“See you, Sweetheart. Get that guitar tuned and ready to play.” Daddy hugged us both and left. 

Mom continued to puff away on her cigarette and took out her briefcase.

“Smoking isn’t good for you,” I quoted from my health textbook. “It makes you cough and have bad breath.” 

“I’m trying, Candy.” Mom ushered me back to the kitchen. “I only had four today.”

Despite Mom’s smoking habit, she was still everything I wanted to be when I grew up. Pretty, pristine, and polished.
I adored her chic blazers and heels and wished I could get my hair to look like her french twists, which, in my opinion,
always looked a bit like a model.

“Candy, will you go get the mail? We didn’t grab it on the way inside.” 

“Sure, Mom.” I pulled on my jacket and skipped out the door. I kicked the dry autumn leaves with my sneakers and let the wind ruffle my hair. Some days, I thought, are basically perfect.

I noticed our neighbor, Ms. Rosewater, seemed distressed as she hauled the trash cans up her driveway. “Do you need help?” I asked and wondered why Willoughby wasn’t doing it. But since our maid was off, maybe her assistant was off too.