3. Korine
3
KORINE
“Baby, hurry up and hop in. This ride slows down for nobody!” Mama simpers as she slams on the brake. She’s sitting behind the wheel with bright, guileless eyes and her fuzzy slippers on the pedals.
I gape at her for a second before rushing over to the driver’s side door. “Mama, you didn’t even put your seatbelt on.”
“Hmm? Oh. Seatbelt. I could’ve sworn…”
“You’re not supposed to be driving,” I say gently, grabbing her hand, and leading her from the seat. “How’d you get the keys to Ken’s Escalade?”
She pauses, a blank look developing on her plump, round-cheeked face. “Well… you know… I’m not sure. Hey, how about we go eat at Krispy Krunchy?! I could go for some tenders with that dipping sauce.”
“Maybe next time, Mama. You know, when we’re back in Houston .”
“And that’s not where we are now?”
I leave her question hanging in the air unanswered. I’m more concerned with buckling her in on the passenger side, double-checking the seatbelt as if I’m childproofing. I might as well be considering Mama’s condition. Walking back around to the driver side, I cast a parting look at my dead Geo Metro and sigh.
This can’t be good.
It can’t be good at all.
Driving home feels like I’m marching off to war. My stomach sours and I can’t focus on any of Mom’s attempts at conversation.
She points out the scenic harvest decorations on the front lawn of the O’Neal’s home, then aims such an innocent smile at me, my heart aches.
It aches because I want to smile back—I want to gush over the pretty pumpkins and leafy golden wreaths too.
But how can I when I’ve failed?
I had a simple set of instructions, a specific timetable to follow them, and I failed .
I didn’t even make it to the butcher. Which means no special order rump roast.
…which means tonight’s big, impressive dinner won’t be so big and impressive anymore. It’ll be a huge flop.
Everything’s ruined.
As I make the last turn onto our block, I feel sick. I feel even sicker when our house slips into view and there’s a squad car parked in the drive of our two-car garage.
Mama points it out. “Oh, look. Wonder if there’s a cop around catching some bad guys!”
“Maybe, Mama,” I humor, pulling the key out the ignition and undoing my seatbelt. “C’mon, I’ve got to help you to your room.”
“My room? Oh, our house! It looks so different. When did we add an extra story?”
I neglect to point out the fact that Mama’s thinking about the wrong house. She means my childhood home several blocks away. The house that, to this day, symbolizes the happiest time in my life.
Before I grew up and learned you can’t survive off hopes and dreams.
Mama pokes me in the side as I walk her up the front path and tells me I’m too skinny. “I’m gonna fix you up your favorite. Catfish and cheesy grits. Extra on the cheese and butter.”
I’m more concerned with listening for sounds. I carefully unlock the door and peer down the entry hall.
The inside of our two-story, four-bedroom house resembles a model home in a magazine more than it does a home that’s actually lived in.
Eggshell white walls with sturdy wooden beams and farmhouse furniture make up the space. Every picture frame that hangs has been meticulously measured out so it’s just right, so it’s perfectly pleasing to the eye. Every stainless steel appliance gleams, and the sunlight pours in by way of the many bay windows.
There isn’t a crumb anywhere to be found. No smudges or dirt tracked on the floor—I know, I spent an hour scrubbing it spotless earlier.
It’s a house many dream of. It’s a house that makes me hold my breath from the moment I enter.
I take off Mama’s coat and then mine, hanging both on the coat hook on the wall. For a brief second, my gaze lingers on the third hook from which a thick bomber jacket dangles. The Pulsboro Police shield is stitched onto the shoulder in a deep navy-blue and bold shade of gold that’s supposed to be heroic and valiant.
Instead, all it reminds me of is today’s failure. The amazing dinner I won’t be preparing…
“I thought I heard you girls.”
I tear my gaze away from the coat hooks to find Ken walking up. His gaze is set on us, his lips spreading into a smile. He holds out his arms to welcome Mama with a hug that she steps into.
“My favorite son-in-law!”
Ken laughs, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “Sunny, you know I’m your only son-in-law.”
“Ain’t it great winning by default?”
“Just what every man wants to hear.” He turns his attention back onto me, his smile frozen on his face. “There she is. I’m glad you were able to find your missing daughter.”
Mama’s brows scrunch together. “I… was?”
“I sent you out to find her. Don’t you remember, Sunny?”
“Oh… yes… right.” Though, as Mama answers him, she still looks perplexed.
I step forward to intervene. “I’ll take her to her room. She shouldn’t be out unsupervised. She’ll get lost again.”
My arm curls around Mama’s shoulders to escort her up the stairs without any protests from Ken. He’s letting me make a getaway scot-free—’til we get halfway up the staircase and he speaks again.
His tone matter-of-fact, he says, “Your mother wouldn’t be out wandering unsupervised if someone were home on time to watch her, like was agreed.”
Every bone in my body goes stiff. I hover over the next stair, feeling like a bright spotlight has been shone onto me. Like I’ve been on the run from the police, and they’ve tracked me down via chopper, blinding me with their searchlight.
It might as well be the case—unease and guilt coalesce into one singular, belly-rippling, heart-pounding, clammy-skinned reaction.
“Yes, you’re right,” I answer. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Kor. Just don’t let it happen again.”
“Let what happen?” Mama questions, clueless.
“C’mon, Mama. You need to lay down.”
We make it the rest of the way up the stairs as if I’ve found my escape; I’m fleeing the scene after all.
But it’s only momentary. A small reprieve from what will be a disaster.
My failure that won’t soon be forgotten…
* * *
Ding-dong!
“Oooh, somebody’s visiting us!” Mama squeaks, eyes wide and excited. “Should I go answer?”
I’m busy stirring the bubbling pot at the stove so I don’t get to reply in time. Ken beats me to it, aiming a pitying look in Mama’s direction.
“You sit and look pretty, Sunny. I’ll get the door.”
Mama winks at me the moment Ken zips out the room. “You chose well, baby. A real winner.”
I hum as an answer. My energy’s depleted from the long day, and if this dinner’s going to be a success, I need to put on a good show. I need to impress Captain Vargas and Lieutenant Gillard. Dinner might not be the special rump roast that was requested, but my butter chicken is one of my secret weapons—no one alive who has ever tasted it walked away dissatisfied.
I add a pinch more red chili powder and then taste test the sauce.
Almost perfect.
But still not good enough.
I’ve been poring over the stove, making sure everything’s just right to the point I’ve forgotten to get ready.
Ken reminds me. He calls out from the front of the house.
“Kor, come say hello to the captain and lieutenant when you’re able!”
The coded message lights a fire under my ass. I stir the sauce a few more times, turn down the heat, and then ask Mama to watch the stove.
“Don’t touch,” I warn.
She waves me off. “Chile, please. Have you forgotten who’s the mama and who’s the daughter? I cooked every meal of yours your whole life!”
That was then. This is now.
I refrain from pointing that out as I race upstairs to go change. Not even ten minutes later, I’m hurtling back down the stairs in a simple turtle-necked sweater dress and my curls framing my face. It’s not until I walk into the den that my heart skips a beat at my mistake.
It’s in Ken’s eyes. The subtle way they flash with disapproval.
I quickly stroke my hair that was supposed to be elegantly pinned up as I beam wide at the two men in our company.
“Hello, it’s so nice to meet you.”
“Stricklin, you didn’t tell us your wife was a sweet little thing,” says Lieutenant Gillard. “Where’d you luck out with one like this?”
“Yeah, is there a store where you buy ’em?” Captain Vargas gives a deep laugh, his protruding belly and white beard making him resemble a Santa Claus with tan skin. “If so, can I return my wife without a receipt and pick up a new one?”
The three men share in more laughter at the joke. I stand by and keep smiling, waiting out the moment.
Ken places a hand on the small of my back. “Wait ’til you taste her cooking. Best you’ll ever have.”
“Well damn, Stricklin. Don’t hold out on us!” cries out Gillard. “Lead the way!”
Fifteen minutes later, they’re seated around the table in the formal dining room. I’m bustling to and from the kitchen like a waitress at a restaurant, carrying in the hot dishes and pouring drinks. Mama offers several times to help only for me to decline.
I’m supposed to work alone.
“Darling, have a seat,” Gillard says after I’ve made my fifth trip. He looks across the table at Ken. “Stricklin, you’re overworking your poor wife. Is this how you’ll run the station?”
Ken sits up straighter than he already is—which is already damn near perfect posture. “Of course not! Korine, sit. You got our company thinking you can’t enjoy your meal.”
I’d short-circuit if I wasn’t used to the contradiction.
One moment I’m working too hard. The next, not hard enough.
I stopped trying to make sense of it years ago…
Dropping into my seat, I put on my well-practiced smile. “I hope you all enjoy. It’s my special butter chicken recipe.”
“Stricklin mentioned a rump roast,” Captain Vargas says.
Ken cuts a pointed stare in my direction. My face warms up at once, my pulse climbing.
Oh no…
“But,” Vargas continues with a pleased nod, “this is even better. You were right about your wife being great in the kitchen. If she’ll be bringing her meals to the precinct picnics, we just might promote you after all.”
“You’re up for a promotion!?” Mama gasps innocently. She clasps her hands together, forgetting about her plate of food.
I have to lean over and remind her to eat—she can’t take her laundry list of medications if she doesn’t, and it’s never good when her blood sugar gets too low.
Talk around the table turns official. Captain Vargas and Lieutenant Gillard grill Ken about his career and whether he truly feels he’s a good fit for the Pulsboro PD.
“I’m almost nine years into my career. I’m ready for the challenge,” Ken says.
“Being lieutenant isn’t just a challenge,” Gillard corrects, his expression serious. His lips have thinned the tighter he’s pulled his mouth. “It’s the biggest responsibility you’re yet to have. We’ve reviewed your record, Stricklin. You’re a damn good sergeant. But there’s a difference between supervising a couple uniforms and helping run a whole precinct.”
Captain Vargas nods. “Even one as small as Pulsboro.”
I remain engaged the entire time. Throughout the talk, I give whoever’s speaking my undivided attention, and I pretend whatever he’s saying is the most fascinating thing known to man.
Really, in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about earlier.
Not about my failure. Not even about the hit-and-run.
I’m thinking about the man I saw for the first time in a decade—the only man that I’ve spent every night wondering about.
No matter how long it’s been. No matter how far away.
Many years ago, Blake Cash stole a piece of my heart that’s yet to be returned. He’s walked around with it in his pocket like nothing, while I’ve had to move on, going through the motions, living with a big hole in my heart.
Seeing him again was like ripping off the Band-Aid I’d placed on top of it.
It hurt like hell and made it impossible to breathe.
Impossible to think.
He’d looked just like I imagined; just like I’d spied on social media.
Golden hair. Boundless blue eyes. A smile that melts you on the inside. That makes you swoon like some stupid romance novel cliché.
But it was more than Blake’s looks—it’s always been more than his handsome, perfect face—it’s the way he feels more familiar than anyone I’ve ever known.
Even after a decade apart, it’s still there. The bond we’d shared.
“This is some damn good chick—” Gillard interrupts himself with a deep cough. His skin quickly reddens as he beats a hard fist to his chest and his eyes tear up.
I blink out of my reverie in time to hurry and grab him a glass of water. Ken and Vargas have half-risen out of their chairs to check on him.
I return a split second later, clutching the cool glass and handing it over. He chugs it whole, making a grateful refreshed noise when he’s done.
“Phew!” he says hoarsely. “That’s better. That was some spicy chicken.”
“Apparently, too spicy for your White ass,” Vargas says.
Gillard takes the joke in stride, barking out a laugh. After half an awkward second, Ken joins him, his laugh unnatural and hollow.
We finish the evening with pound cake and coffee for dessert. Mama regales the captain and lieutenant with the time she accidentally nabbed a bank robber on the street to more howls of their laughter.
“And there I was, minding mine, and he comes running out with bags of cash. So I stuck my foot out, and what d’you know?” she says, shaking her head. “He fell face first into the cement. The cop chasing him caught up and slapped him with cuffs!”
Captain Vargas wipes a tear of mirth from his eye. “I’ll tell you, Stricklin. It sounds like we need to skip your promotion altogether and go straight into hiring Sunny.”
Ken plays along with another humoring smile. “That’s Sunny for you. I knew Korine got her trouble-making personality from somewhere.”
I give no reaction to the subtle slight, appearing the happy and well-behaved housewife I’m supposed to be at these work dinners.
We bid good night, waving off the two senior police officers from our front step like we’ve discussed. Our hands stay in the air ’til they’ve rounded the corner and they’re no longer in view. The second they’re gone, Ken drops his arm from around me.
“Get inside.”
“I’ll get started on clean up.”
I say it as if there’s a choice in the matter. But, somehow, saying it aloud does make me feel better—it offers the illusion of choice, which has become enough.
The door swings shut behind us and makes me flinch. I dart to go into the kitchen. I’ve barely made it to the sink when Ken's voice fills up the quiet house.
“UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE! NOT AGAIN!”
The bottle of dish soap slips out of my hand as I spin around and sprint toward the noise.
My heart’s beating so fast, the urgency so instant, I almost feel dizzy.
No, no, no! Ugh!
It’s just as I imagine. I come to a clumsy stop feet away from the first floor bathroom, where the door hangs open and Mama’s in tears.
“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I tried to make it. I tried to hurry?—”
“You clean this shit up!” Ken barks, rounding on me. He takes a furious step in my direction, his arm twisted toward the bathroom. “You fucking said it wouldn’t happen again—you promised she’d control herself!”
My frustration rips my voice up, making it sound hoarse. “What do you expect, Ken? She’s sick! She can’t help it?—”
His temper clenches on his face and burns in his gaze. I bite my tongue at the fire that’s quickly spreading. It’s a warning to shut up and back down.
“I’ll… I’ll clean it up,” I stammer.
“I’m sorry.” Mama’s clutching the bathroom counter, her soiled pants half down her hips.
“It’s okay, Mama. Here.”
“NO!” Ken yells, and we both jump. “It’s not fucking okay—how many times do I have to tell you?”
“Hey, don’t you raise your voice at my baby!” Mama shouts back.
“Mama, please!”
I hurry to put myself between them, walking her deeper into the bathroom to get her cleaned up.
But Mama’s got a temper too; one that’s always been a force to reckon with when shown. As short, sweet, and plump as she is, she’s not a woman you want to make angry.
Which means I need her to calm down. I need Ken to calm down.
“Your husband’s an ass!” Mama screeches.
I’m trying desperately to clean her up, running a towel under the warm water and wiping her down.
Ken's walked away, though he still overhears. He doesn’t have to answer for me to know this.
I wipe Mama some more, my hands shaking. “Please don’t. Please just be quiet.”
“NO!” Mama protests, pouting. “It’s not nice to yell! Who does he think he is? Kick him out!”
A weary sigh leaves me. “This is his house.”
“Then let’s go! I’ll take you home and cook you that catfish! Where’re my keys?”
…what home? What car keys?
I don’t bother answering her, like I so often do.
Mama’s confused. She’s operating off a checkered memory where bits and pieces are clear while the rest is blacked out.
Once I’ve gotten her clean, I guide her upstairs to her room. She’s already forgotten the argument by the time I’m tucking her into bed.
She yawns. “Tell Ken I said good night.”
I kiss her cheek. “Okay, Mama. Sleep tight.”
I close the door and resign myself to more hell.
Downstairs, I scrub the floor clean ’til it gleams under the ceiling light.
My knees are rubbed raw and my back aches. I lose myself in the monotonous motion of the sponge against the tile, my mind traveling far away into alternate timelines.
Alternate lives I wish I were living.
Blake a constant on my mind.
Ken's shoes clack on the same tiles I’ve scrubbed, without a care about any scuff marks he may make. It’s no trouble for him if I have to go back over the floor again.
These shoes are the first things I see once I’ve taken my eyes off the sponge—his like-new leather dress shoes that he’s worn with his custom-tailored suit. My gaze rakes up his long legs, then travels to his cold blank slate of a face. I’m peering up at him, sweaty and exhausted, appealing for forgiveness.
He stares down at me like he’s a judge, about to issue my sentencing.
“Do I need to tell you where you went wrong tonight? All the ways you fucked up?”
“I’m sorry, Ken. It won’t?—”
“Don’t fucking say it won’t happen again! Don’t fucking insult my intelligence, Kor.”
I put the sponge down and rise up off my knees. “I tried to get the rump roast, Ken. I really did. But I had to drive across town to get to the tailor before they closed?—”
“That sounds a lot like an excuse. You had two hours.”
“Someone rear-ended my car?—”
“You mean your bad driving caused another accident,” he interrupts in a sharp tone. “I let you keep that piece of junk car, and you go and get it totaled. You can say goodbye to that privilege. My kindness only comes back to bite me in the ass. No more of that.”
My brows push together, my heart sinking. “You can’t blame me for somebody else hitting my car, Ken. That’s not fair.”
His eyes flash in warning and I fall silent. “Fair? Let me tell you about fair. I ask for a few simple things, and you can’t even do that right. You’ve got me promising the guys a rump roast then you come with some over-spiced chicken. That sound fair to you?”
“Both the lieutenant and captain said they loved?—”
“I don’t give a fuck what they said. They’re not the ones living under this roof, are they? I am. You are. I work hard to give you everything, and how do you repay me? You fail at every turn. You can’t do shit right. What purpose do you serve, Kor? What use are you? Because from where I’m standing, you’re pretty damn useless most of the time.”
A pang of shame hits me as I shake my head and think up ways I can prove him wrong. Convince him I’m not useless. I can try harder.
“Ken… please… today was just a bad day. I’ll make up for it.”
“You’re damn right you’ll make up for it. In more ways than one,” he rants, drowning me out. “Especially considering your mother shits on herself! Like a fucking toddler that wets the damn bed! It must run in the family. Both mother and daughter are dead weight. Both determined to fuck up every part of my night.”
I struggle through my next breath, urging myself to stay calm. Deferential. “It’s her condition. You were there when the doctor explained she can’t help it. Sometimes she’s going to have accidents before she can make it to the?—”
“Are you saying I’m too stupid to understand her health issues? Is that what you’re implying? I don’t get what the doctor said?”
“No, Ken… of… of course not.”
“Then what were you saying? Be real clear, Kor. Speak very carefully.”
“All I’m saying… I’m just saying she can’t help it. Please give her some grace.”
He barks out a harsh laugh in my face. “Grace?! I’ve given plenty of grace! Do you think anybody else would have the two of you? Anybody else would put up with this kind of shit? Shit … on my floors!”
“You’re not the one that cleans it up!” I snap before I can stop myself. My hands gesture to the floor where the cleaning supplies lay. “I’m the one who takes care of it. I’m the one who looks after her and cleans?—”
His fist slams into me so hard, I’m almost knocked into another timeline. My body sails backward, all footing and balance lost. I don’t remember hitting the ground.
Consciously, I’ve blacked out. I come to seconds later, crumpled on the floor with Ken standing over me.
My ears are ringing. My body feels disjointed and my jaw throbs in unbearable pain. I open my mouth to speak and realize I can’t. I’m spitting up blood. A panicked sound escapes my throat at the gruesome discovery.
“How many fucking times do I have to tell you about mouthing off?” Ken roars, and another pained, terrified cry bubbles out of me. “You get real bold like you’re the one in charge here! Stop the theatrics—don’t expect me to feel sorry for you now!”
I should shut up. I should cooperate.
But I can’t. There’s so much blood. It spills past my lips, and I break into another terrified cry, wondering if he’s broken something this time. If my throbbing jaw’s dislocated or he’s knocked out a tooth.
Cries of pain aren’t what Ken wants to hear. It only pisses him off more.
He draws his foot back and then swings it forward, crushing me hard in my ribs.
“I SAID STOP THE THEATRICS!” he bellows, going for another kick, then another.
With no means of escape, no way to protect myself, nothing to do but cry, I curl myself up in a ball. My arms come up over my dizzy head and I shut my eyes, doing what I always do in these moments.
Praying for its end. Disappearing into my head.
Alternate timelines and realities where this isn’t my life.
When he is done—he’s screamed and kicked and expressed every ounce of rage possible—I’m beyond pain. My body’s gone scarily numb in some effort to protect myself from all the agony being inflicted.
He steps back and observes his work. Blood streaks the once gleaming tiles I’d just finished scrubbing clean from Mama’s accident.
“Clean this shit up. Then I want you ready for me in bed,” he growls, turning away and disappearing down the hall.
Silent tears streak my cheeks as I wobble onto my knees and reach for the sponge with a shaky hand.
I scrub the floors spotless, wiping up the blood I’ve bled all over the place—and when more leaks out, I clean that up too.
My mind takes me far away from the present as I do. Back to those alternate timelines—back to the side of the highway where I’d seen him again.
The one who I once called home.