A Mile in My Flip-Flops Read Online Free Page A

job set me back some…” He turns away from me now, focusing his attention on the barbecue again as he applies a fresh coat of sauce to the already dripping ribs.
    Saddened that I’ve made him remember this, I exchange an uncomfortable glance with Betty. This is a painful topic that we try to avoid. For Dad’s sake, we just don’t go there. Most of the town is aware that he was horribly taken advantage of in his final construction job. After a lengthy hotel project was finally completed, the stingy out-of-state investor had the audacity to accuse Dad of doing unsatisfactory work. My dad, who had worked in Southern California for decades with nothing but happy customers. To add insult to injury, this tightwad jerk not only refused to pay Dad but filed a claim against him with the state contractor’s board and withheld payment to Dad’s subcontractors as well.
    As it turned out, that good-for-nothing investor was flat broke and ended up filing for bankruptcy himself, but that didn’t help anything on Dad’s end. He wound up paying his subcontractors from his own pocket and hiring a lawyer to go after the investor. In the midst of this, Dad’s health went seriously downhill, and at his doctor’s insistence, he decided it was time to retire. The attorney, who’s gone pro bono, still thinks there’s a chance the lawsuit will pay off, but at the rate it’s going, Dad might be a hundred years old before he sees a dime of settlement. Fortunately his condo is paid for, and he seems to get by fairly well on his Social Security.
    “I don’t want you to feel like you’d have to do much in the way of helping me…I mean, as far as physical labor,” I say quickly to Dad. “I’ll mostly need your expertise and advice, because I know that your health is—”
    “Nonsense,” he says. “I’m fit as a fiddle. My blood pressure has gone down considerably, and that new cholesterol medicine is working so well that I can eat like a king now.”
    I point to the ribs. “So that’s what this is about?”
    Betty frowns with concern. “I told Hank it wouldn’t hurt him to continue some of the healthy eating habits he’s established.”
    “I’m sick and tired of vegetables and whole grains,” he says as he licks barbecue sauce from a finger. “And if I never eat anything to do with soy again, I’ll be a happy man. Besides, what’s the point in being alive if you can’t enjoy your life a little?”
    “With moderation,” injects Betty. “Which reminds me…I brought a bottle of Merlot.”
    “You drink wine now?” I ask Dad as Betty goes back into the house.
    “Betty says it’s good for me—just a glass at dinnertime for my cholesterol and heart. I didn’t like it much at first, but I can’t argue that I’ve been feeling better.”
    Betty returns with the bottle and corkscrew and hands them over to Dad. “The wine needs to breathe a little,” she tells me.
    “Betty’s right about moderation,” I say to Dad as he fiddles with the corkscrew. “Moderation is a very good thing for someone with high blood pressure and high cholesterol and ancestors with a history of heart disease.”
    “I agree with you about moderation.” He winks at me as he pops the cork, then hands the bottle back to Betty. “And I think these ribs are
moderately
done now—that means medium and just exactly how I like ’em. You girls ready to indulge in some fine red meat, or would you rather go chew on a celery stick somewhere?”
    No one argues as he stacks the delicious-smelling ribs on a platter. But I do have to question his sensibility when we sit down at the patio table, where Betty has just set out the side dishes, which don’tlook any healthier. “Your dad made these,” she says, almost in self-defense.
    I look at the creamy potato salad, which is loaded with eggs and bacon bits, and then the second bowl, which I recognize as his famous “southern” coleslaw. I’m thinking there must be about a gallon of mayonnaise