Free A Dream for Addie by Gail Rock

house.
    â€œThat’s your job,” I said, not wanting to hear his usual tirade about money. “To pay for stuff.”
    â€œYou’re tellin’ me,” he said sarcastically. “I wouldn’t be sittin’ on this thing if I didn’t have to.”
    â€œI like it!”
    â€œTry it eight hours a day, and you won’t like it so much.”
    He was right about that. I had once decided I wanted to be a crane operator when I grew up and spent a whole day with him on a job. It was too hot and dirty and noisy for me, and at the end of the day I had decided on another career. I enjoyed being on the machine for an hour or so, but I wondered how he could stand it every day for all those years. I had much more respect for the work he did after that day I spent with him, and I knew that his job wasn’t the fun it looked to be. I also knew he was very good at it and was proud of his skill with the big machine. I liked that about him.
    â€œLet me run it for a minute, huh?” I asked.
    â€œNo, I want to stop and have my lemonade.”
    â€œOh, come on, just for a minute, just one bucketful?”
    â€œOK,” he said, sounding irritated. “We’ll fill up that one hopper over there.” I think he was secretly pleased that I liked working the machine.
    He put the machine into gear and helped me pull the big levers to scoop up a bucketful of gravel. Then we hauled it up into the air and swung the boom over to the hopper and opened the bucket to dump the gravel. Later a big gravel truck would drive under the hopper and pull a lever that would empty just the right amount into the truck.
    â€œOK, that’s enough,” he said.
    â€œThat was neat!” I said. “I love the way it takes a big bite out of the pile of gravel …”
    â€œCome on, now,” he said, climbing down out of the cab. “Let’s eat. I can only take a few minutes. I’m busy as the devil.”
    â€œHow do you know how busy the devil is?” I asked, climbing down with him.
    â€œKnow him personally,” he said.
    â€œYeah? What does he look like?”
    â€œOh, about twelve years old, pigtails, glasses …”
    â€œOh, very funny!” I said. That was a typical Dad joke—always poking a bit of fun at me to get a laugh. Most of the time he was funny, but once in a while he hurt my feelings. I seldom let on though, because I knew he didn’t mean to.
    I poured the lemonade, then took a giant bite of my cake.
    He looked at me and shook his head. “Your teeth are going to fall out one of these days! The way you eat sweets!”
    I stretched my lips over my teeth and gave him a fake toothless smile. He did just what I knew he would do. He suddenly shoved his false upper plate of teeth out at me and made a grotesque face. I squealed in disgust as I always did, and he slid his teeth back in and laughed. It was a running gag between the two of us and his way of telling me I had better take care of my teeth or it was going to happen to me too.
    We ate quietly for a few moments, and I tried to think of a way to say what I had come to talk to him about.
    â€œDo you think Constance is one of those alcoholics?”
    â€œWhat?” he asked.
    â€œYou know … where they have to go to a sanitarium and get dried out and all that stuff?”
    â€œOh, I don’t think she’s that bad off,” he said. “Looks like she just goes on a binge once in a while and can’t handle it.”
    â€œBoy, she sure did yesterday.” I had already told him what had happened.
    â€œI guess she takes after her old man,” he said. “He used to blow his top when he was hittin’ the bottle. One time when Constance was about your age, her mother had a lot of ladies out from Omaha for tea, and Constance was playing the piano for ’em, and old Jesse came downstairs all boozed up. He walked right into the living room in nothing but his