"Look at it this way," Shannie told me a week before my birthday. We were having coffee in the Ortolan's kitchen. "You can't lose. If your mother wins her case. Look at the money she'll have. She'll get you a car just to shut you up. I know I would."
"Thanks." I stirred my coffee.
"Anything for you," she whispered - I peered up from the cyclone in my coffee cup. "Anywho, if she loses. She's out of your hair for a week or two. If you're lucky, her plane will crash."
***
I laid awake in my bed, listening to the wordless clatter of breakfast. I savored every chime of silverware, every clink of a coffee cup. With the silencing of the silverware came the shutting of the inner kitchen door, followed by the outer door, and car doors in quick succession. My father's car briefly struggled before turning over in the bitter morning air. The gears ground into reverse and the engine whined as they pulled out of the driveway. I listened to the car disappear down Cemetery Street. The silence pressed me into the mattress. Tears welled as I watched the falling snow.
Over the following days, I thought nothing that my mother didn't call. She was in the middle of a trial. I didn't expect to hear from her. Though I missed her, Shannie was right - she was out of our hair. It was vacation like. The air inside our home was relaxed. My father no longer worked late. He was talkative. During that first week we talked more than we did since moving to Pennsylvania.
The Saturday before my birthday we spent the day looking at used cars. For my birthday, he did buy me a car - a '68 mustang; a matchbox. Although disappointed I was glad to see his sense of humor resurface.
On my birthday, Diane invited my father and me to dinner. "What if Mom calls?" I asked.
"We have an answering machine," my father quipped.
"It's my birthday, I want to talk to her," I plopped into a kitchen chair, arms folded across my chest.
"How many chances will I ever get to eat at Diane's?"
"But?" I whimpered.
"Come on buddy, do me this favor."
"She won't forget me! Not on my birthday!"
My father sighed. He pulled a chair around the table and sat next to me. "James, I don't know how to say…"
The telephone rang. I bolted from my seat and raced across the kitchen. "Hello!" I cried into the mouthpiece.