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Emmy grabbed a piece of Krystal’s cereal and threw it at him, too. The bright purple O veered sharply and bounced off the table onto the floor.
“Pathetic.” Travis glanced at the cereal on the floor. “I need a reason? Like you two don’t know? Freedom. Escape. Breathing room. You pick. Besides, you already moved out.”
“Not officially.” Krystal frowned. “My mail still comes here.”
Travis shook his head. “I can’t stay here. Momma is like a time bomb. The home studio? The costume approval? She’s not happy about you and Jace. She’s not happy about Emmy Lou working with the AFL. She’s not happy about the direction of our music…”
“The underlying thread in all of that is her lack of control,” Krystal murmured.
As far as Emmy was concerned, Momma was just acting like Momma. Travis was just more clued in now. But she might be a little more intense now that Krystal wasn’t around.
“Whatever. It’s only a matter of time before she explodes, and I don’t want to be in the blast radius. Damn, when did we get so fucked up?” He used his spoon to point at each of them.
“We are not…” Emmy Lou started to argue, but it was halfhearted.
“Mm, Em, I hate to disagree but…we are.” Krystal wrinkled up her nose. “We so are.”
“I feel like I live on some reality television show. A really bad one. ‘Tonight, on The King Family Crap we explore lingering questions.’” Travis was using his spoon as a microphone now. “‘After deserting them in their time of need, will Hank King ever be able to look his children in the eye? Is CiCi King truly a recovering addict? Or is she simply using her possible addiction as an excuse to get away with her evil and manipulating ways? Will Krystal and Jace stop boning enough to make music? Will Travis’s parts actually fall off from a horrible sexually transmitted disease? And will Emmy Lou retire her nun’s habit and eat a donut or twelve?’” He stopped, his gaze bouncing back and forth.
Laughter filled the kitchen. On and on, until Krystal managed, “You so do not need coffee.”
“I do.” He stood, spoon hanging from the side of his mouth, and headed to the coffeepot on the marble-topped counter.
“Okay, fine. But can you not make it strong enough to cause heart palpitations?” Krystal asked.
“I like it how I like it.” He kept heaping coffee into the machine.
Emmy Lou smiled. They all had a laundry list of worries. Most of which Travis had ticked off in his faux reality TV voiceover. She’d never dared admit her suspicions about her mother, but apparently, she wasn’t the only one. While her brother and sister were angry, Emmy Lou was sad. For her mother and father, Travis and Krystal—and herself.
Krystal pulled her bowl back and poured more cereal. “So you’re moving out? What about Daddy??
?
Emmy Lou held her breath. The friction between her father and brother was so thick, it made being in the same room as them unbearable.
“What about him? He is not my responsibility.” Travis frowned. “It’s past time we live our own lives—by our own rules. That includes having my own roof over my head.”
“What about Emmy?” Krystal asked.
And then Travis and Krystal were both staring at her, waiting for her to say something. “What about me?” She sipped her now-cold tea.
“If we’re not living here to pester the shit out you, you’ll starve to death.” Travis frowned.
“Ha ha, you’re hilarious.” Emmy glared at him.
But Krystal and Travis weren’t smiling; they were both staring over her shoulder at the kitchen door. From the look on her brother’s face, she knew without having to look that their father was there. Travis’s defensive posture hurt her. She could only imagine how it made Daddy feel.
“Daddy.” Emmy stood, forcing a smile even though anguish tightened her throat. “Want some coffee?”
“I’ll get it. You eat.” He looked tired—beaten down. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you all in the same room.” He glanced around the table. “Mighty fine sight.”
“Emmy Lou wants some real food.” Krystal stood. “Since I’m already cooking, I’ll make you something, too. Sound good?”
“I won’t say no to that.” Daddy even sounded beaten down. “No way.”
Emmy Lou ignored the victorious flash in her sister’s eyes. She’d choke down bacon and eggs and biscuits if it made Daddy happy. “I do love your biscuits. With lots of butter and jam.”
Their father sat at the opposite end of the table from Travis, stretching his legs out in front of him and letting out a long, slow sigh that seemed to deflate him from the inside.
