Excerpt from Porucpine (Continued)

though I’m smiling. He holds me tight against his chest, I can feel his lips in my hair. My dad kissing me good-bye. I hear his voice, gruff, breaking slightly.

“Ah, Jack,” he says. “What am I going to do with you?” I feel his scratchy cheek scrape mine. Feel his warm breath, his soft, rumbly voice in my ear. “Take care of your mom. Look after your brother and sister while I’m away. Will you do that for me?”

And I say, “Yes, Dad … yes, I will.” Rubbing the tears from eyes with my fist, scrunched tight up against Dad’s chest. I feel him slip something into my hand, and I wrap my fingers around it tight. It’s the warm metal and leather of his watch. “Keep it safe for me,” he whispers in my ear. “I don’t want it to get all beat up, running around in the bush out there.” And I don’t know why he’s giving me his watch. He’s been away many times but has never done this before. I start crying even harder

because it’s like he’s saying good-bye for good. “Chin up,” Dad says. “That’s my girl,” and so I straighten myself up, put a smile on my face, pull away like nothing happened, like I don’t have his watch still warm from his wrist clutched in my fist.

“Okay, guys,” Dad says, all jokey and boisterous, like he’s a comedian on TV. “I’m off. Don’t forget to write.” And I wish Big Mike would drive around the block a few times, go get himself a coffee, come back later, but he doesn’t. He’s just sitting in his car, waiting for Dad, engine running. Dad gives Mom another quick kiss and hug. The one-armed kind like he gave Simon, his other arm scooping up his bag.

“See you soon! Love you all!” Dad says, head turned toward us as he runs down the steps, his duffel bag bouncing slightly, banging against his back.

At first we all stand on the porch like we always do, waving good-bye. But then as the car pulls out of the driveway, something breaks and I find myself running down the steps, the walkway, out into the street after the

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