Chapter 4
My dad parks the car on Barcelona Street and looks over at me. My sisters were up all night, puking. My dad’s eyes are glassy and he doesn’t look like he’ll last very long.
“Why don’t you go home and sleep, Dad,” I say. “I’ll do this section and walk home.”
“No, no, it’s my business. My responsibility.” He doesn’t sound very convincing. “I can’t ask you to do my job for me.”
“Go home, Dad.” I squeeze his shoulder and pop the door open. He just sits there, beaten. I go around and slide the side door open, grab his and my bags full of empty flasks and the box of business cards. I swing the bags over my shoulders and lean into his window. “I’ll be home in three hours.”
“You’re a good man,” my dad says. “I owe you one.” He puts the van in gear and gives me a kind look. “Don’t go
