Read Online A Soft Place to Land by Susan Rebecca White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Rebecca White
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Naomi, after swallowing a bite of egg, “is that deep down you believe that you have the ability and agility to get out of tough situations that others can’t.”
Phil beamed. “You girls have a smart mother,” he said.
The girls did have a smart mother, or rather, they
had
a smart mother, and her interpretation of Phil’s dream stuck with them.
Their father could get out of anything.
“Which is why,” Julia explained to Ruthie in the dark of her bedroom, “the instructions in the will are so absurd. They’re like . . . they’re like a recipe for a cake no one will ever bake. They don’t need to work.”
“But what about Mom?” asked Ruthie. “She worried about everything. And she was always giving us her little ‘cautionary tales.’ Like if I told her I was going to walk to Peachtree Battle Shopping Center, she’d tell me about the girl who just the week before was kidnapped while walking there. How a van pulled up to her, and a lady leaned out the passenger window and asked for directions. How the girl couldn’t hear what she was saying and so she stepped closer, and suddenly someone jumped out of the back of the van, grabbed the girl, and whisked her inside before the van took off at a hundred miles an hour, never to be seen again.”
“But think about it, Ruthie. Mom never worried about her own death. She worried about ours. She probably worried so much about ours that she forgot that she could die, too.”
“I still can’t believe she’d send you to live with Peggy.”
“I don’t know what choice Mom had. Peggy’s married to my dad.”
“But you don’t even know him,” said Ruthie. “Not really. I probably know Robert and Mimi as well as you know him.”
“That’s not really Dad’s fault. Mom’s the one who left.”
“But Peggy is so—so awful. Think about the first time you met her.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Tell the story,” Ruthie demanded. “About that first time.”
It was a horrible story, deliciously so, and one that Julia told well.
“I’ll tell it only if you’ll tickle my arm while I do, and scratch my back afterwards.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes me to tell it.”
“No, I mean how long do I have to scratch your back afterwards?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Five,” said Ruthie.
Because Julia never took off her black Swatch, wearing it even to bed, she was the one to keep track of time whenever Ruthie agreed to scratch her back. The hands of the watch did glow in the dark, making it easy for Julia to count the minutes, but Ruthie was pretty sure that her sister cheated, counting one minute for every two.
“Eight,” said Julia.
Ruthie gave an exaggerated sigh and then agreed to the deal.
Julia stretched her arm out on top of the sheet and Ruthie began running her nails up and down it.
“Dad and Peggy had just that spring gotten married, and none of us had met her yet, though we had heard from Mom’s old neighbor in Virden that Peggy was really pretty and really young. She was twenty-two, which was actually two years older than Mom was when she married my dad. She had just graduated from college, from Radford University, and she was already pregnant with Sam.
“The plan was for me to spend the first week of July with Dad and Peggy in Virden. So July first Mom, Phil, me, and you all drive up there. Of course you were only a baby, so you mostly just slept and pooped. I remember Mom insisting we take the Volvo wagon instead of the Mercedes. She didn’t want to be flaunting Phil’s wealth. Phil pooh-poohed her of course—claiming she was a reverse snob—but he went along with her wishes.”
Phil was always proclaiming his wife and daughters reverse snobs.
“It was a long drive from Atlanta to Virden, despite the fact that Phil terrified Mom by driving really fast. Along the way he made three stops, once for McDonald’s and twice for a bathroom break. He wouldn’t have stopped that many times, but Mom
Phil beamed. “You girls have a smart mother,” he said.
The girls did have a smart mother, or rather, they
had
a smart mother, and her interpretation of Phil’s dream stuck with them.
Their father could get out of anything.
“Which is why,” Julia explained to Ruthie in the dark of her bedroom, “the instructions in the will are so absurd. They’re like . . . they’re like a recipe for a cake no one will ever bake. They don’t need to work.”
“But what about Mom?” asked Ruthie. “She worried about everything. And she was always giving us her little ‘cautionary tales.’ Like if I told her I was going to walk to Peachtree Battle Shopping Center, she’d tell me about the girl who just the week before was kidnapped while walking there. How a van pulled up to her, and a lady leaned out the passenger window and asked for directions. How the girl couldn’t hear what she was saying and so she stepped closer, and suddenly someone jumped out of the back of the van, grabbed the girl, and whisked her inside before the van took off at a hundred miles an hour, never to be seen again.”
“But think about it, Ruthie. Mom never worried about her own death. She worried about ours. She probably worried so much about ours that she forgot that she could die, too.”
“I still can’t believe she’d send you to live with Peggy.”
“I don’t know what choice Mom had. Peggy’s married to my dad.”
“But you don’t even know him,” said Ruthie. “Not really. I probably know Robert and Mimi as well as you know him.”
“That’s not really Dad’s fault. Mom’s the one who left.”
“But Peggy is so—so awful. Think about the first time you met her.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Tell the story,” Ruthie demanded. “About that first time.”
It was a horrible story, deliciously so, and one that Julia told well.
“I’ll tell it only if you’ll tickle my arm while I do, and scratch my back afterwards.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes me to tell it.”
“No, I mean how long do I have to scratch your back afterwards?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Five,” said Ruthie.
Because Julia never took off her black Swatch, wearing it even to bed, she was the one to keep track of time whenever Ruthie agreed to scratch her back. The hands of the watch did glow in the dark, making it easy for Julia to count the minutes, but Ruthie was pretty sure that her sister cheated, counting one minute for every two.
“Eight,” said Julia.
Ruthie gave an exaggerated sigh and then agreed to the deal.
Julia stretched her arm out on top of the sheet and Ruthie began running her nails up and down it.
“Dad and Peggy had just that spring gotten married, and none of us had met her yet, though we had heard from Mom’s old neighbor in Virden that Peggy was really pretty and really young. She was twenty-two, which was actually two years older than Mom was when she married my dad. She had just graduated from college, from Radford University, and she was already pregnant with Sam.
“The plan was for me to spend the first week of July with Dad and Peggy in Virden. So July first Mom, Phil, me, and you all drive up there. Of course you were only a baby, so you mostly just slept and pooped. I remember Mom insisting we take the Volvo wagon instead of the Mercedes. She didn’t want to be flaunting Phil’s wealth. Phil pooh-poohed her of course—claiming she was a reverse snob—but he went along with her wishes.”
Phil was always proclaiming his wife and daughters reverse snobs.
“It was a long drive from Atlanta to Virden, despite the fact that Phil terrified Mom by driving really fast. Along the way he made three stops, once for McDonald’s and twice for a bathroom break. He wouldn’t have stopped that many times, but Mom
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