Falling From Grace

Chapter 2

2

T ires came to a harsh stop, spewing dirt and dust as something in the underbelly of the car clunked. No matter the few times Mama had visited, it was nevertheless heartbreaking for me when she left again. Every time was like the first time all over again. And the child in me still clung to the hope that one day she’d walk up to me, open her arms, and say, “I came back for you, baby girl.” But from the overdone makeup and her rum-soaked eyes, I learned to never hold my breath on such a hope. As Mama used to say, “When you start to expect, that’s when the disappointment starts.”

At least she still had her curly blonde hair going for her.

Mama stuck her face out the driver’s side window, smiling as if she had just left for a quick run to the market and returned with a six pack of Pepsi. “Well, look who it is! Is that really you, Grace?” she asked, seemingly surprised. She shut off the radio, stumbling out of the car in a pair of shorty shorts, a low-cut Wildcat T-shirt, and pink sandals that were just as bright as her eyeshadow.

“ Hi, Mama.”

It was hard to miss that Mama’s two greatest assets were supported by not one but two bras. It was those two reasons that had done in my pa. At least that’s what Pa said. She lowered her sunglasses to the tip of her nose, letting her eyes wander to my belly. “You’re bigger than the last time I saw ya. Wasn’t I just gone for a week?”

Whenever I believed I was used to it, someone said or did something that brought me right back to those first months when the baby bump started to show. While the other girls stood at their lockers, applying layers of lip gloss and fluffing up their hair, I was stretching my shirt over my growing belly just a little bit more than the week before.

“Now why you lookin’ at me like I ate the last french fry off your plate? I thought I’d at least git a smile outta ya or a hug. I did come all the way down here, sweet pea. I must’ve been in that dang car for five hours, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“I’m not your sweet pea anymore, Mama.”

“Hey now, you’re always gonna be my little girl. I may not be around a lot, but I’m still your mama, and the Lord is watchin’. And what are you doin’ out in this heat? You got a baby now. You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I was out fixing the awning. Arlene helped me.”

“She still around?”

“Yeah, she’s sweet.”

“You know that’s what I said about your daddy and then you popped out.” Mama glanced around. “And where is your daddy? I don’t see his truck. I’ve got another bone to pick with him.”

“ At work.”

“He got a job now?”

“Mama, why you here?” I asked. “If you’re here for money, then you can go back to wherever you came from and try beggin’ there,” I replied curtly and turned away.

“Well, Lord Almighty! I swear, you’re becoming more and more like your daddy every day. You even got that look he gets in his eye when he says it. Like daddy, like daughter, you know what I mean?”

I stopped and looked back. “I’m serious, Mama. We don’t have anything we can give you. So you can go on home.”

“ Hey now—?”

“ Goodbye, Mama.”

“Hey, I did come all the way down here. You really ain’t gonna invite your mama in? I gotta pee. All that drivin’. We can even catch up on our girl talk. You still make that sweet iced tea of yours with those orange slices? I’d love a glass. Now move, I’m burstin’ here.” She slid past me into the cramped trailer and threw down her bag. She ran down the hall, disappearing into the bathroom just like the times she’d work a night shift.

I looked back one last time but saw no sign of the neighbor or his dog and stepped inside. Mama’s loud groan of relief traveled from the hall to the kitchen. I set out the pitcher of sweet iced tea and took out two glasses from the cupboard. After I searched for any dust particles in either glass, I filled each one to the top. I carefully positioned a yellow umbrella and straw in mine and brought it to the table. Sitting down, I propped my feet on the chair across from me with a sigh. I stared at the yellow umbrella and pushed it around the perimeter of the glass.

Sinking into the chair, my lips sputtered, and I asked my stomach, “This is as fancy as it’s gonna get, isn’t it, baby?”

I looked down the hall at the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink gurgling. There were many things I wanted to ask my mama. Things I couldn’t ask. Where had she gone this time? How long was she gonna stay? But there was that one question that outweighed all combined, left unanswered for the past nine years: Why didn’t she take me with her? Every part of me wanted to scream and cry, but I knew if I threw a fit, she would hop right back into that car. I set the glass on my belly and took a much-needed sip. The crisp but sweet orangey taste cooled my body, and my shoulders dropped, gently hitting the back of the chair.

“Good Golly, I’m sweatin’ like a sinner in church.” Mama came out wiping the smudged mascara underneath her eyes with a wet washcloth and said, “Your Uncle Wayne still datin’ that girl Tina, or did he finally move on from that basket case? He don’t answer my calls no more.”

“He married her, Mama.”

“So he knocked her up.” Mama snorted and opened her bag on the counter, fishing out a cigarette and her lighter. “I gotta tell ya, you’d think with how that man drinks, his swimmers would be slowin’ down by now.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell ya, Mama,” I said, resting my chin in my hand. “He’s your brother.”

After the fourth flick of her thumb, Mama lit the cigarette and took her first long drag. And like each time, she leaned back against the counter and crossed one leg over the other, folding her arms. Just like Pa, Mama wasn’t always like this. There was a time Mama and I would dance together in the kitchen to songs on the radio. Life didn’t seem so bad then. Especially when she made her chocolate chip cookies. Whenever I fell down or scraped a knee, I would sit anxiously at the kitchen table, and Mama would begin tenderly mixing the cookie dough, as if that dough contained a special magic to make me forget about the pain. And each time I bit into that gooey, chocolatey goodness, the pain wasn’t bad anymore. Yet, as good as those times were, they were few and far between.

“So, who was that tall drink of water who moved into old man Lawson’s place? He looked mighty fine, even from behind, and I know he ain’t related to him. You can’t get that from Mr. Lawson.”

“I don’t know. I get the feelin’ he doesn’t talk much.”

“Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t play that jazz music. Your daddy hated that,” Mama said and took another drag. She opened the fridge and stuck her head inside, resting her hand on the frame, holding the cigarette between her fingers. “You got anythin’ worth drinkin’ here that’s not apple juice or sweet tea? I know your daddy’s got to have something.” She grabbed a carton of milk and twisted off the cap, taking a whiff. “How are Gramps and Gammie doin’?” she asked, rummaging through the fridge. “They come by at all?”

“I haven’t talked to Gammie since she said she wouldn’t have a whore in her family, Mama.”

“Well, I guess it’s safe to say Gammie hasn’t changed much then.”

Other than the annual Christmas card my mama used to send in hopes of receiving a few dollars in return, I never did know one thing about them. And I know I never will. Gramps and Gammie didn’t like helping lost causes. Too much work, they said. Even when it came to family.

“I just thought you woulda been halfway across the country by now, sweet pea, instead of stayin’ here living with your daddy.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice, Mama,” I stated without thinking, catching her head turning just a fraction.

For a moment there was a flicker in her eyes that reminded me of that morning after Pa had first hit her, when we were on Highway 77, just ten minutes from home. My five-year-old self watched in terror as Mama swerved into oncoming traffic. But just as quick as it would take for my pa to finish a beer, the thought didn’t last long, and she quickly swung the wheel back. I still find myself wondering what made her change her mind at the last second and if she truly felt that was the only way out. I never held it against her.

In fact, I understood even more now.

Mama looked back at the fridge.

“You know, you lived with him.”

“Now that was different. A shoulder to cry on is a dick to ride on, sweet pea. I gotta say, though, I’m glad your daddy stepped up. Took him long enough. He’s always been a lazy you-know-what. Have you eaten anythin’ yet? Cause from the looks of this fridge, I’m guessin’ you haven’t. There isn’t enough in here to feed a baby. You want a sandwich? I think there’s—oh here it is! That little bugger was hidin’ behind the potato salad.” Mama threw down the tub of food on the counter and stood upright with a can of beer, shutting the fridge with her hip. “Your daddy know your birthday’s comin’ up? I didn’t see a cake in there.”

She snapped the tab off the can and poured it into her iced tea.

“My birthday ain’t for another two weeks, Mama. And I don’t wanna have a cake. I don’t like cake, remember?”

“He could git you somethin’ at least,” she said. “You really still don’t like birthday cake?”

“ No.”

With my chin resting in the palm of my hand, I looked over at our neighbor’s kitchen window that lined up perfectly across from ours. Even though our screen wasn’t the cleanest, I was able to still make out his broad-shouldered shadow passing by. Not even a day here, and he already reminded me of Mr. Lawson. Unfriendly. Unsociable. Someone who preferred spending more of his time outside with nature rather than with people. I imagined that years in the desert had caused him to forget common courtesy and manners. But if he was just an unpleasant man, I could deal with it. I watched as he propped his leg on a chair, holding a bag of something against his knee. It wasn’t his silence that made me curious. It was the wanting to know why. Was he silent because he’s given up on people? I wasn’t sure if I cared either way. But what if he’s just like me?

Lonely.

“Aw, geez, I thought you woulda outgrown that by now, Grace,” Mama exclaimed.

“What? I stare at things that are interesting.”

“Yeah, and curiosity killed the cat. So stop bitin’ that thumb of yours. And sit up straight.”

It was then I realized I had been biting my thumb all along. I quickly lowered my hand and sat upright.

“You remember what I told you, Grace? Stranger danger. I don’t want you spying on the new neighbor, you hear me? You did it with the Parrishes. And yes, I did know about you spying on him and his wife. You even did it with the Johnsons. You were a weird child. Always lookin’ at everybody. So stop it.”

“I think you and Pa have more in common than you think, Mama.”

“You’re not funny, Grace.”

“I thought that was pretty funny.”

“You don’t know the man.”

“He has a dog, so how bad could he be?” I claimed, realizing how ignorant I sounded.

“Grace, don’t be stupid,” Mama declared as she placed the leftover turkey sandwich in front of me as if she were giving a dog its bowl. “Here, you need to eat. Gotta keep you healthy to keep that baby healthy, ya hear?”

“ Thanks, Mama.”

“You’re welcome, sweet pea.” Mama awkwardly patted the back of my shoulder. “I gotta get goin’, though. Gotta hit the road. It was fun catching up on our girl talk. We should do it again.” She flicked the cigarette into the sink and turned on the faucet, fanning the smoke out the window.

Picking at the piece of soggy lettuce, I said, “And where you goin’ this time, Mama? Louisiana? California?”

“Who knows? But that’s the excitin’ thing about life. You never know where you’re gonna end up,” Mama replied with a bright smile and bent down to stick her head back in the fridge, conducting one final sweep to see if she missed a can of beer. “Ah, ha! Jackpot! I knew you were holding out on me, Grace.” She held up Pa’s six-pack that he had bought the night before and shut the door.

Something sickly stirred in my belly, and it wasn’t morning sickness. There was one thing that kept Pa happy, and it was a six-pack waiting for him at home. Mama was no longer around to take the brunt of his anger. Yet, that didn’t stop her from randomly showing up for brief visits over these past nine years. I’d like to think I’ve learned how to handle that side of him. Mama never figured it out. I don’t think she wanted to. Mama always seemed to bring out the worst in him, and all she had to do now was take his favorite thing in the world. And when that happened, I found myself wondering how long Pa could continue to hold back. Would he enjoy seeing me vulnerable, like a raw open wound that was picked at with a jagged fingernail? If he did, I knew it wouldn’t make a difference to lock the bedroom door before he returned home. I slowly pushed myself from the table and supported my lower back with my hand, letting out an exhausted sigh.

“Ooh, goodie. And it’s my favorite, too. Maybe your daddy had a sixth sense I was comin’.”

“I doubt it,” I said as politely as I could muster. “Please put the beer back, will you, Mama?”

“Grace, calm down. It’s just beer. It’s not like you’ll be drinkin’ it. Now you gonna walk me out or not?”

I followed Mama to the car and watched the pack of beer swing back and forth around her hooked fingers. At that moment all I wanted to do was scream and beg her to take me instead. How can something so simple as a six-pack of beer make a person spiral? Even if I did tell her everything, I had nothing on my body to prove it. Any proof I had was intangible. She suddenly halted in her tracks and pulled back her shoulders, preening like a prairie dog. I looked and saw the new neighbor walking to his truck. Mama began her predictable head to toe sweep, assessing his impressively tall and muscular figure.

“My, my, it seems like things are really gittin’ interesting around here, huh?” she said not so discreetly, nudging my shoulder as she allowed her eyes to wander up his strong, sweaty arms.

“ Mama—?”

“Hey, you!” Mama called out, and the neighbor halted. “Yeah, you, I’m talking to you.”

“Mama,” I pleaded.

She smacked the side of my arm. “Oh, hush, Grace. It’s called being neighborly.”

He shut the tailgate and picked up the last box, stopping in his tracks once again at her next words.

“Ain’t never seen you around here before. You local? I’m Miss Callaway, but you can call me Leanne.” Mama smiled, twirling her finger around one of her tight blonde curls. I glanced between them, unsure of what to say. He was as quiet and dull as Ray was the day he watched old Mr. Taylor put up that BUSH sign in his front yard. And from the looks of it, I knew he’d never like my mama just as I knew Ray would never like Mr. Taylor after that.

“Hey, you deaf?”

“ Mama.”

She folded her arms, dropping one hip. “I asked you a question. It’s called common courtesy. Ever heard of it, gimp?”

“Mama!” I exclaimed.

Without a word, he walked away, and Mama threw her arms out in disbelief as the screen door shut behind him.

“What a prick. Doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it,” she scoffed and climbed into the car. “Your daddy didn’t know it, either. No man does.” She turned her head just at the right angle for the sun to catch the scar at the tail end of her brow, a constant reminder of her own past with Pa.

If I stayed much longer, I was sure I’d become a canvas of bruises just like Mama had been.

The ignition sputtered.

“Well, say hi to your daddy for me, sweet pea. You should feel lucky he’s helping you out.”

There were many things I wanted to say at that moment, but I knew how it would make her feel. Like the searing heat of summer, no matter how well I thought I knew my mama, her words never ceased to burn me. I often asked myself which one was worse, but I knew I’d rather take the burn of the sun than have the little girl in me break a bit more. Like with my pa, I had to stop making wishes that weren’t ever gonna come true. My mama had done the best she could with what little she knew. But there were some days I wished we didn’t share the same blood. And I questioned that bond. A bond that should never be questioned between a mama and her child. Mama knew it too, and sometimes I believed she felt the same way about me. The day I was born with brown hair and big brown eyes, just like my pa’s, I had become a daily reminder of her biggest regret from her junior year of high school.

“Okay, Mama. Drive safe.”

“And you remember what I told you? They’re all just leeches sucking us dry, and when they’re done, they just move onto the next pretty thing. All just waitin?–”

“ Mama.”

“I’m serious, Grace. It’s hard to say no when God makes ‘em like that. And remember. No spying.”

“I know, Mama.”

“Yeah, you say that. But you still go ahead and do it. And when I come back here, you best have a name picked out for that baby. Alright, sweet pea?”

Mama waved and sped up the dirt road, blasting the radio at full volume. Every part of my body wanted to run after her, crying out for her to stop. But I knew she wouldn’t hear me, not just because of the radio, but because she would choose not to. The day she left, the love for me went with her, too. Turning away, I stepped back into the trailer and shut the door. After closing the blinds and grabbing my iced tea, I lowered myself onto the rocking chair that Uncle Wayne had unexpectedly given me. I propped my feet on the ottoman and tilted my head back, allowing my eyes to fall over to the fridge.

It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. The worst was when he’s good to me, when he occasionally brought me a hamburger or simply smiled at me in the morning. Those good days almost made up for the bad ones. On good days, I didn’t hear that little voice in my head, screaming at me to get out. Maybe I didn’t want to. But on the bad days, I wondered what was wrong with me.

T

The whir of the swamp cooler and the waning light of day sliding down the wall had lulled me into a deep sleep until a fleeting bright flash hit my face, and I opened my eyes, rubbing the crusts from them. A truck’s engine settled, and I slowly sat upright, stretching out my achy legs. It wasn’t until I heard the familiar muffled voice of Jorge Hernandez singing “La Puerta Negra” that I knew who it was. And in the time it took for me to stand, Pa stepped inside and yelled a slurred goodbye to Uncle Wayne. I searched for any sign of a Minit Mart bag in either of Pa’s hands but found none. Strands of his shaggy brown hair stuck to his forehead and specks of dirt sat across his cheeks. My nose scrunched from the foul smell of burnt popcorn and the reek of alcohol and sweat. Pa kicked the door shut with the sole of his boot and took a swig of beer, still shuffling his feet side to side.

“ Hey Pa—?”

He continued to sing loudly, and spread his arms wide. Unlike my mama and me, Pa had to sing and dance at the same time. He could never just pick one. “ Baila conmigo! ” he called to me, setting his beer on the counter.

“ Pa—?”

He grabbed my hand, swung me in a circle, and shimmied his way to the kitchen, still singing. Other than a six pack of beer, it seemed like dancing and singing were the two things in this world that he still loved doing.

“We got anythin’ to eat? I’m starvin’.”

“I made some sandwiches and some tomato soup. It should be warm still. I left the lid on.”

“That’s it, huh?”

“It was all we had left, Pa. The potato salad wasn’t any good.”

He nodded and ripped off a piece of paper towel.

“How was your day?” I asked, carefully choosing my words to not disrupt his good mood.

He replied with a shrug and patted the now wet towel on the back of his red and sweaty neck. “Oh, you know. Just one place to the next. Uncle Wayne says hi by the way. He’s happy you’re likin’ that chair he gave you. It helped out with his last wife when she was pregnant.” Pa balled up the towel and waved it around before chucking it at the trashcan only to watch it bounce off the rim. “Dagnabbit,” he said as he let out an exhausted groan and flung his head back. “I can never throw with my right. I swear.”

I hesitated, fighting off the urge to ask if he had had the chance to stop and buy what I needed. “And how is Uncle Wayne?” I asked, hoping to appear sincere, but because of the expression on Pa’s face, I didn’t hold my breath.

“He’s fine, fine as any man could be with a pretty gal on his arm.”

“ And Tina?”

He lifted a brow and looked over at me with a suspicious glint in his eyes. “Why you askin’ so many questions about them?”

“I don’t know.” I cleared my throat. “I’m guessin’ Uncle Wayne is picking you up today?”

“You mean tomorrow.”

“Pa, it’s after midnight.”

He looked up at the green flickering numbers on the microwave and clicked his tongue. “Well, look at that.”

“You could’ve just stayed at Uncle Wayne’s,” I reminded him as calmly as I could, carefully bending down to pick up the wet piece of towel and throwing it in the trash. “I bet he would’ve let you sleep on the couch again.”

Pa snorted, saying, “While he fucks Tina in the other room? Yeah, no thanks. Once was enough for me.”

“Don’t you know how dangerous it is to drink and drive? You know on average one person is injured every six minutes in a—?”

Pa threw his head back in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, followed by a spasm of wheezing. He gasped for breath, clutching his chest as he tried to recenter. After spitting into the sink and wiping his mouth, he spoke with a strained voice. “Y-you’re funny, sweetie. Not even a year ago, you were out there in the desert drinkin’ with that boy of yours. And look what that got ya,” he said, gesturing to my belly.

I bit the tip of my tongue, knowing there wasn’t anything I could say to change the truth in his words.

“You’re a hoot, you know that? Just like your ma. Oh, God. My sides hurt. Whoo!”

“Pa, I’m serious.”

“Uh-huh.” He lifted the lid off the pot of soup and stuck his pointer finger inside, swirling it around. Pa sucked off the layer of soup and popped out his finger, saying, “You want a bowl?”

“ Pa—?”

“Oh stop your worryin’. Nothin’ bad’s gonna happen to me. Cause if it did, you’d be alone. And you don’t like to be alone. You wouldn’t even know what to do if I left. You don’t even know how to change a tire or how to take care of yourself, Grace. Let alone a baby.” Pa bent down, sticking his head inside the fridge. “Hey, you sure you don’t want a bowl? It’s good.”

He was right.

Yet there was something about the way he always said it that crawled under my skin. As if I’d never be capable of surviving without him. I pulled my shoulders back and stood straighter, like I had something to prove. His head tilted, like a dog trying to make sense of something. It was then I knew he had seen the empty space in the back of the fridge. He sucked the excess tomato soup off his finger. An audible “pop” sound pricked my ears. Every following second passed in silence, suffocating me with the uncertainty of what he would do next. I waited for the shivers up my spine, but they never came.

“So, your ma was here. How’d she look?”

“She’s still blonde.”

“I thought that bitch would be dead by now, but I guess she’s not.” Pa snorted and shook his head, violently swinging the door shut, placing both hands on his sides. He looked around for something to smash, seizing the half bottle of beer from the counter, launching it at the wall. “She’s like a fucking cockroach! Mooches off me! Just like you! All you fucking women are the same!”

“I’m sorry, Pa.”

“You bet your sweet ass you’re sorry.”

“I am,” I replied, immediately regretting my tone with his sudden silence.

“You think I believe you? You let her come in here and let her do what she wants. You don’t do nothin’. You never do. You just let it happen.” He sneered, and his glazed but furious eyes pierced into mine. When did it happen—when did I become his dog? Just how much did I have to endure just for the promise of food and shelter? If it was just my stomach to feed, I’d already have left.

“I’m sorry, Pa.”

He shook his head, about to turn away, leaving me to hope that he would just drop it. “Pa—?”

“You’re a dirty liar just like your fucking mother!” he shouted, fury contorting his face until he was almost unrecognizable. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown your sorry ass out! I stepped up with your mama, and now you, because that’s what my father taught me. I’m the problem solver, you got that? Without me, you’d be on the side of the road. You got it? And you know what, you should be grateful. You should be down on your fucking knees thanking me when I walk in that fucking goddamn door everyday!”

As his booming voice ripped through my ears, a shot of spit landed on my cheek, and I wondered if my face looked anything like Mama’s when she stood here facing him in these moments. All I saw was a man angry at the world who couldn’t ever be the pa I remembered when I was a child. It broke something in me that I never knew existed. Tears welled. His harsh words burned any good memory I had of him into ash, never to be mended or taped together for the millionth time. The Johnsons’ porch light flipped on, causing Pa to go quiet. And for a split second, half of me expected he would just hit me right here and now. He twisted his body over the counter and looked out the window, shutting the curtain closed with a forceful swing of his arm.

“Guess who’s on her way? Damn that bitch and her hearin’.” Pa stormed down the hall towards his room, muttering, “Can’t ever mind her own damn business. Always gotta stick her nose in places where it don’t belong.” The sound of a dog urgently barking only added further to his frustration. “Just perfect! I bet it’s that new neighbor’s!”

Before I could speak, there was a knock.

“Get rid of her, will ya? And tell that dog to shut up! Some people got work in the mornin’!”

Patting my cheeks, I wiped any tears that had escaped. Something I had seen my mama do countless times before. And just like it was for her, it was harder for me each time. When I opened the door, Arlene stopped pacing back and forth and regarded me with that look . A look she once showed my mama. Even down to her very hand clutching the collar of her pink robe. And the mix of hairspray and night cream wafting up my nose. Everything was the same. But now I wasn’t hiding behind my mama’s leg. I was my mama now. Arlene exhaled and lowered her hand from her chest.

“Sorry if we woke you up again, Arlene.”

“Never mind that. You okay, sweetie? If you wanna, I could make up the couch for you.”

“No, I’m okay, Arlene.”

“You tellin’ me the truth now, Grace?”

I nodded.

She peeked past my shoulder, scouring the inside for anything out of the ordinary or out of place. Her eyes then fell upon the shattered bottle behind me on the kitchen floor and regarded me knowingly. I glanced at the smashed bottle near the kitchen table. Neither of us spoke for a long drawn-out minute.

“Alright, well, if you need anythin,’ just holler.” Arlene took one last look before leaving.

“ Night, Arlene.”

“ Night, sweetie.”

I shut the door, standing in the middle of the kitchen. The thought of scrubbing the sticky layer of cheap beer off the linoleum floor made my knees ache. Quietly, I made my way to the bedroom and peeked in through the door. My eyes followed the sole of pa’s boot hanging off the bed with his upper body splayed on the duvet. I cautiously sat beside him on the edge of the bed. A suffocating stillness hung in the air as I searched for the right words that would keep me and my baby safe just a little bit longer. I watched the back of his head until I had enough courage to speak. That head I used to hold onto when I would be on his shoulders and point at the blanket of stars. Now it’s just something I wanted to shoot open to find the answers as to why he does the things he does. But the child in me wanted to beg him to love me like he used to. To hold me and tell me he cared and that everything would be okay.

That I was worth it.

“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, remembering Mama’s words.

His head turned just a fraction, but the rest of him stayed still. I looked at him and found his dark, lifeless eyes staring back at me. Tendrils of panic curled in my stomach, wondering if this would be the moment.

Would he finally hit me?

“I didn’t ask you to do all this for me … maybe I do sometimes take you for granted. I’m sorry.”

Being pricked with those shards of glass in the kitchen would be a far better punishment than saying these words to please him. I never knew saying a word could feel so disgusting. Like taking a drink of sour milk. It’s what Mama had to do to see with both eyes the next day and not wear a sweater in ninety-degree weather. A man like Pa always needed to have the last word.

He slowly sat up and swung his legs off the bed, running a hand through his messy hair. His chest raised high and deflated as he exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry, too. I’ve just had a long day, Grace. I’m tired all the time. I can’t remember the last time I had nine hours of sleep.” The vulnerability in his voice struck a chord in my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “ I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know what made me do it, but I placed my hand on his cheek and wiped the one tear that had fallen. Perhaps it’s because whenever he’s regretful, he reminds of the pa I used to love. Whenever he frowned, I wanted nothing more than to hug him until he smiled. Yet the absolute worst part wasn’t the helplessness or the despair that would set in when he threatened to leave. It wasn’t questioning my sanity every day when he would look at me a certain way or smile at me like he used to. It wasn’t the exhaustion I saw in my young eyes when I caught my reflection in the mirror. It was his ignorance. His refusal to acknowledge what he’d done to my mama. Even though I lay here beside him, it wasn’t the pa I knew when I was a child. Now he’s just a man who holds my fate and freedom in his hands and could decide at any moment to squeeze me a bit tighter. It would be easy. Boom and lights out. And he knows it.

He’s always known it.