Escape

Part 2

"Willow, did you put the napkins out already?" Momma asked. Her voice was faint, like a barely felt breeze. Her voice had always been quiet, especially when Dad was home, but it had been quieter than usual lately.

"Yeah, Momma. They're on the table. I also got the salt and pepper and the butter."

Momma nodded, a little distracted, and wiped her hands on her threadbare apron. "Did you finish your studying?"

"Of course, Momma. I finished all my books already. They're all set to go back to the library."

"Good. Good."

"Momma? You all right?" I asked, trying to get a better look at her. But she just gave me a weak smile and turned back to the kitchen.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. You just finish setting the table."

The crunch of gravel outside meant Dad was home. Mom and I both tensed at the sound of his heavy boots on the front porch. I hurried to pull the roast out of the oven so it would be waiting when he came in.

"I'm home!" he called, letting the screen door slam behind him.

"Welcome home," I said, greeting him with a hug.

"How is my birthday girl?" he asked

"Just fine. How are the Johnstons?"

"Oh, same as always. You know, they've gone and got one of those satellite dishes. What do they need with one of those?" he said.

"Well, Mr. Johnston's hip—" I bit my tongue when Dad gave me a sharp look. Mr. Johnston was in his seventies, his wife not much younger. Rural Idaho was not an easy place to live for folks of that age, so Dad often went and mowed or chopped wood or repaired fence posts for them. They paid him a bit, just enough cash-money to cover the things Dad couldn't make or grow for us himself. He'd broken his hip in July, and even though it was September, he still wasn't moving very well and spent most of his time in his recliner. We'd never had a television, but I'd been sick in bed before and thought it might be a welcome distraction from hours and hours of boredom.

"Dinner's all ready," Momma said quickly, distracting him from his reprimand.

We gathered around the table and bowed our heads while Dad said the prayer. After he said Amen, Momma served him slices of roast and salad, the largest baked potato on the plate, and two scoops of green beans before serving me and then herself.

We ate quietly, because that was the way Dad liked it. I was very careful that my fork and knife should make no noise against my plate, and not to slurp from my glass of water. Momma and I paced ourselves so that we neither finished significantly before Dad, nor would he have to wait for us. When he set down his utensils, we followed his cue.

"Now, Willow, what is on your list for tonight?" he asked me with a smile as he dabbed at his beard with a napkin.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the list of books I was planning to get from the library while Momma and Dad were in their Bible study at the church. Every Thursday night since I was six, we drove forty-five minutes to town so Momma and Dad could have their Bible study with the other adults of the congregation. When I was very little, I would play in the nursery, but then Momma suggested that I use the time to pick out books from the public library next door to help with my studies, since we only had a few at home. It took some persuading, but eventually Dad agreed, and I got two whole hours every week by myself at the library.

Dad examined the list, considering each title. "What are all these?" he asked.

"Willow needs more math books," Momma said. "She's already gone beyond the one I have--"