running water
Swan’s mom brought dinner over a few times. Lasagna and salad. Tuna casserole. Meatloaf. She would sit with us at the dining room table and watch us eat her food. She’d tell us about her day, about her job as the athletic director at the YMCA. It was nice to hear about life outside of the house. She asked us to come over for a swim in her above-ground pool sometime, but Dad said we better not. “How about Sean then?” she said. Dad told her that he needed me at home to answer the phone if the police were to call while he was in the shower or something.
Dad was in the shower a lot. He’d take his first shower in the morning, then his second around lunchtime, then again before he’d go to bed. I’d wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and hear the water running. I’d lie there in bed and listen. If I listened long enough, I’d hear him crying. But I could never be sure. I’d take my blankets and pillows downstairs and try to find a movie, fall asleep on the couch.
