The Casquette Girls Read Online Free PDF

corner. My nose turned up, considering how the upholstery had surely been drenched. At least he had bothered to put a blanket down first. He rolled his back to me, revealing a half-drunk bottle of whiskey wedged between the cushion cracks.
    “Ugh, Dad…” I yanked the bottle free.
    He barely stirred. Looking around the room again, I felt more sympathetic and decided to let him sleep it off. I tiptoed back to the kitchen to sort more pressing things. Coffee.
    Thank God we had a gas stove, and thank God we used a French press. No electricity required.
    Waiting for the grinds to steep, I quietly cleaned up the mess of broken glass and bird feathers.
    Just as the rich smells of coffee ’n chicory filled the air, in walked my father like a perfectly timed commercial. Only in this version the cheery tone of his voice served to overcompensate for his hangover. He broke from rubbing his head to kiss my cheek.
    “Morning. It’s almost like being a normal person, being awake at this hour.”
    “I know. I’m so used to your vampire hours.” That was the moment I realized how much I’d missed him. “It’s nice.” I wiped down a mug and poured him the first cup. He took a giant swig and nearly choked.
    “Jeez, Adele, trying to put more hair on my chest?”
    “Sorry, I forgot we wouldn’t have milk to steam.” Chuckling, I added more hot water to both our cups. “What’s the plan for today?”
    He took another sip before answering. “Hunt down Eddie. Have him look at the back wall and fix the kitchen door. If he's not back in town, I’ll try to get someone else to come out and assess the damage. Sort through what is salvageable in my studio, take photos, and begin the mountain of paperwork to file an insurance claim. Exciting stuff. Oh, then I’ll go down to the bar and start the process all over. How ’bout you?”
    “The house needs to be aired out ASAP, so can you take down the storm boards first?”
    He nodded.
    “Oh, and set up the generator?”
    A yawn interrupted his second nod.
    “I’ll do an inventory of our food and water,” I continued, “and find out which grocers are back in business. Then I have school stuff. And I want to stop by Café Orléans to see if the Michels are back in town—”
    “You’ve obviously had more coffee than me.” He drained his cup.
    “Oh, and I was thinking I’d move all of my stuff to the room upstairs, but I’ll have to clean it out first.” Before our quick inspection last night, I hadn’t been up there in ages.
    “Why would you move your stuff upstairs?”
    “So you can move into my bedroom.”
    “You don't have to do that, sweetheart. I want you to get settled. I can move the studio to the second floor.”
    “No, it just makes more sense for me to move upstairs. This way your studio can be right next to your bedroom, and if you decide to work when you get home from the bar, you won’t wake me up going up and down the stairs.”
    “You’re the best.” He kissed my forehead. “I am going to start unboarding the windows.”
     
    * * *
     
    I stepped out of the bathroom, hair dripping, candle in hand. It’s amazing what a hot shower can do, even if beforehand I had to wait for the brown water to run clear and was subsequently freaked out the entire time because, in the candlelight, I couldn’t tell whether it had turned murky again.
    When I got to my bedroom, I blew out the candle excitedly – the boards were gone from the ten-foot-high windows. A small win for normalcy.
    Everything got a sniff test for mustiness as I dug through my closet. After tossing four different dresses on the floor, I decided that everything needed to be washed.
    Thanks t o ma grand-mère (who I had just met for the first time in Paris), there was certainly no shortage of things to wear. She had been appalled by the lack of designer names in my wardrobe and had not held back on our shopping spree. I pulled out the simplest thing from my suitcase: a plain black Chanel frock. The