Liddie?s father drove to the mall parking lot to give her a jump. He dug for
the cables in his trunk, pissed that he?d been called away from the new piece of music he was writing at home.

?You left the headlights on?? he said.

?The passenger light,? Liddie said, pointing at the back seat. ?Door wasn?t shut all the way.?

?Who was in the back?? he said. ?I thought you were driving to work and home, only.?

Her daily comings and goings were charted in the kitchen, reviewed when she returned in the evening. Liddie had the use of a Honda Civic as long as she kept it filled with gas, washed it once a week in the driveway, and didn?t joy ride with her friends.

?Sorry for the inconvenience,? she said.

?Don?t be smart.? He clipped the cables to the battery, and told her to get in the car and rev the engine.

The parking lot was dark. Her co-workers stood outside under the street lamp, smoking. Bugs were flying in from everywhere to swarm in the light. Liddie waited tables at The Cannery, a seafood restaurant at Lakeside Mall.

Her boyfriend Jimmy?s sweatshirt lay on the back seat, where he?d stripped it off. They?d made love there before her shift, at the far edge of the parking lot, then switched shirts for the day. He had on her Sacred Heart tee so he could show off the muscles he was sculpting for her. That?s what he?d said. She wore his faded Ninja turtles tee, had it stuffed into her jeans. Washed a thousand times and smooth as his skin. Liddie zipped her jacket so her father wouldn?t see.

?This isn?t working,? he said. ?There?s no juice.?

?Juice?? Liddie said. Things he said embarrassed her even with no one around.

They drove home in his old green Mercedes. Demoted, Liddie rode shot gun. She?d always been proud of his cars, usually foreign, used, some great deal he?d made after talking to mechanics in town who knew who drove what. Her father would figure out where the owner lived, offer him a trade, drive home in the guy?s car. Liddie tapped her fingers on the scratched leather arm rest, impatient to get there.

He whistled what he?d been working on when she had called for help. They caught every red light. She smelled like Jimmy?s cigarette smoke. And sex with a busy top layer of peppermint Tic Tac. Half a box in her mouth.

?You didn?t leave the house in that shirt,? her father said.

?Grease stain,? she mumbled. ?I borrowed someone?s.?

Bugs flew toward the headlights and pinged against the windshield.

"Is Mom feeling better?? Liddie said. When she'd left that morning her mother had been in bed, said she had a cold, but it was a hangover. Liddie'd rinsed Scotch out of her coffee mug.

?She?s okay,? he said. He pressed the washer button but nothing came out. ?I filled this last month.? The wipers squeaked across the dry windshield, smudging the spots into a mess. ?Goddammit, your Mother could pull into a full serve,? he said.

Liddie knew what to do make him forget other people?s screw-ups, and placed him gently in the palm of her hand. ?What were you working on before I interrupted??

He?d been waiting all day for someone to ask. ?A choral piece ? SATB ? with woodwinds, timpani. I?m setting a John Ashbery poem.?

Her father?s readiness made her sad. The boys she liked used just a few words to explain what they meant, left the rest mysterious, but her father answered any question she asked like he had one chance left on earth.

He leaned forward, squinting through the streaks. ?I can?t see. I need another set of eyes."

She didn't want to be his eyes. She was tired of his company, the game, the car ride. ?Why don?t we just pull into a gas station, Dad? I?ll get out and clean.?

She phoned Jimmy when she got home to tell him about the dead battery, but he didn?t have time to talk. Liddie heard a giggle in the background that he swore was his sister but Liddie knew.

After dinner, her mother said she was going up to watch TV. Liddie?s father looked left behind, dumped.

She pushed the rest of her pie at him. ?I?m full,? she said, suddenly wanting back the one who would always be true. "What's the poem?"

Her father leaned forward and his blue eyes danced. "And you could have a new automobile/Ping pong set and garage, but the thief/Stole everything like a miracle."

"I don't know what that means,? Liddie lied.

"You will."

It didn?t matter. Everything he told her was a love song. "So,? she said, ?play me what you wrote today.? They sat together on the cushioned piano bench, spurned. Liddie followed the notes, and waited for his head cue before she turned the page.