“Meg, do me a favor and get Dan for dinner.” 

     “Why do I have to do it?” 

     “Because I’m busy with this,” her mother said, wiping her nose into her shoulder.  “Please go get him for me.” 

     “DAN, COME DOWN FOR DINNER!” Megan screamed from her seat.  Her mother nearly dropped the salad. 

     “Megan!” she cried, steadying the bowl.  “Stop that! I asked you to go upstairs and get him.” 

     “It’s the same thing,” Megan insisted. 

     “Megan, please don’t argue with me,” her mother said, irritation staining her voice. “Just go upstairs and get him.” 

     Megan scraped her chair back and stood up, sighing loudly enough for her mother to hear.  She stomped out of the room, relishing the flat clacking sound that her new red boots choked out of the warped linoleum.  She clacked her way up the stairs and to the bedroom, where she pounded on the door. 

     She heard the front door open in timely response. 
Looking down over the banister, she watched Dan’s bald spot bob up and down as he closed the door and walked in the kitchen.  Stupidhead! she yelled at him in her mind, stomping back down the stairs and into the kitchen.  He was standing behind her mother at the counter, arms wrapped around her.  He stung her neck with quick kisses like an angry wasp.  Her mother giggled, hands limp in the salad. 

     They didn’t even notice her. 

CLACK CLACK CLACK.  Megan’s boots angrily demanded attention as she tromped to the table and sat down. She watched Dan bite the side of her mother’s neck, and winced as her mother squealed like a stuck pig. 

     Megan slumped in her chair, her nose level with the tabletop.  Dan’s camera stared her right in the eye, objective as an empty electric chair.  The lens glinted balefully at her. 
 “Mom?” she said, eyeing the camera. 

     “Yes, Meg?” her mother responded, pleasure defiling her voice as Dan nuzzled her throat.  “Quit that, Dan,” she said in a low, regretful tone.   

     Megan thought quickly. 

     “Um... guess what I found today?” 

     “What’s that?” asked her mother, slapping at Dan’s hands as they explored valiantly.  She broke free from his embrace and brought the salad to the table. “Move your camera please,” she told him. He grinned at her and stood up, grabbing the camera.  He took it upstairs. 

     “I found a four-leaf clover beside the driveway!” Megan said, holding her head up high in triumph. 

     “Wow!” said her mother, as she sat down next to her. “That’s wonderful sweetheart! I’ve never seen a real one before.” 

     “Do you wanna see it now?” Megan asked hopefully. 

     “Sure I do.” 

     Megan pulled the wilted clover out of her pocket, and placed it carefully into her mother’s palm.  She cradled it, admiring the trophy.  “That’s nifty, squirt,” said her mother, ruffling Megan’s hair with her free hand.  She poked her mother in the ribs, and they giggled just like they used to, before Dan moved in. 

     “What’s going on in here?” he asked in a beef-hearty voice as he returned to the kitchen. 

     “Nothing,” Megan insisted, glaring at him and snatching back the clover. 
Her mother frowned at her. “Why don’t you show Dan your four-leaf clover Meg? I’m sure he’d like to see it.  Wouldn’t you Dan?” she prompted, unleashing her frown upon him. 

     “Of course I would,” he said, holding out one chapped palm. 

    “You can’t see it. It’s mine.” 

     “Megan,” said her mother, sighing, “won’t you even try?” 
Megan was silent. 

     “Fine then,” her mother said, her voice jagged.  “Let’s just eat.” 

     They finished the meal without another word. 
The empty dishes made an angry clattering sound when her mother stacked them up. She carried them to the sink and jabbed at them with a soapy sponge.  Dan looked at Megan and then stood up.  He put his arms around her mother but she just shrugged them off. 

     Dan turned around and walked back to the table.  He reached over Megan to grab an apple from the basket and his hand grazed her neck.  Whispering like moths’ wings against her skin. Lingering on the warmth of her throat.