“No,” Georgia said. “That’s the problem.”
Before I could ask what that meant, her phone buzzed in her lap.
“It’s Dad.” GetParenting Tips
She turned the phone around so I saw the message.
Remember our agreement. Don’t make things too easy for him.
“Georgia,” I said slowly, “what exactly did I agree to?”
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“Something my father thinks is brilliant,” she said.
His company was called Pryce Supply. We were in a big gray warehouse out by the interstate, between a tire shop and a church that used to be a bowling alley. We supplied restaurants and grocery stores all over the county with food packaging and cleaning products. Takeout boxes, plastic cups, deli paper, napkins, gallon jugs of degreaser, and floor cleaner in drums so heavy it took two people to roll them. ShopKitchenware
My mom, Denise, was raising my younger sister, Janelle, by herself. My dad left when I was eleven and Janelle was four. He moved to Texas with a woman he met at his gym, and the child support checks came for about two years and then stopped coming.
