Chapter 41

“You straightened up,” Mom corrects, shoving the vacuum across the carpet with a vengeance. “There’s a big difference, mister. I only hope you keep your own house in better shape.”

Joey steps around Mom’s back so she doesn’t see him roll his eyes. Touching her shoulders, he begins, “You want me to take your coat—”

“I want you two to get out of my way,” she replies, as if we’re unruly kids tracking mud on her carpet. Dad wanders in from the kitchen to sit on the sofa—when the vacuum runs near his feet, he lifts them off the floor without comment. Mom sees us lingering near the hallway and chases the vacuum our way. “Let me finish here, will you? Get.”

I follow Joey into the kitchen, where he drapes his coat on the back of a chair at the table. “God,” I mutter, leaning against the counter. “Are they always this bad?”