The Girl Who Stopped Swimming - By Joshilyn Jackson Page 0,26
nodded, looking down at her lap. “You’re blocking the movie,” she said to Laurel.
Laurel sank down, sitting low on the floor, waiting it out. She couldn’t do this with Mother here. Mother was walking back toward the kitchen, trailing her hand along Daddy’s shoulder as she passed.
“There are still places where sailors tie themselves to the ship, the call can be so strong,” Daddy said, as if Mother’s touch had activated him. “No one brought me any coffee.”
Mother tutted at him. “Poor mister! No legs at all, and no thumbs for pouring. Come away from there and get you a cup.”
Even now, when they were well into their fifties, Laurel was sure people wondered how her jug-eared, google-eyed daddy managed to catch a beauty like Mother. Mother had an elegant nose and lovely skin, and when she was younger, her hair was corn-colored. Only her teeth—crooked and still faintly stained despite whitening toothpaste—testified that she had grown up in DeLop.
But women liked to hear Daddy talk in his big voice. He had a slight distance in him, as if no one woman could ever quite get his whole attention. It made some women want to try. Also, he and Mother had common ground in that they were both orphans. Daddy had come to DeLop with his Church of Christ youth group when he was sixteen. They’d thrown a party in the abandoned Baptist church, passing out canned goods and hand-me-down shoes to every town kid who came.
Knowing the kind of dour, old-school C of C her parents favored to this day, Laurel pictured the DeLop kids sitting in rows, clutching brown-paper bags full of charity. A chaperone read the fifth chapter of Mark by a table with a few sad green streamers and a punch bowl full of bug juice on it. There would be no music, and certainly no dancing.
Even so, lightning had flashed between the two of them like an uninvited guest, illuminating Laurel’s strange daddy and making Mother smile her geisha’s smile, hiding her bad teeth behind her hand. Daddy, smitten, kept driving over to DeLop to see her, and when springtime came, they eloped. Mismatched as they seemed, forty years later, here they were, a solid unit in the living room.
“Shelby?” Mother called. “Why don’t you girls pause the movie and run get showered and dressed? You’ll feel better with clean hair. I’m going to start lunch now. Laurel, you should go get dressed, too.”
The remote was on the armrest, and as soon as Shelby paused the DVD, Bet got up and headed for the stairs as if she were being pulled on strings. Shelby scooted around Laurel to follow Bet.
Laurel got up, too. Mother had made it easy. Once they were all upstairs, Laurel could send Bet Clemmens to shower first, and she’d have Shelby to herself.
Laurel had her foot on the first step when her mother said, “Wait, Laurel, can you help me find a few things? Honestly, I’ll never understand your pantry system! What’s soup doing down here with the beans?”
Laurel backtracked to the kitchen, impatient. Mother put a hand on her arm, her mouth widening into a close-lipped smile. She craned her neck, looking up the stairs to see that the girls were really gone, and then said, “You need to make today be as normal as possible. Don’t go up there and pick at Shelby.”
It was as if Mother had read her mind.
“This is not a normal day,” Laurel said.
Mother raised her eyebrows and said, “I’m only saying it’s not a good time to go prying. Get Shelby doing regular things.”
“Regular things,” Laurel repeated.
Regular was last week, Shelby and Molly bounding in after auditions, still wearing their leotards and tap shoes. They had clattered through the kitchen, David following, and Shelby had hurled herself at Laurel, spinning her once around.
“I got the ballet duo with Jimmy Brass,” Shelby crowed.
Molly had grinned, hanging back with David. Molly, with her cheerleader’s nose and curvy little figure, had been such a pretty thing. Shelby was still all knees and elbows, and her ears had grown ahead of the rest of her. But when the two of them were together, people tended to look at Shelby. Shelby, shining it on, was bright enough to blind people.
Laurel had taken Shelby’s bun down for her, slipping out the hairpins one by one. “That’s wonderful. How’d you do, Molly?”
“Okay.” Molly had ducked her head and smiled at her toes. “It’s not a big deal, not like—”