“No. My mother is not driving an hour here.”
Harold checked his watch.
“What about Linda next door?”
“Linda has a job.”
“So do I.”
I stopped fighting with the zipper.
“Harold, they’re your children.”
“I know that.”
“Then take them.”
“Harold, they’re your children.”
“The school is across town.”
“So leave earlier. Or work from home once in a while and take them then.”
He took a sip of coffee.
“Scarlett, that’s not practical.”
Nicki looked from him to me.
“Mommy’s leg isn’t practical either, Dad.”
“Scarlett, that’s not practical.”
From the kitchen, Sasha shouted, “Nicki took my blue marker!”
“I did not!”
“You literally have it!”
Harold picked up his briefcase.
“See? Mornings are chaos.”
Then he left.
“See? Mornings are chaos.”
***
Three weeks earlier, I’d slipped on wet tile outside a grocery store and broken my leg badly enough to need surgery and a cast. The doctor forbade me to drive.
