Friday was therefore John’s day to make breakfast for Flora, the menu usually consisting of either oatmeal and toast or frozen waffles with maple syrup. They were the only two breakfast foods he knew how to make. It was a good thing they both happened to be his daughter’s favorites. He’d never been sure if that was actually true, or simply another of her attempts to make him feel as if he was acing this single-parent thing. Unfortunately for him, the smell of the waffles did not appeal this morning. Between the two of them, he and Cleeve had made a good-size dent in that bottle of bourbon, the aftermath leaving John with a colossal headache that was now beating at his temples with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Flora was in her chair at the center of the table. Her brown hair hung in a braid down her back. Since it was Friday, she’d picked out her favorite outfit—faded overalls with a pink T-shirt. Laura had been against such clothes for school. She’d thought them too tomboyish, but like so many things these days, John didn’t have the heart to deny his daughter this simple pleasure.
