Thirty-Three
AS SOON AS GUS LEAVES, I drop to my knees. My head is hurting again, and I know I’ll never make it to the house on my own.
“Helen,” I gasp.
“She’s on her way already, Dad,” Gladys says.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to catch my breath. I’m on my hands and knees, which is good, because when the wave of nausea hits and I throw up breakfast, it doesn’t get on my clothes.
I’m about to heave again when the door opens and Helen kneels on the floor next to me. She puts an arm around me and her hand on my neck.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she whispers.
I cough, then manage to say, “Little bit different than the last time we were here, huh?”
“Uhhhh, guys? What does that mean?” Gladys says in my ear.
“Nothing, Gladys,” Helen says, “nothing. Turn it off please.”
“But I—”
“Now, Gladys!” He
