Later, her body clock scrambled, Frances paced the basement, jangly with fatigue. Her dad built her a bedroom and rumpus room right after they moved in, so he and Doris could have privacy. So they could get it on, which she didn’t ever like to think about – not then, not now. Jimmy also built himself a workroom that was so disused it was covered in grime. Inside the workroom was a table, and piled against the rear wall was an old tire, a space heater, some Christmas lights and a box of decorations. Frances drew a smiley face in the dust that covered her dad’s worktable.
The rumpus room was equipped with her old record player and, next to it, a fourteen-inch black-and-white Toshiba she won in with a raffle ticket purchased from some Rotary Club guy on Stephen Avenue. Now that was a rare b
