Indelible Read Online Free Page B

fit—couldn’t resist a good prank. He’d liked it so much it became a habit.
    Moments like that curved her view of life. She worked extra hard to be normal, to make up for her father’s eccentricities. When she was seventeen, it had been difficult. At twenty-seven, some of the bitter aftertaste was wearing off. She found him amusing.
    Angie closed her computer, homework on hold for a case of parenting, and called, “Oliver, come help me make the pasta.”
    The volume of his stereo increased. She didn’t know the song and felt older than usual. Oliver didn’t reply.
    Angie filled a large pot with water, added kosher salt and olive oil, and set it to boil. Before getting the pasta from the cupboard, she opened the breaker panel located inside the small pantry. She flipped the breaker for Oliver’s room and waited.
    The music died and Oliver hollered, “Ah, Mom!”
    “You can sit in your room in the dark with no music. Or you can come help me fix dinner. Your choice.” Angie couldn’t wait for Oliver to hit his teens. She’d been told thirteen was the worst, but couldn’t imagine him acting out more than he did now.
    Oliver appeared in the kitchen doorway, head down and shoulders slumped. He sulked like a champ.
    Angie handed him the box of noodles. “What’s so important about the mall?” Half of her wanted to just leave the topic alone. Everything was hypercritical to Oliver lately. No doubt he had attached a life-and-death meaning to a trip to the food court. Still, she wanted him to learn to approach conversations rationally, to be able to navigate difficult topics with grace.
    Oliver shrugged and poured the pasta in the rolling water.
    “Oliver? A shrug is not an actual form of communication.”
    “There’s this girl…” Oliver poked at the pasta with a fork.
    It was always about a girl. The same had been true when Angie had sneaked out to meet someone. Except she didn’t sneak because her dad didn’t keep track. He wasn’t home to do that.
    “I see.”
    “So you’ll let me go?” Oliver met her gaze, a hopeful, yet cautious smile on his face.
    She hated to disappoint. “No.”
    He gave up poking the noodles and sat at the table. “It’s not fair.”
    Angie wanted to point out that he wasn’t old enough to self-supervise at the mall. That, however, would only escalate to an argument about his maturity. Her head still hurt from the last time he tried to convince her that he was practically an adult.
    “Son, make a date with her for a different day when I can take you.”
    Oliver rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yeah, right.”
    “You’re not going with Richie’s brother. So it’s me or not at all.”
    “Fine. Whatever.”
    When he pouted like that, Angie wanted to ruffle his hair. She resisted.
    Jack reappeared wearing jeans and a black leather vest. No shirt. He tousled Oliver’s hair—Angie was jealous that Oliver let him do it—and said, “Help me set the table, squirt.”
    As they placed the dishes and silverware, a sweet smile, the one that reminded Angie of her little boy, gradually replaced Oliver’s frown. “Grandpa, maybe you could take me to the mall this weekend?”
    Jack laughed. “It’s possible.”
    Angie was unsure how her retirement-age father rated as cooler than she did. Unsure, but not surprised.
    They ate comfortably together, Oliver’s resolve to be unpleasant fading under his grandfather’s good cheer. As they finished, the loud rumble of a motorcycle engine rolled into the driveway.
    “Sounds like my date is here.” Jack was up and out the door, leaving the cleanup to Angie and Oliver.
    Angie watched her dad ride away, clutching the middle of a bleached-blond bombshell as she wound her Harley’s engine up higher than it needed to go in the short distance from Angie’s drive to the traffic-controlled intersection. Sandy took up more space than necessary, both visually and audibly.
    “You can finish your homework in your room, if you want.” Angie