Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [27]
He sat down opposite me, sipping a large cup of what I hoped was decaf coffee; although, given his usual energy levels, I had a feeling that decaf wasn’t part of Ed’s vocabulary. He saw me staring at the drink and pushed it toward me, reluctantly taking it back when it became clear I wasn’t interested in getting even tenser.
“They’re good lyrics,” he said finally.
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”
“I’m serious. I can do something with this.”
That perked me up. “Really?”
“Really.” Ed smiled. “By tomorrow afternoon Dumb will be performing our first love song.”
And then there was silence while we both digested those words.
CHAPTER 18
I’ll be home late today, I signed to Mom as she headed off to work the next morning.
Mom shrugged. Tell Dad. I’ll probably be later than you.
Dad was in the kitchen, banging spatulas against countertops and pans to see how Grace would respond. For her part, Grace was enjoying the entertainment, swinging her head around to follow every sound. Eventually she seemed to get bored, craning her neck toward the front door.
Dad clapped his hands and laid a big fat kiss on her tiny forehead. “Good job, Gracie!” He beamed at me. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“The way she heard Mom closing the front door. I’m not sure she could hear it a few days ago.”
I felt my chest tighten. “That’s good,” I managed, willing myself to believe I’d actually heard it too.
“Correction: It’s amazing.” Dad bent down until he was at eye level with Grace in her high chair. “Simply amazing.”
I wanted to ask him if he’d been as fascinated by the physiology of my hearing loss as Grace’s improvement, but I could guess how that conversation would play out.
“I’m going to be home late, Dad.” Dad nodded, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Grace. “I said I’m going to be home late, okay?”
Dad glanced up. “Oh, yeah, fine. Whatever.”
Whatever. It was probably one of the top ten words spoken each day at school, but coming from Dad it sounded so very different. I shook my head and was about to leave when he stopped me.
“Hold on. What are you up to?”
“You mean, what am I doing after school?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said.”
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. “Dumb has a rehearsal after school.”
“So? You don’t play anything.”
“I’m the manager.”
“Still? I figured you’d be done with that already.”
“No.”
“Oh. So have you made any money yet?”
And just like that my pent-up anger dissipated, turning me from ferocious tiger to self-pitying kitten. I couldn’t even maintain eye contact.
“Oh,” he said again. “Well, I guess it’s up to you how you spend your free time.”
I nodded vigorously, like we could agree on that, but inside I knew what he was really saying, and I just needed to get away. I yelled to Finn that he had one minute to get in the car, then slammed the front door behind me.
See, Dad, I can hear it too!
Finn used the full sixty seconds, and when he piled into the passenger seat he was out of breath and his shoelaces were untied. You’re angry, he signed.
I rolled my eyes. “And you’re perceptive.”
Finn tied his laces while the engine turned over a gazillion times. When I slammed my fist against the dash, he sat bolt upright. “What’s wrong? Is it me?”
“No!” I shouted. Finn raised his eyebrows expectantly, waited for me to continue. “It’s everything, okay? It’s Dad, and Dumb, and the fact that I need them to learn a whole new song today, and I’m still not sure how to get us serious money.”
“Forget about the money. Focus on getting them to play better. Add some new songs.”
I turned the key again, and this time the engine fired up, blasts of black smoke filling the air behind us. Finn covered his mouth with his scarf, knowing that we’d probably get a lungful as I rolled down the driveway.
I took the car out of first gear—my less-than-ideal solution to a faulty parking brake—and ground the gearstick into reverse. Then I paused. “Sitting in the basement playing