Michael Malone - Weebly

"What for?"
"I dunno. Mysterious."
"Aren't you going to school?"
"Oh, Daddy! School's over."
"Fine."
The widower watched his only child pedal past the
kitchen window, her sandwich clamped in her teeth.
She needed a mother.
Someone who understood female things, like Peggy
Strummer, or Evelyn Troyes. She was getting too old
for him. Her clothes just didn't look right, her hair
wasn't right. Obviously Mrs. Strummer next door
explained things to Joy, about appearance and other
things. Of course, Polly would never look like Joy, no
matter what advice she got, but she had a good head on
her shoulders. It was just her bad luck that she'd taken
after him and not her mother. He ought to talk to Polly,
but he kept putting it off. They just made do day by
day, postponing serious cleaning, serious shopping,
serious conversation. So the dishes got done, but the
sink was grimy; the floor got swept, but cobwebs
floated in the corners of the ceilings; their clothes got