As we left the church, into the light of a beautiful sunset, I expected Ron to run off to do whatever it was that Ron did when she wasn't delivering the mail, but instead she walked with us, demanding, "When are we gonna eat? I'm starved."
This seemed to assume that Ron ate with us quite often, whereas in reality the three of us had never had a meal together. Jan caught my eye, shrugged, and said, "We'll eat as soon as we go home. I need to change."
"Change what?" Ron demanded.
"My clothes," she explained.
It occurred to me that, though I had never considered the question before, Ron did always seem to wear the same clothes. I wondered if this was her preference, or if this ratty sweatshirt, denim jacket, jeans, and sneakers were the only clothes she had. And I wondered if she ever washed them, though I suspected I knew the answer to that question. I had momentary mental pictures of "Marshall and Ron do the laundry," and "Marshall and Ron go shopping for clothes."
As I was reflecting that having a daughter was turning out to be quite complicated, Jan caught my wrist, leaned over, and whispered, "You think this is bad, wait until she reaches puberty."
"Dear God," I said, but Ron took no notice. She was probably fairly used to hearing the people around her calling on the Lord for assistance.
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