“But, Daddy, you said you’d handle it.”“I think, when it comes to handling a matter, some countries have vastly more experience ... and far less conscience in doing so.”“But Daddy ... who shall escort me to the Prom?” She loved her older brother ... more than her daddy suspected. He had promised, cross my heart and hope to die, to escort her to her Junior Prom.“We’ll work something out.”“Thank you, Daddy.”The bubbly teen kissed her father on his forehead ... leaving a bright red lipstick imprint on a rapidly balding pate.His phone rang. This in itself was miraculous. Miles of the phone company lines had been down for weeks.The bounteous blonde stopped and turned in time to see her father turn sheet white, clutching at his chest.“Daddy?”He dropped the phone.“Daddy?”She picked up the phone and held it to her ear. A miswired handset sent a jolt of 220 current melting the phone and removing the contents of her head.That should make her prom date obvious.Over the next two years family. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. The snow kept falling; the predictions had been upped again to eighteen inches. There was the expected giggling and slumber party noises from Karen’s room and the TV room, but no one else took a header down the stairs.I had decreed “lights out” at midnight, and no more pillow fights. The talking and giggling continued for some time after that, but I didn’t really care.Around one o’clock, I clicked off Conan O’Brien and decided to go to bed. I stopped in the living room and looked out the front window at the snow. The neighborhood was almost unrecognizable. The road had not been plowed yet and the neighbors’ cars were just white humps along the side of the road.I heard a noise on the stairs and turned. It was Allison, hopping down the stairs on her good leg, banister in one hand, crutches in the other.“What are you doing up?” I asked.“I came down to get a drink.” She moved across the room, stood next to me, and looked out the window. She was.
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