Things We Didn't Say - By Kristina Riggle Page 0,67
was such a funny little baby, and I liked how she pulled my hair and tried to stuff it in her mouth. I didn’t mind so much, except for when I had a lot of homework it was hard to remember to check on her all the time.
It’s a relief now that she’s bigger, and can remember these things by herself.
Of course, if Casey and my dad get married, they’ll have another baby and maybe it’ll start all over again. I’ll probably have to babysit so they can go out on dates. And they’ll probably get all kissy-face and stuff.
Awkward.
“Angel?” Jewel says, her voice extra young sounding because she’s so tired.
“Yeah, J?”
“Why did Dylan leave?”
“I dunno. I guess you can ask him.”
“Doesn’t he love us?”
“ ’Course he does. Boys are dumb, though. They don’t think.”
“Dylan’s not dumb.”
I sigh. “Everyone’s dumb sometimes.”
I actually hate Hannah Montana. So I pick up my phone with my free hand and send a one-handed text about the big party.
Mom suddenly stands up from the computer and snatches her coat off the couch. “I’m walking to the store,” she says.
She asks me if I need anything, and I wave her away with my phone.
“Keep an eye on Jewel,” she says.
Duh. What else is new?
Chapter 29
Michael
My father and I have not spoken in miles and hours, except to remark that the snow is letting up.
The roads are still tricky, I can tell from the way other cars fishtail in front of us, and the way my dad’s jaw clenches. I wonder if he used to do that in surgery, tighten his face in concentration. No wonder he was always so tired. He would be standing up for hours, awake for hours. I suppose he’s conditioned himself to this kind of thing.
He thinks I don’t appreciate his hard work because of his financially cushy life, relative to mine at least. I just don’t need to give him more credit because he gives himself plenty already.
The sameness of the Ohio turnpike is hypnotizing and, given my exhaustion, makes me feel a bit delirious.
I try sending Casey a text, but she doesn’t reply. Maybe she’s sleeping; it’s late. I hope everyone is asleep by now. I imagine my house dark and calm and peaceful, as a home should be.
My dad clears his throat and I look over. I’ve been stroking my jawline scar.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
I fold my arms and lean back against the seat, watching the highway lights blur past me out the window.
It was one of the worst fights. I’d gotten an overdraft notice from the bank, in fact, several of them. We should have had plenty of money. Enough, anyway.
I was tired from work, and I should have broached the topic carefully, because there were ways I could handle Mallory to minimize the theatrics. But there were always days when I wasn’t up to it, my resolve to be the stoic weakened by late hours at the office.
This was one of those days.
Dylan and Angel were in bed. This was before Jewel, and when the other kids were young enough that we could tuck them in at a reasonable hour. I’d finally opened the mail.
Mallory was at the table with a travel coffee mug full of beer. She had mints in her pocket she would chew between mugs, as if that fooled anyone.
“Dammit. Mallory!”
“What?”
“What have you been spending money on now?” I threw the papers down in front of her.
“The kids needed clothes.”
“What clothes? I haven’t seen any new clothes.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you do the laundry.”
“I see them every day, I—” I flinched. I’d been sucked into her trap. Arguing the minutiae, missing the point. “We’ll never get ahead if you keep taking money out of the ATM.”
“I need money sometimes.”
“For what?”
I knew damn well for what. I wanted to hear her say it. In fact, a desperate irrational urge seized me, a need to hear her just once come clean about something.
“Stuff.” She took another sip, leaned back in the kitchen chair. She couldn’t look more bored.
“Give me your ATM card.”
She snorted. Didn’t move.
I walked around her to the dining room table, where she always put her purse. It was a rule my mother had pounded into me: never, ever go into a woman’s purse or a man’s wallet. I was past rules, past reason.
When Mallory saw me grab her purse, she jolted to life. She raced to me and got her hands on it. We tugged back and forth, and the