Math made my brain hurt. The phone began to ring as Dad strode in the back door, fresh from a day of concrete finishing. I could smell him before he even hit the porch, something like sweat mixed with tar. Soap suds dripped down Mom’s arms as she did some pre-dinner dishes. A tiny bubble drifted up out of the sink. I watched as it spiraled lazily toward the ceiling. The phone was still ringing. Mom sighed. “The lord love a duck! Joanie, would you please get that? It’s going to ring off the hook.” I blinked at her but dropped my pencil. The phone trilled a fourth time. Dad dropped his heavy work boots in the mud room and walked across the kitchen. From the firm line of his jaw, I knew how irritated he was that I hadn’t moved my butt faster. “Hello?” Despite the way his body was set, tension oozing out of his pores, Dad’s voice drifted across the phone lines as mellow as could be. “Uh huh, she’s here, but she’s busy at the moment.
