May 26

Dear Tara*Starr,

It is Saturday and I have not seen my father. I’m not going to see him either. I will not get to ask him my list of questions. The questions were all prepared too, sort of like an assignment for school. I wrote them on Monday, then all week I kept looking them over and making changes. On Friday, during study hall, I decided the list was just right and I copied it over neatly. I can still send it to you if you want, but it seems kind of pointless since I didn’t get to ask the questions.

Why am I not going to see my father? Because he chickened out, that’s why. He’s a big, stupid, drunk baby and I hate him. He’s spoiled too. Because he got all his stuff, just like he wanted, only he did it without seeing Mom and Emma and me.

This is what happened. After school yesterday, Howie and Susie and I walked home as usual. We had just walked between those brick walls that say DEER on one side and RUN on the other, when Mrs. Haslin called to me from her office. (She’s one of the managers of DEER RUN.)

She said, “Elizabeth! Hi, I’m glad I caught you. Here are your keys.” And I said, “What keys?” and she said, “Your father’s. He thought you’d like them as a spare set.” I must have looked awfully confused, because Mrs. Haslin said, “He dropped them off here after he picked up his things.”

I knew that Mrs. Haslin knew that Mom and Dad had split up (Mom had told her a couple of days ago), but I couldn’t figure out why Mrs. Haslin thought Dad had already picked up his stuff. Then a terrible thought occurred to me and I got this hollow feeling in my stomach. I took the keys from Mrs. Haslin, told Susie and Howie I would see them later, and ran all the way to our apartment. I opened the door and burst into the living room. Sure enough, all Dad’s things were gone.

My father came early, Tara. He came when he knew we wouldn’t be home, and he took his stuff and left without seeing us. He didn’t even leave a note.

I was going to write more. I was going to ask you some things about Barb and Luke and the baby, and tell you about Silhouette, but you know what? I just can’t right now. I’ll have to write again, okay? When I’m feeling better. I am really happy that you and your parents are talking, though. And that everything seems to be under control with the baby.

Love,

P.S. This time it’s my turn to say Longer Letter Later

P.P.S. Did I say that I hate my father? (Mom says she guesses he isn’t ever coming back.)