Lucie, chapter 1, part 2

Emily is reading a book called Little Women.  I wonder what “little women” look like, so I try to read over her shoulder.  Black letters hurl across the white paper.

“I need to stop!”

Dad turns quickly to me.  “There’s a rest stop coming up.  We’ll stop there.”

We stop.  Mom and Emily dash for the restroom.  When my stomach stops lurching, I take Oliver out of his carrier and faster his leash to his collar.  Oliver is beautiful.  He has a grey tabby face and creamy Siamese coloring.  We walk down the path near the parking lot.

“Lucie!” Dad calls behind me.  He runs up to me.  “Are you feeling better?”

“Uh-huh.”

Dad reaches down and rubs his fingers behind Oliver’s chocolate-colored ears.  I want to pull Oliver away, but not he has rolled onto his back and is letting Dad rub the soft fur on his belly.  Dad doesn’t look at me when he speaks.

“You know we don’t love you any less than Emily,” he says.

“Yeah, right.”  I don’t look at him, either.

“It’s just that… well, we don’t love you any less.” He stops.

Mom and Emily are returning from the restroom.  Mom and mini-mom – matching haircuts, matching dresses.  My denim shorts are rumpled and a brown soda stain decorated the center of my white t-shirt.

In the car, my torture continues.  Oliver sleeps and Emily reads.  Mom and Dad talk so quietly that I cannot hear them above the roar of our rusty old Ford.  I’m ignored, as usual.