I walk down the stairs and the house empty. The phone is ringing and I walk over to it, pressing down the talk button and holding it up to my ear. "THOMAS ROBERT PETERSON!" Laylee yells into the phone. "Jeez, little sister, turn down the volume of your shampoo!"
"What?"
"Never mind. What are you yelling about?"
"Why didn't you tell me your father's in the hospital?!" I'm quiet for a minute as I reflect over Laylee calling Christopher my father rather than 'dad' or at least, 'your dad'. I mean, its not like he's her actual father, but he did adopt her. Sure, Cindy got full custody, but he still adopted her. I shake my head and say, "Why would I tell you that?" She falls quiet. "Because I care about him," she could say. Instead, she changes a single word..."Because I care about you." I don't understand Laylee. Nothing about her makes any sense to me. "I love you, Thomas." I sigh, running my hand through my hair, "I know, baby. I love you too." She's quiet. "Are you...are you going to go see him?"
"Did they figure out insurance and all that?"
"Ya. Mom helped." I hate that she calls Cindy 'mom'. I shouldn't, but I do. "Then no. He's a big boy, he can take care of himself," I say, mimicking my dad's attitude toward me every night before he goes out, leaving me alone. "Thomas-"
"I'm fine, Laylee. I'll see you on Monday."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
By 11 o'clock, I'm completely and utterly sick of my house. I get my car keys and go outside. The sun is bright in the sky, but I can tell that it rained last night. I get in my car and pull out of my driveway. I drive down Pike street and into town. I park in front of the general store and get out. "Morning, Thomas!" Joseph says with a smile as he pours a bag of apples into the wooden crates set up outside his store. Joseph is a sixty-something man with white hair and a big smile. He goes by Joe, the general-store-owner trademarked name. "Morning, Joe." I smile at him and walk into his store, taking an apple from the display. I walk over to the freezers and search for the cheapest gallon of milk. I turn my head and see Marley walk up, yawning. She's wearing shorts with cats on them and a tank top that says 'Sleep Tight' with a jean jacket over it. She has untied converse on and her hair is s a mess. Even so, she's beautiful. "Morning, Marley," I say, pulling out a milk that costs $2.95. She turns to me, "Oh, hi, Thomas. Morning." She yawns again, "Good party." I smile and turn to go, but then she says, "Hey, are you going to Erica's party next Saturday?" Surprised, I face her again and shake my head. She yawns a third time, "You should. You should bring Venice." She smiles, winks, and pulls a carton of yogurt out of a freezer, turning and walking to the front of the store. I blush and walk off in the direction of the baked goods aisle.
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