Free Triangles by Ellen Hopkins

Okay,
    little girl. Let’s play some drums.
    Shelby does her best drum
    impression as her daddy thumps
    the crud loose from her lungs.
    She must be in heaven, having
    so much masculine attention.
    God knows it’s been a hell of
    a long time since I’ve had any.
    Not that I’d know what to do with it.
    I sit at the counter, elbows against the cool granite, looking out
    the window at the mountain’s
    steep angles. The Sierra drew
    my parents here three decades
    ago. It has long been a presence
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    in my life. There are people who live without mountains, but I’ll never be one of them. There are people who
    live without spouses and children.
    I’m not so sure I could never be
    one of them. I almost am now.
    I DRINK MY COFFEE BLACK
    And I brew it strong. The way coffee was meant to be , my dad told me the first time I tried it, with asugar and way too much cream. I miss
    Mom and Dad, who opted for
    a nomads-in-an-RV lifestyle some
    six years ago. Right before I got
    pregnant with Shelby. They swing
    through the area a couple of times
    a year, reliably including Labor
    Day weekend. They are Burning
    Man devotees, don’t ask me why.
    God-awful hot on the playa in
    early September. And dusty. Dirty.
    No, that celebration of the carnal
    is definitely not for me. But they’ve gone every year since 1993.
    This year, they decided to summer
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    on the West Coast, so they’ll stop
    by any day now, en route to California.
    I should probably check my email,
    see if they’ve sent any updates.
    They refuse to keep a cell phone,
    but Mom has a laptop and whenever
    Dad spies a Starbucks, they stop
    for coffee ( the way it was meant to be ) and free wireless. That’s my parents. Too chintzy to spring for
    cell service, but willing enough to pay for overpriced but good coffee.
    I take my strong-brewed, supermarket-brand coffee to the little dining room nook where my computer resides.
    This dinosaur Dell has been my main source of sanity for the past four
    years. If I have to be sequestered at home, at least I have a way to bring the world to me. One day I’ll venture 187/881
    out into it again. But for now,
    cyberspace will mostly have to do.
    MY INBOX
    Is relatively empty. There is a message from Mom: In Elko. Spending a day in Lamoille Canyon. See you soon.
    Spam message. Spam message. And
    one from Drew. Have you seen this?
    There’s a link to an article about
    a new drug that the FDA has approved for clinical trials. Stem cell research and molecular therapy have focused
    quite specifically on SMA and in recent years have produced some promising
    leads. This one is a motor neuron
    replacement product, derived from
    embryonic stem cells, and it looks
    like it could be the miracle so many SMA parents have been not so patiently waiting for. “Christian! Come here!” Expectation surges through my veins, making my heart work really hard.
    This probably couldn’t “cure” Shelby, but it might make her better. “Christian!” 189/881
    What is taking him so damn long?
    Has he gone deaf? I push back from
    the computer, speed-walk down the hall to Shelby’s room. “Christian. Did you hear me? I need to show you something.” He is sitting beside the bed, tumbler in hand, watching a Thomas
    the Tank Engine DVD with Shelby.
    She doesn’t seem to mind the smell
    of scotch, but it makes me want to gag.
    I fight to keep my voice steady. “Christian, can I see you for a minute, please?” What? He looks up at me with droopy cocker spaniel eyes. Oh, okay. Daddy will be back in a little while, baby.
    Not in that condition. I nudge
    him toward the dining room.
    “It’s not even ten in the morning,
    and you’re drinking? Not only that, but getting drunk right there beside your daughter’s bed? Are you crazy?” He pours himself into a chair, puts 190/881
    his glass down on the table, leans
    his head into his hands. Says nothing.
    BUT THE WAY
    His shoulders tremble, like boulders in an earthquake, tells me he has