After dinner, Ed and Julie cleared the table and ran the dishwasher. Sonya trudged upstairs to do homework while Jake used his wooden spoon to play drums on a saucepan on the pantry floor.
Ed filled the kettle and asked Julie if she wanted a cup of tea. She declined and refilled her wine glass, paging through the Foghorn.
“You know what?” she said. “The Horn sucks. Who are these people? Wendell Grant? Greta Hernandez? Must be kids right out of J School.”
“Try high school.”
The stairs creaked and Sonya appeared, triumphantly waving a piece of paper. “Marijuana has the lowest addiction. See?”
She laid the page in front of Ed. In one enormous run-on sentence, she’d listed common recreational drugs and the proportion of users who became emotionally dependent or physically addicted. Tobacco was highest, marijuana lowest.
Ed smiled at his budding reporter. “Where’d you get this?”
“The Internet.”
Ed sighed and Sonya noticed. “But Daddy, from that place you like.”
“Where?”
“NewYorkTimes.com.”
“Did you print the article?”
“Yes!”
“Show me.”
Sonya scampered upstairs and bounced back with several disorganized pages topped by an Old English logo.
“See? You said this is good.”
“It used to be,” Ed deadpanned, glancing at Julie, whose expression said lighten up. “Good work, honey, good source, too. Let me see.” He compared Sonya’s figures with the newspaper’s and they matched. “Using the New York Times is fine, and you got the numbers right. But the reporter who wrote the article—where did she get her figures?”
Sonya shrugged. “How should I know?”
“It’s in there. Read it.”
Sonya peered at the article.
“The National Academy of Sciences?”
“Right,” Ed said. “So the National Academy report is the original source, the primary source. See the title?” He pointed to a line in the Times print-out. “Get that.”
Sonya frowned. “Do I have to?”
“Do you want to convince the superintendent to change DAP? Or not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you need the most convincing evidence.”
“But—”
“The Times is good, but the primary source is better.”
“But—”
“It’ll take you ten minutes.”
“But—”
Julie chimed in. “What’s the big deal? Just Google them, search the report, and print it out.”
Sonya stamped her foot. “But that’s too hard!”
“You agreed to do this report,” Julie chided, hoisting a squirmy Jake and sitting him on her lap. “What do we say about anything worth doing?”
Sonya snorted. “That it’s worth doing right.” Then frustration got the better of her. She turned on her mother and snapped, “But alcohol is really dangerous and you drink it all the time.”
Julie took a breath before replying softly, “I had one glass of wine with dinner.”
“You had two—and now you’re having another.”
“Young lady,” Julie retorted icily, “my wine consumption is not your concern. Did you finish your other homework?
“Yes.”
“Then after you print out the report, you’re free till bedtime.”
Sonya retreated upstairs.
Ed tried to keep quiet, but couldn’t. “From the mouths of babes....”
“Ed, don’t start.”
“Everything we do, she’s watching, learning—”
“Enough!” Julie set Jake on her hip and headed up the stairs to bathe him, leaving her wine glass on the table.
Ed followed her and found Sonya huddled over the printer in Julie’s office. “Here it is.” With a flourish, she presented the National Academy report.
“Excellent. Now staple it together so you can clip it to your report.”
Sonya scampered off. Ed crumpled the sheets of paper she’d left behind and faced the wastebasket across the room. Kobe Bryant stepped back behind the arc, set himself, and flicked his wrist. Swish, three points. His second shot hit the rim and bounced in. Six. The third hit the wall and missed. Damn.
Ed crossed the room, scooped up the errant paper ball, and flipped it into the can, but in the process, he tripped over his feet and kicked the wastebasket, toppling it. He was about to shovel the spilled contents back in when he noticed something under the trash. An empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.