Free All The Stars In Heaven by Michele Paige Holmes Page B

unexpected and rare compliment. But then she realized what he was doing. You always try to turn things around, Dad. “I can see that people might not be lining up for the job, but surely you can find someone.”
    “No.” Grant shook his head. “You don’t understand. There simply isn’t anyone else who can do exactly what you do.”
    * * *
    Sarah stretched plastic wrap over the bowl of spaghetti and stuck it in the near-empty fridge. A six-pack of beer and the usual condiments lined the shelves of the door. The interior shelves, however, were bare except for a half gallon of milk, a couple of apples, and the leftover spaghetti. Sarah frowned. There was no way she could conjure tomorrow’s dinner out of that, and the pantry was just as empty. They’d starve soon if she didn’t remind her father it was time to go shopping again. She should have told him earlier, so they could have stopped by the store on the way home from the shooting range. But his mood hadn’t exactly been stellar, and she’d been too upset to think about groceries. She dreaded telling him now, dreaded the argument that was sure to come up for the hundredth time.
    “Grocery shopping is a woman’s work. I shouldn’t have to be bothered with it,” he’d say.
    “I’ll do the shopping, Dad. I can ride the bus and—”
    “No daughter of mine is going to set foot on a bus. Do you have any idea the kind of people who ride public transportation?”
    “People who don’t own cars?” she’d dared to say to him once when she was about seventeen and hadn’t yet given up hope of getting a driver’s license someday. He’d nearly slapped her for her impertinence, and he hadn’t let her eat a bite of the dinner she’d made that night.
    Hopefully this time he’d complain about the lack of food as usual and then decide it was safe to let her do the shopping—with Carl in tow, of course. Ugh. More time with Carl. Maybe starving was the better option. If she thought her father wouldn’t yell at her when there was nothing for dinner the following evening, she might have chanced it.
    Returning to the table, she grabbed the salad—hardly touched—and carried it over to the sink. It seemed that neither she nor her father had been very hungry tonight. Her stomach was still in knots over the incident at the shooting range. What her father was upset about remained a mystery. Sarah supposed she ought to be concerned that he hadn’t been eating well for the past couple of weeks, but right now she was too angry with him—and too hurt and scared by his ultimatum that she couldn’t quit the undercover job—to be concerned with his health.
    Trying to shake the feeling of uneasiness, Sarah glanced over her shoulder as she turned on the faucet. Through the space between the overhead cupboards and the counter, she saw her father dozing in his chair. If she were very lucky, he’d stay asleep the rest of the night.
    She dumped the salad in the garbage then returned to the table to collect the plates and silverware. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she placed the silverware carefully in the sink. The paper plates she tossed in the trash. They’d never had a set of real dishes. Instead, her father bought paper products by the case at the local Costco every six months. She poured the rest of her milk down the drain and threw the cup away—their cups were all disposable too. She supposed the tradition had started back when her dad was on his own, then continued as he’d tried to juggle work with single parenting. And since she was on kitchen duty every night, she wasn’t about to complain about it.
    With the kitchen clean, she switched off the light and headed down the short hall. Grocery shopping could wait until tomorrow. A night free from her father and Carl wasn’t to be wasted.
    “Where you going, Sarah?”
    She squeezed her eyes shut. Just three—more—steps to my room. “I’ve got a test to study for,” she called over her