Savage Read Free

grasp the ball with the hand on that side, but frustration won out, and he reached across with his left. He threw the ball and smiled as the dog bounded across the deck and leaped into the yard after it.
    â€œYou’ve only had one cigarette? Look me in the eye and tell me that.”
    â€œAre you going to bring me that coffee or . . . ?”
    â€œThought so,” she said, going inside before she could say anything that might make the situation worse. Her mind raced as she stood at the kitchen counter. What can I do? Her father was a grown man and could do anything he wanted despite what she told him he could and couldn’t do.
    Her memory flashed back to the horrible day when he’d had the stroke, and how the world had suddenly become a lot scarier than it ever had been before, and she was forced to look at life through more adult eyes. It had always been just the two of them, her mother having walked out before she was even five, but after her dad got sick, she had no choice but to grow up.
    The doctors hadn’t been sure that he was even going to make it, but her father had surprised them, regaining his speech and most of his ability to walk. Sure he had to use a cane, but that was better than nothing. Better than being stuck in a bed.
    But it wasn’t enough for him. Her father wanted to be back to the way he was before the stroke, and that was something that couldn’t be guaranteed. His recovery after getting out of the hospital had been slow, physical therapy only doing as much as the patient was willing to put into it. She couldn’t even begin to count the number of times that they’d talked about him working harder—lots of tears and yelling, followed by promises that he’d do better, and he would . . . for a time.
    It was like he’d decided that if he couldn’t be 100 percent better, it wasn’t worth the effort. And if it was bad now, how awful was it going to get once she went off to school and couldn’t keep an eye on him? She imagined another phone call, and a ball of ice formed in her belly.
    This was that other nagging concern preventing her from truly getting excited over her future plans. The other thing that held her back.
    She heard the door sliding open behind her and the sound of her father’s efforts to come inside.
    â€œDo you still want that coffee?” she asked, taking the carafe from the coffeemaker.
    â€œYeah, that would be good,” she heard him say.
    She filled the cup and was turning around to bring it to the small kitchen table in the center of the room when she saw that he was having some difficulty getting his right leg in through the doorway.
    â€œWait a sec,” she said, not wanting to spill the drink as she carefully set it down.
    â€œI got it,” her dad said, but she could hear the frustration already growing.
    She turned to see Snowy outside on the deck, tennis ball clutched in her mouth, as her father continued to struggle.
    â€œDad . . .”
    â€œI’m fine,” he barked, his anger providing him with enough fuel to actually haul the semiuseless leg up over the lip of the slide and get himself inside.
    That was when Snowy decided she and her ball were coming inside as well, her large and quite powerful eighty-pound body pushing past Sidney’s father impatiently, throwing off his balance and sending him backward.
    Sidney was on the move before her father hit the floor, reaching and grabbing at anything that might lessen the fall. Her father went down wedged into the corner of the kitchen, knocking some plants from the metal plant stand as his good arm flailed.
    He swore as she got to him.
    â€œIt’s okay,” she said, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “I’ve got you.”
    His breathing had quickened, explosions of expletives leaving his mouth as he settled. She squatted down, put her hands beneath his arms, and attempted to haul him