ANITA POVHe called at half past ten.I was at the kitchen table with the sketchbook open in front of me. Not drawing. Just looking at the note inside the front cover. Four words and the smaller ones below them. I had been sitting with it for twenty minutes without moving.My phone lit up on the table.Dad.I looked at it for one ring. Then I picked up.“Anita.” His voice. Warm. A little careful the way it always was now, like he was always slightly aware of how much he owed and slightly unsure how to carry it. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”“No,” I said. “I’m just at home. How are you?”“Good, good. Your mother wanted me to call. We haven’t heard from you in a few weeks.”“I know. I’m sorry. Things have been busy.”“Busy is good.” He said it the way he always said it. Like busy was the thing you wanted to be. Like being busy meant everything was fine. “Donald keeping you on your toes?”“Always,” I said.I closed the sketchbook.He asked about the house. I told him it was fine. He a
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