Read Online Hand Me Down by Melanie Thorne - Free Book Online Page B

with stocking seams showing at the open toes. “Thanks for all your help.” She grabs still-screaming-and-thrashing Brianna and says, “Some family.” She marches out the back double doors, which are cheap aluminum and make a tinny clang when they close instead of the resounding boom you’d expect if this was a movie.
    “I’m so sorry,” Deborah says. She turns to the congregation, says she’s sorry again, and then scoots so low in her seat only a tuft of red hair is visible from behind.
    After the service, Crystal’s Camaro is gone from the small gravel parking lot. The rest of us ride back in the Cranleys’ SUV. “The nerve of your wife, David,” Deborah says.
    “I miss Aunt Linda,” Ashley says.
    Winston says, “You never should have left her, David.”
    Deborah says, “He didn’t leave her,” at the same time Dad says, “I didn’t.”
    “He may as well have,” Winston says.
    “Thanks, man,” Dad says. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”
    “A man takes responsibility for his actions,” Winston says.
    Dad mutters, “Walrus.”
    Crystal and Brianna are on the front porch playing jacks when we pull into the driveway. Deborah clears her throat and shakes her head, her orange hair fluffing out like a lion’s mane. “It’s Christmas,” she says. “The most wonderful time of the year.” She opensthe passenger door, a smile stretched too wide across her face. “Okay, troops,” she says, standing like a doorman at the edge of the metal frame. She sweeps her arm in a gesture for us to move out. “Let’s go celebrate the birth of our Lord!” she says like an infomercial announcer.
    As we file out of the SUV and walk toward the door, Crystal stands up and brushes off the butt of her dress. She props a hand on her hip and sneers. “I could have jimmied your lock, but I thought it was more polite to wait.” She smiles at Dad. He smiles back. Crystal turns to Deborah. “Not that you deserved my hospitality after the way you treated us.” She steps aside so Winston can unlock the door.
    Deborah’s eyes bulge, and she looks like a ball of wax in a lava lamp, her face growing bigger as she puffs her cheeks so big it seems painful.
    “Yeah,” Dad says. “What happened to ‘the guest is always right’?”
    “That’s the customer, David,” Winston says. He places his beefy hand over Deborah’s and says, “My wife tried her best to make you feel included.”
    “Whatever,” Crystal says, pushing past him into their house. “Thanks for being so accommodating. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.” Her thick heels clomp on the tile as she walks away.
    “I guess we’re leaving,” Dad says as Deborah gapes at him. “Girls, go get your stuff.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say to Deborah as we hurry past her.
    “Don’t be sorry,” Dad says, straightening his shoulders to stand taller. “Be strong.” He raises his fist for emphasis as we head upstairs. Jaime and I collect our underwear and pajamas andtennis shoes and toothbrushes and are still shoving clothes in and zipping our packs closed as we walk out the door.
    “You girls are always welcome,” Deborah says. “Don’t forget your Bibles.” She hands us our still-wrapped gifts.
    “Not us, though, right?” Crystal stomps out the door and across the driveway, carrying a bag full of presents in one hand and pulling silently crying Brianna along with the other.
    “We won’t be joining you next year, sis,” Dad says, wobbling as he hoists two duffel bags onto his shoulders.
    “Why don’t you let the girls stay for today?” Deborah says. “They don’t need to spend Christmas in the car.” I can almost hear the unspoken ending to that sentence:
with you.
When I was six and we left Dad for good in the middle of the night, Mom knew Deborah would take us in. We lived here for over three months. Deborah babysat me and Jaime with Ashley so Mom could go to Al Anon meetings, and she lied to Dad when he called demanding to know