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“Which doesn’t mean she’s someone who can take care of Carol. Damn it, David. You haven’t even thought about this. Except for how much you want to make me do what you want.”
“You think that’s what this is about? You think I’m just screwing around with you?” He leaned forward, crowding her. “Why don’t we talk about what’s really going on, Ruth? About how scared you are that Carol might actually like it in California. About how she might want to live there with me. She doesn’t have to go on living here in Buttcrack, Colorado. She might want to try the big time.”
Ruth fought down the chill that spread across her skin. “No, she won’t. She lives here.”
“Oh, yeah, she lives here. With her mother who won’t let her do anything, who’s afraid of letting her go, of letting her find out for herself how she wants to live, who makes her work in a goddamn delicatessen. Jesus Christ, you bought her a chain-mail glove. That’s all she was talking about, a fucking chain-mail glove. Who the fuck gives their daughter something like that? No wonder she looks like something out of Stranger Things. You’re afraid she’ll turn into a real girl and show you up.”
For a wild moment, Ruth thought about hitting him. She thought about how satisfying it would be to just throw a punch. But it wouldn’t solve anything. And it wasn’t what she really wanted.
I want him gone.
“Get out of my house,” she said. “Now.”
David took a breath, as if he had another parting shot. But then he turned on his heel and stalked toward the front door. He paused, turning back. “This isn’t over. She’s coming to California with me, whether you like it or not. And if she wants to stay, it’s okay with me.”
Ruth folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself tight. As far as she was concerned the conversation was more than over.
David pulled the door shut behind him, slamming it solidly. She stood staring after him, trying to get everything back under control—her breathing, her pulse, her life.
“Mom?”
She hadn’t heard Carol until then. She stood just at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide.
“It’s all right. It sounded bad, but it’s all right. Don’t worry.” Ruth was lying through her teeth, and they both knew it. But neither of them wanted to hear the truth right then. She climbed halfway up the stairs.
Carol dropped down on the top step, leaning her head against the wall. She suddenly looked even younger than twelve. “I didn’t mean to talk too much about the chain mail. I just wanted him to know about it. Is there something wrong with me? Do I look strange? Why did he say that?”
“He was talking about a TV show. He didn’t mean you look strange. You don’t look strange at all.” Ruth sat down beside her and rubbed her hand up and down Carol’s back. “There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. Nothing.”
“I still want to go to California,” Carol said slowly. “But not if he thinks I’m weird. I don’t want him to think I’m weird.”
If Ruth hadn’t been on the verge of tears before, this would have brought her there. “You’re not weird, sweetheart. Not even a little. Or if you are, so are all the rest of us—me, Bec, Peaches. We’re all weird. All of us.”
“I guess that’s true. Everybody’s kind of weird. Even Dad.” Carol licked her lips, staring down at her feet.
Ruth stroked a hand over her hair. “You’re right. We are. He is. And he shouldn’t have said that. But he was mad at me, not at you. He didn’t know you were listening.” Which doesn’t let him off the hook, but we’ll let it go for now.
“Okay.” Carol glanced up at her. “Can I go to bed now?”
“It’s only nine thirty.” Amazing, but true. The fight had taken less than thirty minutes.
“I don’t care. I’m tired.”
“Sure. You can go to bed whenever you feel like it.”
Carol pushed herself to her feet, then she paused, turning back to throw her arms around Ruth’s neck and kiss her cheek.
Ruth listened to her walk down the hall to her room as she finally let the tears come. Damn you, David. God damn you to hell. She’d eat ground glass before she’d send her child to California with somebody like David Mobley.
