Free Panic Attack by Jason Starr Page B

meantime he would take his anxiety out on her and her mom.
When her dad came into the kitchen Marissa was at the counter, pouring a cup of lukewarm coffee.
“Hey, good morning,” he said, sounding inappropriately upbeat. “How’d you sleep?”
She waited several seconds before mumbling, “Shitty.”
“Aw, that stinks,” he said. “Maybe you should take a nap later or something. Oh, and by the way, I’m really sorry about last night. I was just feeling exhausted and stressed and I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.”
“Whatever,” she said, not ready to forgive him yet.
“No, not what ever, ” he said, mimicking her. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. Friends?”
He extended his arms, inviting her to hug him.
“Friends,” she said grudgingly.
They hugged loosely; then she took a sip of the coffee. It tasted sour and murky.
“Hey, so I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe instead of going down to Florida I’ll just fly Grandma up here instead.”
“Can she travel?” Marissa asked.
“She said she’s been feeling a lot better lately and that she could handle the flight. She could just sleep downstairs on the pullout and use the downstairs bathroom so we don’t have to worry about her going up and down the stairs.”
“Sounds good to me,” Marissa said.
She was always up for getting out of a trip to Florida. She used to like going down there when she was a kid, mainly because she and her parents always stopped at Disney World on the way back, but for the last ten years or so going to her grandma Ann’s condo in North Miami had been torture. It was always nice to see her grandma, but at her condo Marissa was basically a prisoner, hanging around all day, playing Rummy Q, watching game shows, and waiting for the main activity: going to the early bird dinner at four o’clock.
“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna call her and suggest it,” her dad said. “Maybe next weekend or the weekend after.”
“So,” Marissa said, “is there any news?”
“News about what?”
Was he serious?
“The shooting,” she said.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know what news there would be since last night. I mean, they removed the body right after you went to bed, and I was up for maybe another hour or so. I’ve been getting a lot of calls and e-mails, of course. It’s amazing the way news spreads. Remember my old friend Stevie Lerner? Big guy, dark curly hair? Anyway, you met him when you were about eight years old, I think, and the last time I saw him was at a wedding maybe ten years ago. Anyway, he called to see if everything was okay.”
“Did they figure out how the burglars got in yet?” Marissa asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, like he really didn’t care one way or the other. “But the lock guy was here already, and we have brand- new locks for the back door, Medecos. There’re new keys. The alarm guy should be here at around—” He checked the time on his cell phone. “Actually, they should’ve been here a half hour ago.”
Marissa took another sip of the gross coffee, then said, “I’ll talk to you later,” and started to leave the kitchen.
“I was thinking,” her dad said, “maybe we could all go out to dinner tonight. You know, as a family.”
“I’m supposed to hang out with some friends,” she said.
This wasn’t really true. She had no set plans with her friends; she just didn’t feel like spending a whole night with her parents.
“Oh, then maybe we should do something over the weekend, just the thter all, he wasn’t exactly in touch with his emotions. She remembered how he didn’t cry at all at his father’s funeral— even at the cemetery, when they lowered his father into the ground, he was stone- faced—and then a few months later he was a mess, snapping at everybody all the time, drinking too much. It would probably take him a few weeks before he realized how he actually felt about the shooting, and in the meantime he would take his anxiety out on her and her mom.
When her dad came into the kitchen Marissa was at the counter, pouring a cup of