same age your Tad is! What you can’t do, sir , is blame my girl for defending herself. And you can’t blame her for not wearing some asinine piece of clothing she doesn’t need and doesn’t like. If Janie walked outside buck naked and somebody touched her without her permission, she could knock all his teeth down his throat and I’d tell her she was right to do it! And if you give me any more bullshit, I’m going to do the same thing to you she did to your asswipe son, you bastard! Get out of here!”
Ewmet got, muttering hostilities over his shoulder. Next to me, my mother shook her head; my father, chuckling, stood behind us, an arm around each of us. “Well,” he said. “That was quite a show, wasn’t it?”
“What horrible people,” Mom said. “That man must drink, the way he screams all the time. You were over there, Emma. Was he drunk?”
“No, Mom.” This was one of my mother’s pet theories about Tom Halloran, and she never listened when I told her she was wrong. “I keep telling you that. He gets drunk about as often as Dad does.”
I’d never seen my father drink at all. Sometimes I wished he would, even though I knew it made other fathers mean; maybe he might have slept more. But my mother took a step backwards, as spooked as one of Aunt Diane’s horses in a thunderstorm, and said, “What did you mean by that? Tell me why you said that! Who—”
“Pam! Take it easy. She didn’t mean anything. She wasn’t even born then, remember? She was just talking. Would you please relax?”
“What?” I said. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing, Emma. She’s not talking about anything.” My father’s hand brushed my hip and I shoved it away, but it came back.
Mom, oblivious, glared at me. “Something must have been happening at the Hallorans’. Why did you come home so quickly?”
“Jane was upset and wanted to talk to her mother,” I said. “In private. So I left, all right?” Don’t admit you know anything: don’t, don’t. Tattling once was bad enough. You don’t even want to think about the questions he’ll ask you if you admit how much you know.
She clearly didn’t believe me. “Well, whatever happened, I’m sure we’ll hear about it at school tomorrow.”
My father snorted. “Surely you jest, dear one. It’s going to be all over town within an hour, the way those two were screaming at each other. It will probably make the front page of tomorrow’s paper.”
“At least Jane had the good grace to be upset privately,” Mom said. “Although the way her brute of a father talks, it’s no surprise that she’s never learned how to behave in public.”
My throat tightened. “It sounded to me like Tad behaved worse than Jane did.” My father’s fingers were caressing the inside of my elbow now, and I was getting tired of moving away from him. That was what he counted on, always: that I’d get tired and have to go to sleep, that I’d be as still and silent as Ginny’s grave when he came into my room at dawn, that I wouldn’t be conscious to listen to him breathing. Because otherwise there’d be blood and disinfectant and scorched skin, and my jaw wired together or my stomach stapled.
“What?” Mom turned to look at me, her face cold, and then let the drapes fall closed. In the moment before she relit the candles, my father’s finger traced the circle of one nipple in the old prompt for silence. My stomach tightened and heaved. I’d never be able to keep down Mom’s pot roast tonight, no matter how much she forced on me.
“It sounds to me as if nothing would have happened if Jane had behaved properly,” Mom said, once again lovely in the candlelight. She moved around the table, arranging gleaming silver at our three places. “She should know better than to go out half-dressed.”
That’s what I’d told Myrna, and Jane was going to kill me for it. I went to the sideboard and started collecting plates. Setting the table was a good excuse to get
Ewmet got, muttering hostilities over his shoulder. Next to me, my mother shook her head; my father, chuckling, stood behind us, an arm around each of us. “Well,” he said. “That was quite a show, wasn’t it?”
“What horrible people,” Mom said. “That man must drink, the way he screams all the time. You were over there, Emma. Was he drunk?”
“No, Mom.” This was one of my mother’s pet theories about Tom Halloran, and she never listened when I told her she was wrong. “I keep telling you that. He gets drunk about as often as Dad does.”
I’d never seen my father drink at all. Sometimes I wished he would, even though I knew it made other fathers mean; maybe he might have slept more. But my mother took a step backwards, as spooked as one of Aunt Diane’s horses in a thunderstorm, and said, “What did you mean by that? Tell me why you said that! Who—”
“Pam! Take it easy. She didn’t mean anything. She wasn’t even born then, remember? She was just talking. Would you please relax?”
“What?” I said. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing, Emma. She’s not talking about anything.” My father’s hand brushed my hip and I shoved it away, but it came back.
Mom, oblivious, glared at me. “Something must have been happening at the Hallorans’. Why did you come home so quickly?”
“Jane was upset and wanted to talk to her mother,” I said. “In private. So I left, all right?” Don’t admit you know anything: don’t, don’t. Tattling once was bad enough. You don’t even want to think about the questions he’ll ask you if you admit how much you know.
She clearly didn’t believe me. “Well, whatever happened, I’m sure we’ll hear about it at school tomorrow.”
My father snorted. “Surely you jest, dear one. It’s going to be all over town within an hour, the way those two were screaming at each other. It will probably make the front page of tomorrow’s paper.”
“At least Jane had the good grace to be upset privately,” Mom said. “Although the way her brute of a father talks, it’s no surprise that she’s never learned how to behave in public.”
My throat tightened. “It sounded to me like Tad behaved worse than Jane did.” My father’s fingers were caressing the inside of my elbow now, and I was getting tired of moving away from him. That was what he counted on, always: that I’d get tired and have to go to sleep, that I’d be as still and silent as Ginny’s grave when he came into my room at dawn, that I wouldn’t be conscious to listen to him breathing. Because otherwise there’d be blood and disinfectant and scorched skin, and my jaw wired together or my stomach stapled.
“What?” Mom turned to look at me, her face cold, and then let the drapes fall closed. In the moment before she relit the candles, my father’s finger traced the circle of one nipple in the old prompt for silence. My stomach tightened and heaved. I’d never be able to keep down Mom’s pot roast tonight, no matter how much she forced on me.
“It sounds to me as if nothing would have happened if Jane had behaved properly,” Mom said, once again lovely in the candlelight. She moved around the table, arranging gleaming silver at our three places. “She should know better than to go out half-dressed.”
That’s what I’d told Myrna, and Jane was going to kill me for it. I went to the sideboard and started collecting plates. Setting the table was a good excuse to get
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