swishing of ice and bourbon in a double old-fashioned glass grows louder and the bourbon aroma becomes more pungent as he closes in. His gray eyes zero in on me. “Did you have permission?” he asks with a measure of sarcasm to toy with me.
I know the tone well. Anything less than meekness right now is unacceptable to him. Yet I still feel the need to explain. “No, I—“
“What have we told you about that?” He surges forward in two long strides. His white undershirt hangs over the waistband of his khaki work pants.
I flinch and step back. “Do not leave without permission.”
“And what’s your punishment for breaking the rules?” he asks, backing me into the front door.
Every strand of his short, dark blond hair is still in place from this morning. He smacks his right hand against the door above my head, and pins his flabby body into mine. The bourbon is heavy on his breath and I turn my face away. He brings his hand down from the door and slaps my face in one swift motion.
“Look at me, dammit!” he demands, waiting for my compliance, which I give. “What is your punishment?”
“Whatever you say it is.”
“What did she do now?” an exasperated voice asks.
I peer behind my father to silhouettes of my mother and sister, standing in the shadows with shopping bags in their hands.
“She was off meeting the new neighbors,” Father answers, stepping back.
“Before we do? What the fuck were you thinking, Sara?” Mother asks. I know she doesn’t expect or want me to answer that. “Who knows what they thought about her,” she says to no one in particular, then glares at me as she moves in. Her dark hair in loose curls, framing her face set with green eyes. “How could you do this to me? So help me, if they decide not to talk to us because you did something clumsy or stupid, you’ll be grounded for the rest of your life!”
“They have a girl my age,” I blurt out in a weak attempt to defend myself.
“What makes you think anyone would like you?” Father asks.
“She does like me!” I cry out with more courage. “She even asked her mom if I could stay for dinner before I left.”
Father raises his eyebrows then looks back at Mother. “Well, Tibby, looks like we have a bona fide social butterfly here.”
“More like social cockroach,” Victoria adds, her green eyes glinting. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
“Shut up!” I yell at my sister. The only thing we have in common is the DNA giving us Mother’s dark hair and differing shades of her green eyes.
Father slaps my face again. “Go mow the lawn.”
“But-“
He raises his hand and I recoil. He smacks the door again with the palm of his hand to emphasize his unspoken point. I follow orders like an obedient slave and head outside.
“Sara!” Arissa calls.
I spot her in her front yard out of the corner of my eye. I continue on without acknowledging her. I don’t know if my parents or tattletale sister are watching. I feel like I’m getting off easy and I don’t want to ruin it since I abandoned the chore to follow Arissa.
Arissa continues to yell for my attention for several minutes. I sigh with relief when she stops.
A large hand clasps my shoulder five minutes later. I jump and spin.
Andrew.
I turn back and continue to mow.
Andrew follows. “Arissa says you’re ignoring her.”
“I have to finish mowing the yard,” I respond matter-of-factly.
He tries to get in front of me, then changes his mind.
“What happened to your face?” He lifts his hand to my cheek.
I dodge his hand. “Don’t.”
“What happened to your face, Sara?”
“I hit myself in the face when I was starting the lawn mower,” I answer as I keep pushing the mower forward.
Father steps out of the house. Noticeably absent is the glass normally glued to his hand. “Leave my daughter alone,” he demands.
“I’m sorry.” Andrew says, stepping away from me. “I’m Andrew Jericho, your new neighbor.”
“Simon Parker.”
“I was just checking on Sara. My daughter, Arissa, was worried about her because she wasn’t responding to her attempts to say hello.”
My father chuckles. “Well, Sara gets focused on her chores. She likes to get them done quickly.”
He’s so preoccupied with Andrew that he doesn’t see me roll my eyes at his farce. My parents put on a show when the world is watching so no one will suspect what happens behind closed doors. I finish with the