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You did what?

This is the original scene before editing. It actually survived several edits before my editor gave it the ax. In this scene, Jordan is taking both his daughter (Susan) and her friend to play practice at their high school.

“Daddy?” Susan rapped at the closed door. “You in there? We’re going to be late for play practice.”

“Coming, honey.” He took a deep breath, willed his heart to slow, and had managed to school his features before opening the door.

On the ride to Bonnie’s house Jordan considered telling Susan her mother had called, had wanted to speak to her, wrestled with it in his mind so much so he felt the bile rise in his throat. At a stoplight three blocks from school he rolled down the window and cleared his throat of the bitter taste. When Susan gasped in astonishment he turned to look at her across the seat. “What?”

“You just spit,” she accused dazedly, as if he might deny he’d done any such thing even though she saw it with her own eyes.

“So?” The light turned green. He punched the gas pedal. The Lincoln jumped forward.

“Well…I mean…you never did that before.”

“You’re kidding?” Bonnie interjected, scooting forward to drape her arms over the front seat. “My dad hoiks a wad out the window all the time. Says it’s sinus, but I think he just likes spitting. He hocks it up from way back in his throat, you know? Makes me almost gag, then thwwwt! My mom used to hate it when did that. She’d say ‘do you have to do that? Can’t you just swallow or put a tissue to your mouth?’ and he’d say ‘put a tissue in your own mouth, I don’t want a wad of snot hanging down the back of my throat.’ Once he rolled down the window and hawked a big glob out before he looked and it splattered all over this guy on his bicycle who was pulling up beside us.” She broke of giggling. “It was so gross.”

So much for his comeback. Not that he hadn’t spit out the window a time or two when he and Arlan were kids. They’d just made darn sure their mother wasn’t in the car, nor any of their aunts—who would get on the phone straightaway to say, “Lord A-mighty, Cloe, where’s those boys’ manners? It was like riding down the road with a bunch of hooligans, spitting and making rude noises with their hands and under their armpits.”

“I had something in the back of my throat,” he mumbled, pulling the Lincoln to the curb outside the gym. “Remember, Bonnie’s dad is picking the two of you up after practice,” he reminded Susan as she gathered her bag and slid from the car. “I’ll see you at home around eleven-thirty.”

“Bye, Dad. Tell Ali hey for me.”