The Last Cadillac Read Online Free PDF Page A

you,” said Dad. “Look-it. I want to go to Florida. It’s cold here, and it’s warm there. I want to be warm.” His grip remained firm. “I want to be warm, and I’m going with Nancy.”
    â€œDad,” said Julia. She folded her arms. “Just look at this lovely little house that Mom put together so nicely for you.”
    â€œI don’t like the dollhouse,” he said flatly.
    â€œCome to think of it, he didn’t have a thing to do with this place,” I said.
    Their eyes, as one, burned into me then for my sacrilegious remark. Mom had poured the last of her strength into decorating the dollhouse—with the help of a pompous decorator who ran between the Chicago Merchandise Mart and my mother with every sample she could carry, huffing and puffing with chintzes and wallpaper. My mother loved the flattery and the shopping and writing checks. But Dad didn’t know a
toile
from a teapot. Everybody kept saying what Dad liked and didn’t like. Except Dad.
    â€œThat’s just not true. Dad had a lot to do with this place,” Jack said. “Dad loves it here.”
    â€œNo, I don’t. But she did,” said Dad, and with that, his shoulders shook in a burst of weeping.
    â€œIt was all Mom,” I said. “I was glad she was picking out chairs and rugs and distracting herself from thinking about cancer. But why didn’t we talk about the important stuff, especially about how this would all end? Why didn’t we talk about Dad, and what to do when she was gone? Why didn’t she say something? Did she ever ask Dad about any of this?”
    They looked away, but Dad straightened up, the loss changing his expression. He nodded at me.
    Lucy spoke up. “Come on. They were a team. They did everything together.”
    â€œWell, they didn’t do this together,” I said. “We should have talked about it. All of us. Together.”
    The last year had been heart breaking, listening to Mom yell at Dad in the middle of the night. He got up and walked around, confused as a result of pills and grief, and Mom couldn’t get any sleep while dying. Balancing the present with the inevitable future had unfortunately tipped in favor of providing comfort, at all cost, to the present.
    I gave Dad a hug and walked around the table. We’d beentalking for more than an hour, and we still hadn’t resolved a thing.
    The air around me was rare, like the suction in the middle of a tornado. I dropped into a chair, facing Dad.
    With finality, Julia said, “We can get a maid.”
    â€œNot that again,” I said. “Polish, Spanish, Irish, French? You’re in this with Jack?”
    â€œWell, yes, we’ve talked, and I think it would be a great idea,” said Julia. “And she could do it better than you could in Florida.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean? A maid would be better at caring for him than his own daughter?”
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    â€œNo, I do not.”
    â€œHe has so much more support here,” said Julia. “Whatever are you talking about now, Julia? None of you are here.”
    â€œStop, I tell ya. That’s all,” yelled Dad. “I’m going to Florida.” He squeezed my hand.
    I squeezed back and looked him in the eye. “OK, Dad.” Not knowing what I was talking about, I said, “We’ll go.” I was certainly not thinking about the future, only about getting away from my siblings.
    So, the issue was settled. Sort of.

3
THE CLEAN GOODBYE
    The kids went to camp that summer and then occasionally to their father’s house, which was actually his new wife’s. I stayed at the dollhouse and contemplated a checklist for our move. We were going to give this adventure a try, together. I was happy for the kids’ resilience and their laughter, but I never thought further than my nose about what all this divorcing, dying, and moving around