The Divorce Express Read Free

letting his dog sniff him, get the scent, and release him over there. He’ll get away with a fighting chance.”
    I pick the bark from the twig. It’s no use. The dog’ll get Rocky’s scent and then when it’s hunting season, my raccoon will be a goner.
    My father comes over and puts his arm around my shoulder.
    I duck out from under it.
    Rocky’s still throwing his body at the side of the cage.
    I think about a line from a poem my English teacher read to us in class last year: “I know why the caged bird sings.” Then I miss New York City. New York, where you just dumped the garbage down the compactor and never thought about it. New York, where my best friend Katie lives. Where Andy, my boyfriend until I moved, still lives.
    My father smiles. “Look, honey. The cage is made in Ossining, New York . . . the home of Sing Sing Prison.”
    Snapping the twig in half, I fail to see the humor.
    He tries again. “Come on, Phoebe, he’s got to go. Remember how he tore a hole in the screen door, got in, and practically destroyed the kitchen?”
    It’s dark by now. I can’t see the trap but I can hear the banging noise.
    “Tomorrow morning I’ll take Rocky away and you and I will go some place special.” My father tries to pat me on the shoulder.
    I move away, throwing the pieces of twig on the ground.
    Parents think they can bribe you into anything. Well, it’s not true.
    I pick up my flashlight and walk across the lawn, careful not to trip over the newly delivered firewood.
    My father follows.
    The banging noise continues.
    Going in the front door of the house, I walk into the living room and look out the window at the Ashokan Reservoir. It’s one of my favorite views, but tonight even that’s not enough to calm me down. Nothing can.
    I go into my bedroom, slam the door, and throw myself on the bed. I stare at the Sierra Club calendar that my father gave me and wonder how he can do this to Rocky if he cares so much about nature.
    I’m never going to talk to him again.
    There’s knocking at my door. “Phoebe. Let’s talk. Or play Scrabble with me. You know you love to play Scrabble.”
    DO NOT DISTURB says the sign that my father and I made up the time we worked out a system to allow each of us privacy. I open the door and put it on theoutside knob, careful not to look at my father. Then I go back inside.
    He yells, “I’m sorry, but we’ve got to do this. Rocky’s a nuisance.”
    So are you, I think.
    Finally I hear him go away.
    I lie on my bed, on my side, staring at the picture my father painted of me sitting by the pool. He’s so hard to understand. This move has really confused me. I don’t even have a place to go if I run away. My friends in the city don’t have that much room. Anyway their parents would tell on me. My mother would just send me back. She’s too busy looking for perfect antiques for other people’s houses. I could sneak out in the middle of the night and free Rocky, but my father’d never forgive me and I’ve got to live with him. There’s no way to win.
    Some days are just awful. This has been one of them.

CHAPTER 3
    T he phone rings, awakening me.
    I look at the clock. It’s six thirty in the morning. There’s no one who’s going to call me at that time. It must be for the big game hunter. Let him get it.
    The phone keeps ringing.
    I put the pillow over my head.
    Where is my father?
    Why doesn’t he get it?
    The phone keeps ringing.
    I reach for it.
    It falls off the nightstand.
    As I go to pick it up I yell, “Hold on. I’ll be right there.”
    It’s under the bed.
    Finally I get it, making a sound that I hope passes for hello. Mornings are not my best time.
    It’s my father. At first I figure he’s picked it up, finally. I listen to figure out what nitwit is calling at this hour.
    The nitwit is my father.
    “Phoebe, I’m over at the gas station. I took Rocky away this morning, early, so that you wouldn’t have to deal with the situation. Listen, don’t hang