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

“What did you think about our guest?” Dad asked as he ladled milk into the three cups.

I shrugged. “He smelled kind of funky.”

“He smells the way your grandfather smelled back before we gave up the farm and moved to the city.” He had stopped dishing out the milk. “I miss that smell.”

“Want me to take a cup to Mom?”

“I’d better do it,” he said. “You go ahead and try yours. If you don’t like it, add some sugar and cinnamon until it tastes right.”

“Are you putting some in Mom’s?”

Dad reached for the sugar and paused. Then he put our cups on the table. “Why don’t we get ours right first and then I’ll take the sugar and cinnamon back to her so she can decide?”

I sipped the milk. It did taste kind of funny. I added a little sugar and cinnamon and tasted it again. It reminded me a little of the melted ice cream left after you finished your apple pie. “It’s good now.”

“OK. I’ll be back in a few minutes and we’ll talk some more.” He put the two cups of milk, the sugar, and the cinnamon on a cookie sheet and walked back down the hall.

I sipped my milk and waited for him to return, but he never did. After I finished my milk, I went back to my own room. My mother’s sobs had stopped and I could hear my father snoring gently.

Warm Milk

Middle of the night, September 3rd

Mom and Dad are arguing and have been for the last half hour or so. I was sound asleep when the yelling started, but I know I won’t be able to get any more sleep tonight. I hope I can keep my eyes open in school tomorrow. I haven’t seen anyone doze off during class, but in my old school dozing off was a sure way to get sent to the nurse’s office and shot up with something.

Anyway, they are arguing about Mr. Tucker. The gist of the argument is that Mom thinks he’s a terrorist because he’s always lived outside the safety net. She accused Dad of endangering the life of her, me, and especially Providence. Dad said he’s not endangering any of our lives and that Mr. Tucker is just a nice old guy who happens to have a lot of experiences we can all learn from. Mom’s response was that she had no need to learn to make bombs or fire a gun, or any of the other things he might know because she, for one, has no intention of becoming a terrorist. Dad said that’s not the kind of stuff he meant. Mr. Tucker knows things about growing your own food and living off the land. Mom said she finds the food at the grocery store suitable for all her needs, so why would she want to grovel in the dirt to grow it? And now Mom’s threatening to report Dad to the police for associating with a terrorist. She says she’ll take me and go back to the safety net.

I won’t go with her, though. I like it here. I didn’t think I would at first, but I do. And I agree with Dad. Mr. Tucker just seems like a nice old guy.

Their screaming stopped and now Mom’s sobbing. When Dad reminded Mom that only one child was allowed to a couple in the safety net, she let out a scream like I’ve never heard before, not even in the movies. And then she started crying. I can hear Dad now, talking to her softly, asking her if she wants him to make her some warm milk.

“Why would I want warm milk?” she’s asking.

I hear Dad whispering, “It’s just something my mother would make us to calm us down when we had a nightmare.”

“Old wives tale,” she mutters. “I want my pills.”

“I threw them away,” Dad says softly. “For Providence.”

And now Mom is shrieking again. I hear Dad step out into the hallway. He closes their bedroom door behind him. Mom’s shrieks have dissolved again to sobs and I hear the clanking of pots and pans in the kitchen. I wonder if warm milk really works. I’m going to put on my robe and go out to the kitchen to see if Dad might be making enough for two.