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Authors: Jennifer Scott
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knocked over another potted poinsettia behind it, the dirt spilling out onto the tile.
“Here we go,” Claire mumbled, scratching her head. She continued in a loud, bored voice. “We are not sleeping together. I’ve never seen him naked. I don’t want to have sex with your husband. I never did.”
“Claire!” Elise hissed. “The children!”
“No, please, Mom. Let her make an ass of herself, just like always. If she says it enough times, maybe it will actually be true.” Maya stormed around the table and crossed the room, her heels clacking on the floor like gavels. Even in the house, in the middle of the afternoon, Maya was dressed to the nines. Julia’s heart dropped as Maya strode straight to Claire, stopping only inches from her face. Claire’s expression looked mildly entertained, but Julia thought she could detect the slightest hint of fear behind her eyes. Surely Maya wouldn’t start a physical altercation in front of her own children. “I don’t have the energy to fight you. I will stay here until the twenty-seventh to say good-bye to my father out of respect to our mother. But make no mistake, I will not deal with you. I will go sleep in a hotel by myself if I have to.” She smirked. “And wouldn’t that make the two of you oh so happy?”
“Maya, don’t . . . ,” Elise said, holding her dripping spoon in the air above the pan. “Maybe we should all just take a deep breath.”
At the same time, Julia heard Claire say in a low, dangerous voice, “For the last time, I did not sleep with your husband. I won’t say it again.”
“How about you don’t say anything to me at all,” Maya suggested, both of them completely ignoring that Elise had ever spoken.
“Why do you think I moved all the way to California?” Claire said. “You won, that’s why! And if it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t be speaking to you right now. I’m certainly not here for Robert Yancey. That abusive old bastard can rot in a trash can in the back of Dale Funeral Home, for all I care.”
Julia gasped, her heart sinking, sinking, sinking. Any hope that she might have had of this being a place where she could spin Eli some happy family memories was gone. Her son never knew his grandfather, and she had never told him about Robert. About the tension he brought to the family. God, why had she brought a suicidal kid into
this
house? Dusty was right—she was a horrible mom. He and Shurn, ignorant as they both were, could certainly do better than she ever had.
Maya had let Claire’s outburst sink in, slowly nodding her head, as if to say,
See? See how right I am about her?
Finally, she spoke. “So classy. I will never understand what he saw in you.”
Claire’s only response was an elaborate eye roll. She stepped around Maya and took her cup to the table, sitting across from Will.
“I’m not feeling well. I’m going to lie down,” Maya announced to nobody, then left the kitchen without waiting for a response, her hair swishing behind her like a great silky fan.
Bradley started to stand. “You need anything, Maya?” he called. “The doctor said you should—”
“No.” Her voice, sharp, jabbing at him from the hallway, cut him off. He plopped back into his chair, looking scolded.
For the few silent, awkward moments after the slammed door upstairs punctuated Maya’s departure, Julia sagged against the doorjamb, staring at the back of her son’s head. He seemed to be standing still as a statue, the same creepy way he always had, as if his life were a video game or a reality TV show and he was just the spectator, interested and alert but not at all invested.
She longed to reach out to him, to grab his shoulders from behind and shake him.
Damn it
, she wanted to snarl,
react! If nothing else, just show that you’re living . . . that you haven’t already committed . . . mental suicide.
After a while, Elise tapped the spoon against the side of the pan and turned off the heat, which seemed to
“Here we go,” Claire mumbled, scratching her head. She continued in a loud, bored voice. “We are not sleeping together. I’ve never seen him naked. I don’t want to have sex with your husband. I never did.”
“Claire!” Elise hissed. “The children!”
“No, please, Mom. Let her make an ass of herself, just like always. If she says it enough times, maybe it will actually be true.” Maya stormed around the table and crossed the room, her heels clacking on the floor like gavels. Even in the house, in the middle of the afternoon, Maya was dressed to the nines. Julia’s heart dropped as Maya strode straight to Claire, stopping only inches from her face. Claire’s expression looked mildly entertained, but Julia thought she could detect the slightest hint of fear behind her eyes. Surely Maya wouldn’t start a physical altercation in front of her own children. “I don’t have the energy to fight you. I will stay here until the twenty-seventh to say good-bye to my father out of respect to our mother. But make no mistake, I will not deal with you. I will go sleep in a hotel by myself if I have to.” She smirked. “And wouldn’t that make the two of you oh so happy?”
“Maya, don’t . . . ,” Elise said, holding her dripping spoon in the air above the pan. “Maybe we should all just take a deep breath.”
At the same time, Julia heard Claire say in a low, dangerous voice, “For the last time, I did not sleep with your husband. I won’t say it again.”
“How about you don’t say anything to me at all,” Maya suggested, both of them completely ignoring that Elise had ever spoken.
“Why do you think I moved all the way to California?” Claire said. “You won, that’s why! And if it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t be speaking to you right now. I’m certainly not here for Robert Yancey. That abusive old bastard can rot in a trash can in the back of Dale Funeral Home, for all I care.”
Julia gasped, her heart sinking, sinking, sinking. Any hope that she might have had of this being a place where she could spin Eli some happy family memories was gone. Her son never knew his grandfather, and she had never told him about Robert. About the tension he brought to the family. God, why had she brought a suicidal kid into
this
house? Dusty was right—she was a horrible mom. He and Shurn, ignorant as they both were, could certainly do better than she ever had.
Maya had let Claire’s outburst sink in, slowly nodding her head, as if to say,
See? See how right I am about her?
Finally, she spoke. “So classy. I will never understand what he saw in you.”
Claire’s only response was an elaborate eye roll. She stepped around Maya and took her cup to the table, sitting across from Will.
“I’m not feeling well. I’m going to lie down,” Maya announced to nobody, then left the kitchen without waiting for a response, her hair swishing behind her like a great silky fan.
Bradley started to stand. “You need anything, Maya?” he called. “The doctor said you should—”
“No.” Her voice, sharp, jabbing at him from the hallway, cut him off. He plopped back into his chair, looking scolded.
For the few silent, awkward moments after the slammed door upstairs punctuated Maya’s departure, Julia sagged against the doorjamb, staring at the back of her son’s head. He seemed to be standing still as a statue, the same creepy way he always had, as if his life were a video game or a reality TV show and he was just the spectator, interested and alert but not at all invested.
She longed to reach out to him, to grab his shoulders from behind and shake him.
Damn it
, she wanted to snarl,
react! If nothing else, just show that you’re living . . . that you haven’t already committed . . . mental suicide.
After a while, Elise tapped the spoon against the side of the pan and turned off the heat, which seemed to
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