Under the Light - By Laura Whitcomb Page 0,47

from now on.”

“Your mother does not decide what happens to you,” he said. “You’re still my daughter. I know what’s best.” We paused a little too long at a stop sign. I was afraid that he wasn’t taking me straight to the house. That he would take me out to dinner or to Judy’s place, but after a long moment he drove on toward home.

He was never frazzled, always right. I tried a different line.

“We didn’t have as much time to get used to this as you,” I reminded him.

Ignoring this, he said, “I hear your mother wants to homeschool you.”

I pictured the pew where Judy always sat in church, right in front of us, and how she and my father often stood together talking at coffee hour.

“San Diego is beautiful,” he said. These words made my stomach tense up. He’d been there with Judy already, I knew it. Some long weekend he’d pretended to be at a small business conference, probably. They’d chosen a neighborhood and maybe a house to rent.

I hated it when he got angry, but I couldn’t stop the words that came out of me. “Does Judy have any children?”

His voice went cold. “You know she doesn’t.”

“Does she want kids?” I looked at him a long moment, and when he glanced over I knew he wasn’t sure how to read my meaning. Was I asking if Judy wanted to have his babies? Or was I asking if she would be acting as my second mother?

“I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone,” he said. “I’ve decided it would be better for you to live with me in San Diego.”

My ears started ringing.

“Your mother is simply an unfit parent. There’s no way around it.”

“What did Mom do?”

“Wives are responsible for the house and children.” He was so relaxed, he rested his arm over the steering wheel, his wrist bouncing gently to some happy song I couldn’t hear. He was wearing a new watch. Maybe Judy had bought it for him and he’d never been able to show it off until now. “Your mother was the one who let you get out of control.” He wore a new, peppery aftershave like a teenager on a first date. “Let’s face it,” he sighed. “She’s not smart enough to manage a budget, and she’s ill-equipped to make money.” He smiled at me sympathetically. “We both know what she’s like,” he said. “But no one knows her abilities and shortcomings better than I do.”

I had an urge to slam my hand onto the steering wheel and lay into the horn, just to interrupt him. But I didn’t, which made his sudden flinch a mystery. He swatted at a fly that wasn’t there.

Recovering, he said, “You need guidance, and your mother’s not spiritually mature enough to interpret God’s plans for you. It’s not her fault. Her character simply lacks the strength to protect you or manage your walk with Christ. I’m the one who has the means and the will to see you into adulthood.”

There was no way even a man as cocky as my father could take me away from my own mother.

“You can pack a few of your things,” he said. He was always so dismissive of my belongings. “But we’ll buy you whatever you need. It’ll be a fresh start.”

My throat had tightened up. I suppose the silence bothered him.

“Don’t you think it might be nice to begin again without people gossiping behind your back?” he asked me. “No one needs to know what happened here.”

Before the car could come to a full stop outside our house, I opened my door and flung off my seat belt.

“I haven’t finished,” he reminded me.

I told him a lie I was sure would make him want to get away quick. “I think Pastor Bob is coming over in a few minutes.”

That he drove off should have felt good, but he left a shadow over me that I couldn’t escape. I tried to outrun it, but dread trailed after me as I ran up the walk and settled in deep as I found my mother in the dining room.

She had a dozen file folders and pieces of paper—receipts, letters, bank statements—spread across the table.

“He says we’ll lose the house,” she told me.

“Who says?”

“Your father’s lawyer.”

“That can’t be true,” I tried to tell her, but she was in another plane of reality.

“He won’t sue for sole custody if I let you go to San Diego.”

“No judge would give him that.”

“More than fifty