Read Online The Revenge of the Radioactive Lady by Elizabeth Stuckey-French - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Stuckey-French
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their door again.
Nance was the kind of woman he’d always wished his own mother could have been—helpful, interested in other people, someone who wasn’t afraid to be ordinary, domestic, happy. She had no idea about the nest of yellow jackets she’d just stumbled into.
Everything that used to work didn’t.
Even with the air-conditioning cranked up, she was hot. She kicked the covers off during the night and lay there fuming, and during the day she wore tank shirts and boxer shorts around the house. She couldn’t stand her hair touching her face and neck. She was always “sweating like a hog.” One time Ava made the mistake of reminding her that hogs don’t sweat. “Come over here and feel my chest, then,” Caroline snapped, which caused Ava, and everyone else, to flee the room.
She was awful to her husband. She once informed him that she never wanted to have sex again … with anyone, she assured him. She couldn’t stand anyone “at her, wanting something.” Then, another time, she blurted out that she felt like having sex with every man she saw. Well, almost every man, she added, as if that made her statement more palatable.
“Me, too?” Vic had asked, just to humor her, she could tell, because, well, she was a sweaty hog with scary ponytails.
Even though she didn’t have high expectations, when they did have sex she had to conceal the feeling afterward that it hadn’t been worth the bother. Maybe she was done with the whole nonsense. How depressing was that?
She was awful to her children. To her own dear children! She wasused to having her hands full, but this summer, because of the older kids’ developmental lags, the adolescent desire for distance from one’s parents seemed to come over all three of her children at the same time. Caroline couldn’t engage any of them in conversation. She got only monosyllabic answers to her questions, eye rolling, deep sighing. Of course, she was in demand as a driver, as there were doctor’s appointments; counseling appointments; Suzi’s soccer practice; Ava’s piano lessons and classes at the community college, where she was finishing up her first year; carting Otis to his part-time job at McDonald’s and to Sunny Side High School, when he didn’t have gas money for his Pontiac; and of course there was always shopping, laundry, meal preparation, fight referee—but she could do all these things on autopilot. On many occasions her presence was required, and her cooperation was always expected, but she was supposed to perform her duties and stay in the background.
She often felt helplessly reduced to her children’s level. Below their level. One time she slapped Ava in the face for getting an F on her take-home algebra exam—she’d spent hours working on it and then forgotten to turn it in. Another time she scattered Suzi’s basket of clean laundry in the front yard because Suzi wouldn’t fold it. She held her nose around Otis because he stank like McDonald’s and refused to take a shower. After these occurrences her family had to endure her self-flagellation and profuse, weepy apologies. There were more incidents like this than she cared to count.
She was awful to her poor father, who enraged her by sitting at the kitchen table, patiently drinking coffee, waiting for her to read the newspaper to him because he couldn’t see well anymore, or waiting for her to take him to a doctor’s appointment or out to Target or CVS or Lake Ella to look at ducks. She’d taken to hiding from him in her bedroom, wondering how it could be that she had another person to take care of, cursing her gadabout younger brother who couldn’t take care ofan ingrown toenail, hoping that the old man would finally give up and shuffle back downstairs to his little bedroom.
Her father’s presence in her home was a constant reminder that she’d never had a mother—a fact that she’d been more successful at suppressing when he was living back in Iowa. The old question
Nance was the kind of woman he’d always wished his own mother could have been—helpful, interested in other people, someone who wasn’t afraid to be ordinary, domestic, happy. She had no idea about the nest of yellow jackets she’d just stumbled into.
Everything that used to work didn’t.
Even with the air-conditioning cranked up, she was hot. She kicked the covers off during the night and lay there fuming, and during the day she wore tank shirts and boxer shorts around the house. She couldn’t stand her hair touching her face and neck. She was always “sweating like a hog.” One time Ava made the mistake of reminding her that hogs don’t sweat. “Come over here and feel my chest, then,” Caroline snapped, which caused Ava, and everyone else, to flee the room.
She was awful to her husband. She once informed him that she never wanted to have sex again … with anyone, she assured him. She couldn’t stand anyone “at her, wanting something.” Then, another time, she blurted out that she felt like having sex with every man she saw. Well, almost every man, she added, as if that made her statement more palatable.
“Me, too?” Vic had asked, just to humor her, she could tell, because, well, she was a sweaty hog with scary ponytails.
Even though she didn’t have high expectations, when they did have sex she had to conceal the feeling afterward that it hadn’t been worth the bother. Maybe she was done with the whole nonsense. How depressing was that?
She was awful to her children. To her own dear children! She wasused to having her hands full, but this summer, because of the older kids’ developmental lags, the adolescent desire for distance from one’s parents seemed to come over all three of her children at the same time. Caroline couldn’t engage any of them in conversation. She got only monosyllabic answers to her questions, eye rolling, deep sighing. Of course, she was in demand as a driver, as there were doctor’s appointments; counseling appointments; Suzi’s soccer practice; Ava’s piano lessons and classes at the community college, where she was finishing up her first year; carting Otis to his part-time job at McDonald’s and to Sunny Side High School, when he didn’t have gas money for his Pontiac; and of course there was always shopping, laundry, meal preparation, fight referee—but she could do all these things on autopilot. On many occasions her presence was required, and her cooperation was always expected, but she was supposed to perform her duties and stay in the background.
She often felt helplessly reduced to her children’s level. Below their level. One time she slapped Ava in the face for getting an F on her take-home algebra exam—she’d spent hours working on it and then forgotten to turn it in. Another time she scattered Suzi’s basket of clean laundry in the front yard because Suzi wouldn’t fold it. She held her nose around Otis because he stank like McDonald’s and refused to take a shower. After these occurrences her family had to endure her self-flagellation and profuse, weepy apologies. There were more incidents like this than she cared to count.
She was awful to her poor father, who enraged her by sitting at the kitchen table, patiently drinking coffee, waiting for her to read the newspaper to him because he couldn’t see well anymore, or waiting for her to take him to a doctor’s appointment or out to Target or CVS or Lake Ella to look at ducks. She’d taken to hiding from him in her bedroom, wondering how it could be that she had another person to take care of, cursing her gadabout younger brother who couldn’t take care ofan ingrown toenail, hoping that the old man would finally give up and shuffle back downstairs to his little bedroom.
Her father’s presence in her home was a constant reminder that she’d never had a mother—a fact that she’d been more successful at suppressing when he was living back in Iowa. The old question
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