"What?"
"Daddy, please come home now," I said. He wiped his eyes and gazed at me.
"What . . . What are you doing here, Dawn?" he asked quickly.
"Momma went to bed a while ago, but I know she's just lying there awake waiting for you, Daddy."
"You shouldn't come in a place like this," he said sharply, making me jump.
"I didn't want to come, Daddy, but—"
"All right, all right," he said. "I guess I can't do nothing right these days," he added, shaking his head.
"Just come home, Daddy. Everything will be all right."
"Yeah, yeah," he said. He gazed at his beer a moment and then pushed back from the table. "Let's get you outta here. You shouldn't be here," he repeated. He started to stand and then sat down hard.
He looked down at the bottles of beer again and then put his hand in his pocket and took out his billfold. He counted it quickly and shook his head.
"Lost track of what I spent," he said, more to himself than to me, but when he said it, it sent a cold chill down my back.
"How much did you spend, Daddy?"
"Too much," he moaned. "Afraid we won't be eating all that well this week, either," he concluded. He pushed himself away from the table again and stood up. "Come on," he said. Daddy didn’t walk straight until we reached the door.
"Sleep tight!" one of the men at the bar called. Daddy didn't acknowledge him. He opened the door and we stepped out. I was never so happy to confront fresh air again. The musty smell of the bar had turned my stomach. Why would Daddy even want to walk in there, much less spend time there? I wondered. Daddy appreciated the fresh air, too, and took some deep breaths.
"I don't like you going in a place like that," he said, walking. He stopped suddenly and looked at me, shaking his head. "You're smarter and better than the rest of us, Dawn. You deserve better."
"I'm not better than anybody else, Daddy," I protested, but he had said all he was going to, and we continued to our apartment. When we opened the door, we found Jimmy already in the pullout bed, the covers drawn so high, they nearly covered his face. He didn't turn our way. Daddy went right to his bedroom, and I crawled under the covers with Jimmy, who stirred.
"You went to Frankie's and got him?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yes."
"If I had been the one, he'd be furious," he said. "No, he wouldn't, Jimmy, he'd . . ."
I stopped because we heard Momma moan. Then we heard what sounded like Daddy laughing. A moment later there was the distinct sound of the bedsprings. Jimmy and I knew what that meant. In our close quarters we had grown used to the sounds people often make whenever they make love. Of course, when we were younger, we didn't know what it meant, but when we learned, we pretended that we didn't hear it.
Jimmy drew the blanket up toward his ears again, but I was confused and a bit fascinated.
"Jimmy," I whispered.
"Go to sleep, Dawn," he pleaded.
"But, Jimmy, how can they—"
"Just go to sleep, will you?"
"I mean, Momma's pregnant. Can they still . . . ?" Jimmy didn't respond. "Isn't it dangerous?"
Jimmy turned toward me abruptly.
"Will you stop asking those kind of questions?"
"But I thought you might know. Boys usually know more than girls," I said.
"Well, I don't know," he replied. "Okay? So shut up." He turned his back to me again.