memorized by the end of the week.”
“And how’s it going?”
“Good,” she said, and flashed a smile.
Sheridan had been an athlete, although not an elite one. Lucy had opted for speech and drama, and had recently been chosen for one of the female leads in
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
.
“My character is
Lucy
Pevensie,” Lucy said, and cued Marybeth.
Marybeth said,
“‘The White Witch? Who’s she?’”
Lucy’s face transformed into someone younger and more agitated, and she said,
“‘She is a perfectly terrible person. She calls herself the Queen of Narnia though she has no right to be queen at all, and all the fauns and dryands and naiads and dwarfs and animals—at least all the good ones—simply hate her. …’”
When she finished, Joe said, “Wow.”
“I always think of Grandma Missy when I say those lines,” Lucy said. “She’s my inspiration.”
Joe laughed and Marybeth said, “Get to bed, Lucy. That was a cheap shot.”
“But a good one,” Joe said, after Lucy had padded down the hallway to her room, pleased with herself for making her dad laugh.
“Don’t encourage her,” Marybeth said.
“Yeah,” sixteen-year-old April said, as she passed her sister in the hallway. “She gets enough of that as it is.”
April was wearing her tough-girl face and a long black T-shirt she slept in that had formerly belonged to Sheridan. Although the shirtwas baggy, it was obvious April filled it out. Joe caught a whiff of wet paint and noted that April had painted her fingernails and toenails black as well.
April had come back after years of being passed from foster family to foster family. She’d seen and done things that couldn’t be unseen or undone. Marybeth and Joe had thought they were on a path to an understanding with April, and then Marybeth had discovered April’s stash of marijuana.
“Good night,” April said, filling a water glass to take to bed with her. Then: “Seven more days of hell.”
Joe and Marybeth exchanged glances, and Marybeth arched her eyebrows.
For a second there
, she seemed to communicate to Joe,
April forgot she was angry with us.
“Maybe,” Marybeth said, “the sentence could be reduced by a day or two for good behavior. But there will have to be some good behavior.”
April turned and flashed a beaming, false smile and batted her lashes. “Good night, my wonderful parents!” she said. “How’s that?”
Joe stifled a smile.
“Not buying it,” Marybeth said. “But close.”
“Why did you paint your nails black?” Joe asked.
April recoiled as if shocked by the stupidity of the question. “Because it matches my mood, of course,” she said.
“Ah,” Joe said.
MARYBETH POURED herself a glass of wine and sat down at the kitchen table while Joe ate his egg sandwich. After April’s bedroom door closed, she said, “It’s been tough, but in a way this grounding might turn out to be a good thing for all of us, if it doesn’t kill me first.”
Joe raised his eyebrows.
“In a weird way, she seems happier.”
“She does?”
“Not judging by what she says, of course. But she seems to have an inner calm I haven’t noticed since she’s been back,” Marybeth said, sipping at her glass. “Maybe it’s because she finally knows where the boundaries are. Sheridan and Lucy just know, but April, I don’t think, has ever been sure. She probably doesn’t even realize it, and she’d
never
admit it. But I think she might be kind of like my horses: she just needs to know the pecking order and where the fences are and then she’ll be more comfortable.”
Joe finished his sandwich and opened the cupboard door over the refrigerator, where he kept his bottle of bourbon.
Marybeth said, “But judging by the way things usually go, something could always happen that screws things up.”
“Are you thinking about Nate?” Joe asked.
She nodded.
“Me, too,” he said, thinking of what Nate had said earlier. Thinking of Nate’s devotion
“And how’s it going?”
“Good,” she said, and flashed a smile.
Sheridan had been an athlete, although not an elite one. Lucy had opted for speech and drama, and had recently been chosen for one of the female leads in
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
.
“My character is
Lucy
Pevensie,” Lucy said, and cued Marybeth.
Marybeth said,
“‘The White Witch? Who’s she?’”
Lucy’s face transformed into someone younger and more agitated, and she said,
“‘She is a perfectly terrible person. She calls herself the Queen of Narnia though she has no right to be queen at all, and all the fauns and dryands and naiads and dwarfs and animals—at least all the good ones—simply hate her. …’”
When she finished, Joe said, “Wow.”
“I always think of Grandma Missy when I say those lines,” Lucy said. “She’s my inspiration.”
Joe laughed and Marybeth said, “Get to bed, Lucy. That was a cheap shot.”
“But a good one,” Joe said, after Lucy had padded down the hallway to her room, pleased with herself for making her dad laugh.
“Don’t encourage her,” Marybeth said.
“Yeah,” sixteen-year-old April said, as she passed her sister in the hallway. “She gets enough of that as it is.”
April was wearing her tough-girl face and a long black T-shirt she slept in that had formerly belonged to Sheridan. Although the shirtwas baggy, it was obvious April filled it out. Joe caught a whiff of wet paint and noted that April had painted her fingernails and toenails black as well.
April had come back after years of being passed from foster family to foster family. She’d seen and done things that couldn’t be unseen or undone. Marybeth and Joe had thought they were on a path to an understanding with April, and then Marybeth had discovered April’s stash of marijuana.
“Good night,” April said, filling a water glass to take to bed with her. Then: “Seven more days of hell.”
Joe and Marybeth exchanged glances, and Marybeth arched her eyebrows.
For a second there
, she seemed to communicate to Joe,
April forgot she was angry with us.
“Maybe,” Marybeth said, “the sentence could be reduced by a day or two for good behavior. But there will have to be some good behavior.”
April turned and flashed a beaming, false smile and batted her lashes. “Good night, my wonderful parents!” she said. “How’s that?”
Joe stifled a smile.
“Not buying it,” Marybeth said. “But close.”
“Why did you paint your nails black?” Joe asked.
April recoiled as if shocked by the stupidity of the question. “Because it matches my mood, of course,” she said.
“Ah,” Joe said.
MARYBETH POURED herself a glass of wine and sat down at the kitchen table while Joe ate his egg sandwich. After April’s bedroom door closed, she said, “It’s been tough, but in a way this grounding might turn out to be a good thing for all of us, if it doesn’t kill me first.”
Joe raised his eyebrows.
“In a weird way, she seems happier.”
“She does?”
“Not judging by what she says, of course. But she seems to have an inner calm I haven’t noticed since she’s been back,” Marybeth said, sipping at her glass. “Maybe it’s because she finally knows where the boundaries are. Sheridan and Lucy just know, but April, I don’t think, has ever been sure. She probably doesn’t even realize it, and she’d
never
admit it. But I think she might be kind of like my horses: she just needs to know the pecking order and where the fences are and then she’ll be more comfortable.”
Joe finished his sandwich and opened the cupboard door over the refrigerator, where he kept his bottle of bourbon.
Marybeth said, “But judging by the way things usually go, something could always happen that screws things up.”
“Are you thinking about Nate?” Joe asked.
She nodded.
“Me, too,” he said, thinking of what Nate had said earlier. Thinking of Nate’s devotion
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