the floor, his hands wrestling with the controller to his video game. Scout sat on his haunches and seemed to study her. Raisin paused the game, stood up, and walked over to hug her. She felt his hands squeeze her waist. She glanced over his thick mop of hair and saw her dad sitting in his recliner. A few seconds later her sister-in-law walked into the room.
“And she’ll be as good as new when she comes home,” her father added.
Did her father understand what he’d just said? Did her father have any idea that his granddaughter had gone missing? Or was he merely aping Raisin’s sentiments? She let Raisin hold on to her, despite feeling unworthy of his love. It was what she needed most right now. And yet for some reason, she felt like the worst mother in the world.
She wanted to sleep and not wake up, although, oddly, she didn’t want to die. Was there a name for that gray state between the two realms of consciousness? Between sleep and death? When reality became too painful to endure?
But life carried on, regardless of one’s feelings. She had to drag herself up off the couch and make dinner. Fill Scout’s bowls with water and food. Do laundry. Unload and load the dishwasher. Clean the house. She wanted to cry at the prospect of performing such mundane duties in the face of tragedy. But they had to be done. Life failed to stop just because her daughter had gone missing.
Her sister-in-law kissed her good-bye and let herself out.
She lifted her head from the couch pillow and saw Raisin sitting on the floor and reading a book. Her father was still sitting in the recliner across from her, staring at the wall in front of him.
“I’m hungry, Mom,” Raisin said.
“Me too,” her father added.
“Okay, guys, I’ll start dinner in a jiffy,” she said. “Give me a minute.”
“Where’s that daughter of yours?” her father asked.
Raisin turned and grimaced. “She’s still missing, Grampa.”
“Well, she should probably come home and wash up for dinner,” he said. “Those hands won’t wash themselves, you know.”
“Stop it, Grampa!”
“Take it easy, Raisin. Your grandfather doesn’t understand what’s happening,” she whispered.
“How can he not?”
“His brain’s getting worse.” She stood and walked over to her father, then rested a hand on his shoulder. “How you doing, Dad?”
“I’m a lot better than you know, lady. You can’t put anything past me. You think you can move into my home and try to steal all my stuff? Think I don’t notice that there’s no money in my wallet?”
“That’s not true, Dad. We love you. We would never take what’s yours.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You can stay here for as long as you like.”
“I don’t trust you. I’ll go and stay with your husband if I have to. He’ll take me to the police and tell them what all of you have been doing. How you’ve been stealing all my money.”
“Except that Ray lives in this house with us.”
“Is that so? Then where is he?”
“I need to make dinner, Dad.” She sighed.
“Please hurry and make dinner, sweetie, because I’m starving.”
Making dinner now felt like running in mud. Everything slowed down and gained mass. The Teflon pan in her hand felt like an anvil formed out of uranium. She pressed the patties into shape and laid them down in the butter-greased skillet. Put some frozen vegetables in boiling water and tots in the oven. Then she mixed some pudding in a bowl and stuck it in the refrigerator to chill.
She couldn’t erase the image of that racy painting from her head. Wouldn’t Ray be surprised to learn that she’d lifted it out of his collection in the art studio and hid it in the cellar? She had once known the woman in that painting. She couldn’t be sure when Ray had painted it, but she was certain he had done it while the woman was still married. Had that bastard slept with her? She didn’t doubt it, Ray’s wandering eye having been a lifelong habit. She’d nearly crushed the canvas on one of the tree stumps in the yard before deciding to keep it. Maybe she’d confront him with it. Or better yet, maybe she’d show the woman’s ex the painting and see what he had to say.
But what would that do except extend the hurt and suffering to others? No, she wouldn’t do that. She’d been brought up