Текст книги "Torn Away"

Автор книги: Jennifer Brown

Соавторы: Jennifer Brown
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CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

I heard a door slam inside the house, followed by muffled shouting—sounded like those two boys and my aunt Terry again—and hurriedly zipped Marin’s purse shut. I wedged it between the back of the couch and the wall and then did the same with my backpack. I guessed that meant I was settled in.

I made my way to the kitchen sink and began washing the dishes, jumping each time someone made a sharp noise behind me—which happened every few minutes. I could hear the family convene in the living room. The volume on the television ratcheted up, my grandmother and Aunt Terry talking, occasionally barking a laugh or groaning or making loud “ooooh” sounds. These were the sounds of a home, but they weren’t the sounds of my home. Nobody was asking how my day went, whether or not I had homework to do, how the spring musical was coming along, or whether I was ready for finals. There was no humming, no chirping cartoon voices in the background, no hiss of Ronnie popping open a beer. The sounds in this house didn’t belong to me—they belonged to another family, one I wasn’t a part of. In some ways it seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d last heard the sounds of my home. It seemed like I’d belonged to another family in a different life, a dream life, one that wasn’t even real.

Nathan and Kyle ran in and out of the kitchen randomly with what seemed like endless energy.

“You’ve got pimples,” one of them—I wasn’t sure which was which—said to me, and they both burst into giggles. I ignored them, tried to feel sorry for them, which didn’t work. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.

By the time I was finished drying the dishes and opening and closing cabinets until I figured out where they all were supposed to go, I was exhausted. Instead of following the voices into the living room, I went back to my porch, looking forward to being alone and going to sleep.

So much of my life was about being alone now.

I pushed through the screen door, only to find the two girls, Lexi and Meg, sitting on the couch. I froze.

“You got any money?” the older one, the one Grandmother Billie had called Lexi, asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t have anything at all,” I said.

The other one, Meg, squinted her eyes at me. “You came in here with a purse and a backpack. We saw.” She unwound her legs from the couch and stood up.

She was about nose-height to me, and skinny as a rail. She looked like she was maybe fourteen or so, a couple years younger than me.

“There isn’t any money in those,” I said, forcing my voice to come out steady, strong.

“We know you were a little rich girl,” Lexi said, standing next to her sister. “Our dad told us about your mom’s job and all.”

I laughed. “My mom had a job, but we were far from rich. She didn’t get any child sup…” I trailed off, tucking my lips in against each other. My life without Clay wasn’t any of their business.

I studied their faces, looking for a resemblance. We shared blood, so in theory we should have looked alike in some way. My mom had always said I got my dad’s facial structure, which was why I didn’t look anything like Marin. Marin’s features were a perfect combination of Mom and Ronnie. I always felt like when it came to me, they should be singing that old Sesame Street song: “One of these things is not like the others.”

But I couldn’t see myself in these girls, either. Their jaws were sharp where mine was soft. Their eyes were wide and blue, as opposed to my brown, narrow ones. They were skinny enough to squeeze through prison bars, where I was round and curvy. They each had a smattering of freckles across their upturned noses, which somehow made them cuter than they already were, where my face was lined around the edges with what my mom called sweat pimples. Don’t worry about them, sweetie, she’d say whenever I’d get frustrated and call myself ugly. Everybody gets sweat pimples. They’ll go away.

Meg tilted her head to the side. “Just so you know, we don’t want you here,” she said.

“And our mom and dad don’t want you here, either,” Lexi added. “You’re only here because Granny says you’ve got to help family, even if they’ve never acted like family before. But we don’t really think it’s fair to have to be all sisterly just because that’s what Granny believes.”

I ground my teeth, concentrating on trying to look steely. “Well, I don’t exactly want to be here, either,” I said. “But I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“Granny says you’re a sad case because you’re an orphan,” Meg added, the last word sucker-punching me.

I’m not an orphan, genius, I wanted to say. You’re only an orphan if both of your parents are dead, and my dad is still alive. But I wasn’t so sure if that was true. Could someone be an emotional orphan? If so, I was an orphan all the way.

“Our dad told us about your crazy mom,” Lexi said, but Meg bumped her ribs.

“We’re not supposed to talk about her mom,” she hissed.

My breathing went steady and deep, my fists clenching at my sides. I had my moments of being mad at Mom, sure, but something about hearing these two talk about her enraged me. You don’t know my mom, I wanted to say. You never will know my mom. She had more class than all of you combined. “Well, my mom’s gone now,” I said. “She has nothing to do with anything anymore.” Inwardly, I cursed at how shaky my voice sounded. There were so many other things I wanted to say at that moment. I wanted to remind them that Clay was still my father, as much as I didn’t want him to be, and that made them my family, whether they liked it or not. Whether any of us liked it or not.

We stared each other down for what felt like forever. Inside the house, the TV blared, the children ran and cussed and knocked into things. Inside the house, the dishes were done. Inside the house, nobody cared how Lexi and Meg welcomed me.

Finally, Lexi said, “Come on, Meggie. We’ll get money out of her later.”

The two of them burst through the porch door and into the backyard, all the while stage-whispering names over their shoulders—a weak attempt to keep me from hearing them. Whale. Moron. Orphan.

I sagged onto the couch, my hands shaking so hard I had to sit on my fingers to calm them.

Not that I’d been expecting to be best friends with my half sisters, but there was no way I could live with them. If I called Ronnie and told him they’d called Mom names and said horrible things about her, he would care, right? I mean, he might not have cared about me anymore, but he loved my mom. Surely he would take me back to defend Mom.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I had another text from Dani. Still no news. Also still no Jane. Worried! I typed a message back: I hope she’s ok. Call me as soon as you hear from her! I sent the message, then typed a second one: This place is awful. Half sisters from hell. Save me! I hit Send again, then scoped out an outlet where I could charge my phone later. It was my only lifeline home. I didn’t want to think of how abandoned and cut off I would feel if it died.

Quickly, I dialed Ronnie’s number, rehearsing in my head what I would say to him. I know you think you can’t care for me right now, Ronnie, but I can help care for you. I can help you keep Marin and Mom alive in memory. I can cook and clean for you. I won’t even complain if you want to remarry.

But he never picked up his phone, and instead I left him a voice mail. “Hi, Ronnie. I just wanted to let you know that I made it down here.” I paused. “I want to come home, though. Please let me come back up. We can get through this together. Please? Call me?” I hung up, then dialed Kolby’s number.

“Hey,” he said, his voice sympathetic and soft, causing homesickness to rip through me. It felt like I had left years ago, not a few hours ago. It seemed impossible that it had only been a week since Kolby and I had walked home from the bus stop together. I’d borrowed his skateboard and pushed myself lazily along as we talked about how glad we were that school was almost over and the stuff we each planned to do over summer break. Neither of us would have ever dreamed we’d be doing this. “Everything okay? You still at the motel?”

“No,” I said. “Ronnie sent me to Caster City.”

“What the heck is in Caster City?” he asked. I could hear the clicking of computer keys in the background, and I could imagine him sitting back in that aloof way of his, a laptop in his lap, Googling Caster City.

I took a miserable, deep breath and let it out. “My biological father.”

There was a pause. Even the keyboard clicking stopped. “I didn’t know you had a biological father,” he said.

“Me either. Well, I knew I had one, but I was a baby when he left.”

“What’s he like?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him yet. But if his daughters are any hint, he’s not so whippy.”

“Whoa, wait, you have sisters?”

“Half sisters, yeah. Meg and Lexi, the personality twins,” I mumbled.

“So I take it you don’t like them.”

“I don’t like any of this,” I said, feeling my voice rise, feeling my chest tighten. Why didn’t Ronnie answer my call? Didn’t he understand what he was doing to my life, what this stupid tornado had done to my life?

“How is Milton?” I asked, switching topics before I burst.

“Fine. Dull. But, hey, at least it’s a house, right?”

I closed my eyes and nodded. He had no idea.

“My mom is happy to be with her sisters, and Tracy is happy because we’ve got, like, a billion girl cousins. But I’m kinda sitting around with nothing to do but play games online. And my arm hurts like hell.”

“Why?”

“Remember? I cut it on some glass? Back, you know, the day after.”

“Still? It’s not healed yet?”

“No, it’s gross, you should see it.”

“No, thanks,” I said, but on the inside I was thinking I would totally want to see it if only it meant I could see him, if only it meant that I could see somebody familiar and friendly. If only I could see something I recognized, something that reminded me I had a place to belong. My chest squeezed again and I feared this time I wouldn’t be able to stave off the tears. “Listen, I gotta go,” I said. “But call me later, okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “And, Jersey?”

“Yeah?”

“Hopefully they’ll come around,” he said. “Your half sisters, I mean. This could be good, right? Sisters?”

I doubt it, I thought. “Yeah, definitely,” I mumbled, then hung up, turned the phone off, and stuffed it back into my pocket. I pulled the blanket over my head and bawled into the dirty couch, the sobs reaching so far down into me, they came out dry.

I lay there crying until the sun set and the sky darkened and the noises coming from inside the house slowly dimmed, dimmed, dimmed until they were shut off. Soon all I could hear was the chirping of crickets and the buzzy noise of frogs out in the distance and the occasional shuffle of what I imagined to be wild animals. I wanted to get up and lock the screen door, sure I was going to be murdered on my couch by some madman or a coyote or both, but there was no lock on that door. I might as well have been sleeping right out in the backyard.

But soon I began to tune out the noises and cuddle up in my blankets so much that I felt somewhat cocooned by them. Eventually, exhaustion took over and I started to drift off.

Before I could get into a deep sleep, though, I was awakened by the crunching of gravel under car tires. I didn’t even fully realize that was what I was hearing until the slams of two car doors split the air.

I sat up on the couch, hearing footsteps coming around the house, hushed voices floating over the sudden silence.

The screen door slammed open, knocking my heart practically out of my chest, and then there was a scent of alcohol, and a booming voice. “Well, I’ll be a sonofabitch,” it said.

I blinked and peered through the darkness, into narrow, brown eyes that matched mine.

Standing in the doorway, swaying crookedly, balanced on a pair of beat-up cowboy boots, was my father, Clay Cameron.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

A short woman stood behind Clay, her hands on his back as if to hold him up, a gut hanging over the top of her too-tight jeans.

“Oh, goody,” she slurred, sounding as drunk as he looked. “The sperm donation is here.” She giggled.

“Shut up, Tonette,” he said, his words soggy. He leaned over further, his hands clutching the doorframe tight for balance. He peered at me, his head bobbing up and down and side to side, making me feel seasick. I could smell his breath all the way across the porch. “You Jersey?” he said.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure if he could see me. “Yes.”

“Your mom really did die, then, huh?”

“Yes, sir. My sister, Marin, too.”

“I ain’t got no daughter Marin,” he said confusedly, and the woman smacked him between the shoulder blades. “Your mother lies.”

“You better fuckin’ not,” the woman said.

“She was my half sister.”

“ ’S real shame,” he said, then stumbled across the porch, his boots so loud on the boards I wondered how his footsteps weren’t waking everyone in the neighborhood. He disappeared into the house. “Real damn shame.”

The woman staggered after him, swallowed up in the darkness of the kitchen, her whisper escaping before the screen door could swing all the way shut.

“… always said you wanted the bitch dead,” she said, and I heard them both giggle. I sat for a while and stared out into the dark yard, the noises outside no longer even registering with me. I’d seen my father for the first time that I could remember in my entire life, and he’d been drunk. Of course. He hadn’t even asked if I was okay or said he was sorry I’d lost everything. He hadn’t asked one thing about the tornado, and neither had anyone else in the house. Nobody even seemed to care about it. It had devastated our town, killed our families, and they watched their TV shows and drank their booze like it was any other day.

I considered the nasty woman Tonette, talking about my mom without even knowing her. Coming in drunk on a weeknight. Giggling about someone being dead. Her shirt cut low so that her cleavage, even in the dark, was startling. She couldn’t have been any more different from my mom if she’d tried. What could Clay possibly have seen in that woman that he didn’t see in my mom?

I was wide awake. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily, not for me, not now. I got up and walked around to the back of the couch, digging out Marin’s purse. I grabbed a stick of gum, emptying the first pack, a little startled by how quickly it had gone.

I opened up the foil, feeling guilty that I’d called her my half sister to my dad and Tonette. Mom had never allowed us to call each other anything but sisters.

“She’s got a different daddy, but she’s your sister. No half about it,” Mom had told me when Marin was first born, a red, wrinkly squiggle of a thing wrapped up and grunting in a yellow ducky blanket.

“But Dani said that Marin’s not my real sister if we’ve got two different daddies. She said that’s what makes her a half sister.”

Mom’s face had darkened, a frown crinkling her brow as she bounced Marin up and down lightly in her lap. “You tell Dani what makes someone a sister isn’t what’s in your blood. It’s what’s in your heart.”

Since then, I’d never called Marin a half sister, not to her face. I wasn’t even sure if Marin was fully aware that we had two different fathers, though she did sometimes wonder aloud why I didn’t call Ronnie “Daddy” like she did.

I sketched an oval-shaped blanket bundle with a little round head at the top of it. Marin is my sister, I wrote. I felt better.

I tucked the foil in with the others and pulled out the card deck. I shuffled the cards, then scootched back on the couch and began laying them out. I played Black Hole long past when my back started to feel creaky and my eyes became heavy, thinking about summer camp and Noaychjon, who taught me a ton of solitaire games so I could play even when he needed a day off.

A part of me wondered if maybe on some level Noaychjon had known that one day I’d need to know those solitaire games, because one day I would be so utterly alone.

The screen door slammed, jarring me awake. I opened my eyes to see morning sun, and Kyle and Nathan racing down the walk with backpacks on, the whole time kicking at each other and stopping to bend over and pick up rocks and sticks and other things to be used as weapons.

“You poopface!”

“You dog’s butt!”

“You smelly farthole!”

I sat up, realizing when I found a card stuck to my arm that I’d fallen asleep while playing Black Hole. Some of the cards were on the floor. Others were underneath me, bent. I scooped them up, my fingers fumbling sleepily, and straightened them out as best I could, dropping them back into the box.

I stretched, then carefully opened the door and crept into the kitchen.

“I don’t see why she doesn’t have to go to school. Her house blew away, boo-hoo. She ain’t in Elizabeth no more. She’s here and she’s got a house,” Lexi was saying, her hip propped up against the kitchen counter while she shoved something bready into her mouth with her fingers. She made no attempt to hide that she was talking about me when I walked in.

“She ain’t registered here,” Grandmother Billie was saying. “And they told me not to even try it this year because school’s over in a week anyways, so it’s out of my hands.”

I walked on through, as if I didn’t hear anything, and carried my backpack to the bathroom. What business was it of theirs if I went to school or not?

I took a shower, trying to take as much time as possible, hoping the girls would be gone by the time I got out. It almost worked. They were standing by the front door waiting on my grandfather to take them to school, their things all gathered at their feet.

“It’s probably good you’re not going with us,” Meg said, pulling a red lollipop out of her mouth and waving it at me. Her lips and tongue were candy stained. “You’d probably embarrass us anyway. Hey, Lex, ain’t it perfect that her name’s a cow’s name?” She tapped Lexi on the forearm with her lollipop-wielding hand.

“Ew, gross, don’t touch me with that thing,” Lexi said, wiping her arm dramatically. “You’re such a child.”

“That’s enough now,” Grandfather Harold said, coming into the room, keys jangling in one hand. “Get yourselves to school and never mind this one.”

The girls glared at me and then pushed through the front door. While I was grateful that Grandfather Harold had made them leave, I couldn’t help noticing he’d called me “this one.”

I hurried into the kitchen, where Grandmother Billie was sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a paperback novel with a picture of a half-naked man on the front, wrapped around the torso of a woman in a gauzy white gown.

“There’s some dishes,” she said, without looking up. And even though my stomach was rumbling and I really didn’t think it was fair for me to have to do everyone else’s dishes when I hadn’t even eaten yet, I was afraid to say anything, so I went to the sink and started the hot water. “You get a chance to talk to my granddaughters yet?” Grandmother Billie said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I didn’t mention them asking for money or calling me an orphan.

Her granddaughters. Clay was their dad. Grandmother Billie was their grandmother. And even though I shared the same blood, even though he was my father and she was my grandmother, too, nobody saw it that way. I was a stranger, pawned off on their family. I guessed Mom was right—family had nothing to do with blood. It had everything to do with what was in your heart. And there was nothing for me in any of the hearts in this house. The hearts that beat for me were long gone.

Just as I finished, Terry came into the kitchen and immediately began dirtying more dishes. A house this crammed with people seemed like it would never be free of dirty dishes, and I wondered if I would find myself permanently rooted to the spot in front of the sink, scrubbing and scrubbing until I wasted away to nothing. I wondered if they’d even notice that I was gone, and figured they would when the dirty dishes piled up, but that was about it.

“She don’t go to school?” Terry asked on a yawn.

Grandmother Billie grunted a negative, turning the page on her bodice-ripper.

I opened a few cabinets until I found some cereal and a bowl. Ordinarily, I wasn’t much of a cereal person, but today I was so ravenous I would have eaten anything, and I was too timid to search for something else. Too afraid that I’d break a rule I didn’t know about.

“Mother tells me you need some clothes,” Terry said as I sat down across from her at the table.

I nodded, the cereal scraping the walls of my throat as I swallowed it without chewing very well. “I need to do some laundry, too,” I said.

“I’ve got a few things,” Terry said. “I can’t get into anything but my old maternity clothes, anyway. You might as well take them. After breakfast we’ll go through my closet if you want.”

“Thank you,” I said, setting the empty bowl down.

“Clay and Tonette home yet?” Terry said, turning back to my grandmother.

“Yep, they came in last night.”

Terry made a face and leaned toward me. “Never can be sure with those two. Some nights they come home; some nights they don’t feel like it. Some nights they land their sorry asses in jail.”

“Oh, that’s only happened twice, Terry, don’t be a ninny about it,” my grandmother said, but Terry only raised her eyebrows at me as if to say, See? It’s bad.

It sounded to me like not much had changed with my father. Like he’d remained the same old drunk he’d always been. In a way I was glad he’d abandoned me and Mom.

Grandmother Billie pushed away from the table, turning down the top corner of her page. Terry stood at the same time, so I figured it was best for me to get up, too, though I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. I wanted to watch TV but didn’t feel comfortable taking it upon myself to go into the living room and turn it on. Grandmother Billie didn’t make any offers or suggestions, either. Apparently when it came to doing the right thing for family, the right thing didn’t mean you did anything to make family feel welcome.

“Well, the housework ain’t gonna do itself,” Billie said. She placed her coffee cup in the sink and I tensed. Hadn’t these people ever heard of a dishwasher? She turned to me. “After you get some clothes from Terry here, you can get started on your laundry. Machine’s in the basement.”

She left the room, and soon after, the baby started to cry and I found myself standing alone behind the table. I took my bowl to the sink, then went back out to my porch to fold up my blankets and gather my laundry.

I decided to check in with Dani again.

Any news yet?

She responded right away. Doesn’t look good.

Tell your mom I’m sleeping on a couch on a porch. Please. I’m begging.

I’ll keep working on her, Dani promised.

When I dumped the laundry out onto the couch, there was a thump as something hard landed in the middle of it. I rooted through the clothes and found the source of the thump—the little porcelain kitten I’d taken from the rubble. The only thing left of my bedroom. The only remnant of my past life, other than memories. Memories I was terrified I’d forget.

Already, I was having a hard time picturing Mom’s face. I sat on the clothes, clutching the kitten in my palm, and closed my eyes, trying to conjure it up. But it was difficult to do; there were so many parts of her face I hadn’t studied enough. Her eyebrows—I couldn’t remember her eyebrows. I couldn’t remember which side of her mouth had the tooth that stuck out slightly, which side of her jaw had the little mole.

How was it that I was raised by someone, spent every day and every night with that someone, and didn’t know those details about her face? How could it be going murky and fuzzy already? How long would it be before I forgot what everyone looked like?

And then it dawned on me. My phone. I had pictures on my phone. Why hadn’t I thought of it before now? I grabbed it and quickly thumbed to the photo album, nearly crying out when I saw the very first picture—Dani and Jane, arms linked, standing in front of Jane’s locker. They had their eyes crossed and tongues sticking out. I’d taken it just a couple days before the tornado. I flipped to the next one—Jane and me, similar pose—and to the one after that and the one after that. My friends, my theater buddies, kids from my classes, Kolby showing off a new skullcap, all of us looking so happy, like life was one big party. I touched the faces on the screen. I stared at them until my eyes blurred. Afraid to blink, afraid they’d disappear. I scrolled and scrolled, surprised by how many pictures I didn’t remember taking.

And then a picture that made me freeze.

Marin’s birthday dinner at Pizza Pete’s. Ronnie had taken it. There was a humongous pepperoni pizza on a wooden picnic table. Mom and I were smiling for the camera, Marin making her signature funny face, her cheeks puffed with air and her fingers stretching her earlobes out.

I was flooded with a memory of the three of us—Mom, Marin, and me—standing in front of her bathroom mirror, studying our reflections. Mom had been getting ready for a date night with Ronnie, and Marin and I had wandered into the room like we always did when they were getting ready to go out, as if the party were leaving the house and we didn’t know how to have fun without them.

I had lifted Marin up onto the counter so she could see the mirror, and we watched as Mom put on her makeup, occasionally lifting our chins or pooching out our lips or turning our heads appraisingly from side to side.

“You have your father’s eyes,” Mom had said to me out of the blue, holding her mascara brush up in the air in front of her own eye.

“I do?”

She nodded, turning back to her reflection and applying the mascara. “Sometimes when I look at you, I can see him so strongly.”

I widened my eyes and peered at them. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Absolutely not. He’s a very handsome man. His eyes were actually what attracted me to him in the first place.” She capped the mascara and dropped it into her makeup bag, then rummaged around for something else.

“But you hate him now,” I said, thinking, How can you look at me without hating me, too?

Mom stopped rummaging and turned my chin to face her. “I hate what he did to us. But that’s not you. It never was,” she said. “It’s important for you to remember that. You may look like him, but you are your own wonderful person.”

“Who do I look like?” Marin had piped up. She pulled her ears out and puffed air into her cheeks, making a monkey face in the mirror. Mom and I both cracked up. Mom squeezed Marin’s cheeks, and the air came out with a farting sound, which made Marin laugh, too.

“You, girlfriend,” Mom said, playing with the back of Marin’s hair, “are the spitting image of your father. Who, by the way, is waiting on me, so I’d better finish up.”

The memory was so real. It was almost as if the picture on my phone had come to life. Tears clung to my lashes. My nose had started to run and I sniffed. I didn’t want to keep falling apart like this, but it seemed to keep happening without my even knowing it. Mom and Marin and I had fought so many times. That’s what happens when you’re family. We’d been ugly and called names. I’d stopped talking to Mom more times than I could count. I’d even told her I hated her.

But those weren’t the memories that assaulted me. The memories that came to me were worse—they were the ones where we were sweet, understanding, patient, kind. They were the ones that made my heart ache, because I’d never have the chance to build another.

In some ways, those were the cruelest memories of all.

I backed out of the photo album and put my phone away. I couldn’t look at those pictures anymore. I wiped my cheeks on the backs of my hands, thinking I would get up and dig out Marin’s purse. I would draw a picture of her making the monkey face. I would write Marin is the spitting image of her father.

But before I could move, the screen door opened and out came a pair of linty socks, topped with wrinkled blue jeans, the bottom cuffs all muddy, and a bare chest. Clay, clutching a beer can and belching loudly, stepped onto the porch. He let the door slam behind him and made a racket of pulling a folding lawn chair, one-handed, from behind a stack of stuff and clattering it to the floor across from the couch.

“So you’re Jersey,” he said, as nonchalantly as if he were small-talking some stranger in a bar rather than meeting his daughter for the first time in sixteen years.

I sat up straighter, feeling a desire to protect myself but unsure why or how. I was suddenly embarrassed to have my underwear spilled out all over the couch, and hoped I was sitting on most of it. I was also embarrassed to be caught crying and sniffed once more, hoping it wouldn’t show. Or that he’d be too hungover to notice.

“You’ve changed a lot,” he said, and I had to resist shooting back with Well, go figure. I don’t look like an infant anymore! “You look like your mother.”

“She always said I looked like you,” I mumbled, my thumb rubbing the kitten’s porcelain belly.

He laughed out loud, took a swig of his beer. “Did she now?” he said. “Well, go figure. Maybe you was mine after all. Crazy woman.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I wasn’t the only well she was drinkin’ from at the time, if you know what I mean. Let’s just say there have been doubts about your paternity.” He overenunciated the word: “pah-ter-nit-tee.”

I shifted on the couch, uncertain if I understood exactly what he was trying to say. That I wasn’t his daughter? That Mom had been sleeping around? That wasn’t the Mom I knew. She’d always said we’d been a family—Mom and Clay and I—that he’d walked out on a promise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “She never said anything about any of that. She was too busy trying to keep her head above water—until she met Ronnie.”

He had been in the middle of taking a drink, then stopped and pointed at me with his can-holding hand, one eye squinting while he swallowed. “Now, that’s one bastard I’d like to kick the shit out of,” he said. “Sending you down here like you was some lost coat I forgot to bring home with me sixteen years ago. Just decides he’s gonna screw with me and mine because he don’t want to deal with you. So what’s the story there? You a pain in the ass or something?”