The Problem With Crazy Read Online Free PDF Page A

shoulders, crushed foreheads, tired eyes. My middle-aged parents had become old.
    “Katie, I’m sorry.” Dad raised his head and looked at me. His blue eyes were surrounded by fiery-red streaks from the tears he’d shed, little spidery veins of sadness.
    “It’s not your fault.”
    “Th … there’s more.”
    I clutched the edge of my seat, my fingernails digging deep into the creamy suede material. What else could there possibly be? What could possibly be worse than a disease that was going to make him half a man?
    “I’m … I’m going to die.”
    The words ricocheted through my body.
    Die.
    My dad was going to die.
    “He doesn’t mean in the ‘everyone-is-going-to-die-one-day’ way, sweetie, he means—”
    “Mum, I know what he means.” I snapped my lips together.
    “H … how long?”
    “Prognosis is good. About fifteen to twenty years.” Mum stared at her nails, unable to make eye contact.
    “Wow.” I thought about all the things that would happen in the next fifteen to twenty years. I’d move out. I’d have a tour management career. I’d get married. I’d have children. They’d grow up, and Dad would be there for some of it, but not all of it. One day, my dad was going to die, and my kids may not ever have known him except as a distant memory.
    One day, I was going to have to face the world alone.
    Without him.
    Even more without him than I’d been for the last three-hundred and seventy-something days.
    “This is just—it’s a lot to take in.” I bit my lip. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
    I stood from my seat and crossed the room, hovering over him with my arms extended in an awkward sort of way while Mum, reluctant to leave his side, extended one of her hands to my shoulder.
    I felt myself still as time slowed down. My hand was on Dad’s shoulder, and he wasn’t hugging me back. It was surreal, this moment, seeing the drool as it pooled in the corner of my father’s lip. Was this really happening?
    “How sweet.” I heard Dave before I saw him. He’d walked in the door without knocking. For the first time ever, I wished he were a tiny bit less familiar with my home.
    “Hi.” I quickly disentangled myself from our embrace and smoothed down my shirt, before walking to Dave’s side. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and handed me a weighted plastic bag.
    “I bought ice cream,” he smiled, “but only for three.” The last sentence was directed with a cool gaze in Dad’s direction. I elbowed Dave in the ribs. Couldn’t he see that my father was upset?
    “Deb, do you need me to remove any unwanted guests?” Dave took a step towards my parents. His knuckles were fisted, white bones showing through. Mum shook her head, no.
    “Can you help me pop these in the freezer?” I grabbed the plastic bag from Dave’s hands and walked to the kitchen. He followed.
    The second we were alone, he cornered me against the bench, his arms on either side of mine so my body pressed hard up against his.
    “Now I can give you a proper hello,” he whispered in my ear and started nibbling against it.
    “Dave.” I sighed, and gave him a nudge. He ignored me, pressing closer still.
    “Dave. Seriously.” This time I gave him a shove, and he stumbled backward. I pushed away from the bench and opened the freezer to put the ice cream in.
    “What’s your problem?” His arms were folded and his face was grim.
    “Dave, it’s Dad,” I whispered. “He’s sick.” Even as I said it, the words seemed surreal. How did I describe an illness I barely knew anything about myself?
    “Like, a sick idiot who ruined graduation?” I punched Dave on the shoulder. How could he be so tactless when I was trying to tell him something important?
    “Stop being such a shit,” I hissed. “He has a disease. Something starting with H .” The actual name escaped me. I hadn’t heard of it before today. There was no “day” or “month” to honour it, like there was with cancer or MS.
    This disease was going to