Chapter Twenty-One
Weedmas
I show my parents the picture Nolan took of me in the snow and tell them about freezing my butt off in Colorado and how Nolan had a puffy jacket that kept him warm. Part of the reason Dad chose to retire in San Antonio from the military was because he never wanted to shovel snow again. Before San Antonio, we’d been stationed in Arizona where he’d twisted his ankle sliding on an icy sidewalk, and before that in Germany, where, in the spring thaw, they find people missing for months, who’d fallen over walking home from the bar.
“The yard is full of leaves,” said Dad.
Mom looked up. “Raking leaves is good exercise.”
“Leaves? Who mentioned leaves?”
Mom frowns. “You think you’re funny now. Wait until you start radiation and haven’t built up your strength.”
Dad
