Jack’s voice boomed through the house. The budgie, Yellow Bird, chattered in the kitchen. Rosemary was outside hanging laundry and Danny was in his parent’s washroom. He opened the medicine chest and looked at the small line-up of little bottles of prescription medicines that his father took — that he knew his father had to take now — though Danny was never told much about whatever it was that made his father grow a little more tired each day. Must be old age, he thought to himself. He’d spent a chunk of his afternoon with his bedroom door closed, working on his computer, surfing the Internet for information on a school project. He wanted to go back to his room, but his father’s voice was insistent — “Hey, where is everyone?” — and he changed his mind. Jack’s voice sounded cheerier, healthier, which give Danny an odd little lift; he sensed that somehow, something was different. For months Jack had been quiet, more serious than ever before. He seemed to be focusing on some distant task or point in time, as if he were working off a debt.
