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Dad interrupts, in a majorly
rude way. No problem, L.
They knew we were coming,
right gang? He moves toward
Leigh, who retreats slightly.
Well, I’m happy to see you.
Leigh’s face has gone
from ivory linen to scarlet
fleece, especially the tips
of her ears. What took you
so long, Father? Too
busy to pick up the phone?
I…I…I…, he stutters, his
inability to respond fueled
by the monster. [The monster,
on a crash diet of guilt.]
I don’t know what to say
except I’m sorry. Forgive me?
This could be fun to watch,
as long as the sniping doesn’t
turn into sniper fire—the battle
of the Snows. “No hello for
me, Dad?” I complain, adding,
“Nice to meet you, Linda Sue.”
Everyone turns startled eyes
in my direction, as if they
can’t believe I had the guts
to interfere. But a broad sense
of relief floods the room. No one
wants a battle between the Snows.
