too embroiled in resentment at a dead man, I lift the pinkish-nude color I chose to do my mother’s nails in.
“It’s more of a spring than a late fall color, but I know nude pinks are your favorites,” I say as I shake the bottle of polish. “Maybe after Thanksgiving, we can do a Christmas red and green theme. We’ll have to go to a professional for that, though. I can’t do decorations and stuff. Aunt Nettie never got that far with me.”
“Thanksgiving? When is that?”
“The week after next, Mama. Remember? I told you. I think I’m going to put in an order for us at that organic food market that you like. They make an entire meal for you. It’s a little bit on the pricey side, but worth it.”
“Oh,” is all she says.
Lowering my gaze, I think about how, in the past, this woman would’ve never let catered food to be served at her holiday meals. She had to make everything from scratch. Just the way Henry aka ‘Hank’ Hinkerson liked it.
“Alright, let’s see how those—” A loud knocking at the door cuts me off.
My mother jumps, startled.
Turning to her, I ask, “Were you expecting someone?”
As I suspected, she shakes her head no.
“Just a minute,” I call from the living room, getting up and going to the window. Peering through the side curtain, I see a familiar dark grey SUV.
“The hell is he doing here?” I gripe, moving away from the window.
The knocking sounds again, only this time it’s louder. The only reason I opt to head to the front door is because of the frightened look in my mother’s eyes. Again, the reversal of roles becomes evident when she looks to me with a question in her gaze—as if I’m to tell her what’s happening and what’s going on. It reminds me of all those times as a child when I’d see my father get overly aggressive, either verbally or physically, and I’d look to my mother for reassurance.
When he left, she would tell me everything was okay, but I always spotted the look of fear in her eyes.
“I got it,” I say, not bothering to tell her who’s at the door. “You continue soaking your feet.”
I head down the entranceway and finally pull the door open to come face-to-face with my Uncle Will.
His smile is slow and almost devious.
“You’re home.” He steps fully inside, not bothering to wait for an invitation to do so probably because he’s aware that I wasn’t about to give one. “I thought perhaps you were out or something.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I glare at him. “Where would I be? It’s a Saturday. It’s not like I have work today.”
He takes a minute to look me over. “Just ensuring you’re not taking the weekend as an opportunity to reunite with old friends.”
An image of Mark comes to mind, and my stomach fills with heated anger. My instinct now, as it had been sixteen years ago, is to protect him. My father’s vengeance knows no bounds, and I won’t drag a man who’s been hurt enough into my family drama.
“What old friends? Any friends I had are either grown and moved away or have lives of their own. They probably wouldn’t even remember me,” I lie.
The truth is, I didn’t have very many friends in high school. I kept most people at arm's length because I didn’t want them to see what was happening at home. Only one person got closer than anyone else. And it cost him too much.
“Is Marietta here? I want to check in on my sister-in-law.”
I glare at his back as he proceeds down the hall, searching for my mother as if he owns this house. Closing the door, I follow behind him, feeling the need to protect my mother somehow. Not that I think he’d do anything physically to her, but she’s so fragile these days.
“Marietta, look at you,” he declares as we enter the living room. “Soaking your feet?”
“I’m giving her a pedicure,” I explain, rushing ahead of him to semi stand in between him and my mother.
Again, he glances over at me. “That’s good. Spending some quality time with your mother. I suspect she missed a lot of that when you were out being a wild child,” he accuses.
Staring him directly in the eye, I lift my chin in defiance, even though I don’t say anything. Growing up with the parents I did, I learned not to talk back, especially to a man, and