Chapter 9: Reeds, Duck Eggs, and Daydreams

Since he didn’t work, Zombie Dad, bored, dragged me to strip all the reeds in the neighborhood.

We trudged through overgrown lots and creek beds, arms full of reeds. Neighbors watched from their porches, some shaking their heads, others offering a wave or a nervous smile.

We even found a dozen wild duck eggs, which I carefully cradled in my arms.

I wrapped them in my old hoodie, cringing every time one bumped against another. We’d be eating good for a week, if we didn’t drop them first.

Back home, he did the same as last time, mashing up the dry reeds, making dry gray salt.

The kitchen filled with the sharp smell of burnt grass. I fanned the smoke detector just in case.

Curious, I tasted a little—it really was salty.

I dipped my finger in, bracing myself, but it tasted like real salt—rough and earthy, but edible.

Last time, when he treated my illness, he didn’t use Mom’s silver ring, but this reed salt.

I checked the jar where Mom’s ring used to be, but it was still there, untouched. Zombie Dad had found another way.

"My kid, when Dad sells this, I’ll buy us both some new clothes, go have some fun at the bowling alley, and with what’s left buy a used truck—then we’ll travel the country together, haha!"

He painted pictures of road trips and laughter—cheap motels, greasy diners, state parks with names I couldn’t pronounce. For a moment, it almost sounded possible.

I shook my head helplessly.

It was hard not to smile at his big dreams, even if they were a little crazy. Maybe that was the point.

He must have another screw loose.

But sometimes, a little crazy is exactly what you need to keep going.