Jim is drinking Vodka with his orange juice. I can tell because he’s using small goblets and sipping, and why would a grown man drink juice at night?
Dad adds whatever wine is nearby and open to whatever wine is in his glass. When it’s done, it leaves a smear of sediment and he scoops it out with his ring finger, then eats it.
Ivanna doesn’t drink, and doesn’t like us to. I drink more, to protect myself.
Jim tells stories about the couple who steals copper from the power lines up at the park where he works. They throw a rope around the line, tie it to their truck, break the line, then throw it in the back and resell the copper to a metal salvager. The woman’s missing a thumb and has burn marks from the rope on her arms.
Nana sits in her chair and smiles and watches us. She can’t hear so well, and sometimes when someone else is talking to her she thinks it’s coming from me.
It’s 79 degrees in her house and she and Jim have handwritten notes around the thermostat explaining how to use it, with exclamation points. There have been long disputes on whether or not the heat was on, or a window was open, and how to explain the sudden change in temperature?
Jim keeps guns in his room and I ask to make sure they’re locked up because the kids are roaming around the bathroom. Dad keeps guns too but says they would never be able to find them. There have been break-ins in the neighborhood, recently.
Dave keeps guns too; he lives in State College. He helps me buff out scratches on the rental car with a 30 year-old Makita. He’s got a 3-D rendering of the Final Supper in his kitchen that changes, depending on the angle you encounter it.
Soon it will be time for early check-in and final goodbyes, until next time. We scratch days off the calendar and look forward to the next one.