said, I’m sorry.” He came closer and sat on the edge of the sofa, inviting me to sit next to him.
I shook my head and wrapped the afghan tighter around myself. “This is not acceptable,” I said and breathed deeply. “Drunkenness is not okay, especially when it's my daughter. She's sixteen, Rubin. Where I come from that's considered underage.”
“I feel like a total fool. She said she was only drinking soda.” He had a hangdog look.
“Soda? Rubin, she puked her guts out in there. Anyway, since when will a teenager admit she's drinking? The legal age is still twenty-one.” I stood there and shivered, unable to say more.
More retching sounds coming from the bathroom reinforced my point.
Rubin shook his head. “Don’t you think she's been punished enough?”
“What would you know about it? You don’t even have kids.”
“Look, she's making choices. She may not be legal, but she's old enough to make decisions.”
“That's the point,” I said, aware that my voice sounded shrill. “It's my priority to help her make good choices. So maybe you were right. Move away and my job gets easier.”
Rubin froze, as if I’d slapped him. “Fine.” He stood up and yanked at the screen door before turning back to me. “You think you wrote the book on living out here? I’ll tell you something, lady. Linc Jackson owns this town, and we’re the outsiders. Good luck making it past December without a friend or two.” He kept his hand on the door.
The fires of regret inched up my cheeks. Since when was I the perfect parent? Here was someone who had the moral fiber to come over and apologize. Wasn’t that worth anything?
“I didn’t mean that … about the moving,” I said and extended a hand. “I’m just trying to raise my kids right.”
After a few moments he smiled but didn’t accept the handshake offer. “I know I don’t have kids to worry about,” he said softly. “I should have watched them more closely. Really, I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”
I could feel my indignation melting, but I resolved to stay clearheaded. He opened the screen again.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, the words slamming me back into reality. Jim looked up from his pig bed. I nodded, and Rubin left.
Aunt Lutie came out from her room then. Her thin knee-length gown fluttered, silhouetting her spare frame. “Everything okay out here?” she asked, looking back toward the bedrooms.
“No, but that's all right.”
“Well, you know where to find me if you need to talk.”
“I just need some sleep.” I exaggerated a yawn.
“Honey, you know your daddy wanted to be here for you, don’t you?” Her words poked a hole right through my soul.
I couldn’t fight the waver in my voice. “Aunt Lutie, I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Well, he did. Right up until the day the good Lord took him, he was calling your name. He was too ashamed to find you, but I know he loved you.”
“Really?”
“As the Lord is my witness.” She sat down on the sofa beside me and put her arms around me. She smelled faintly of talcum powder.
I had too many questions. Did I have brothers or sisters? Had he tried to find me? Did he have my picture? “I want to know everything, Aunt Lutie.”
She smiled that closemouthed smile, got up and went down the hall. She brought out the cardboard shoebox—the corners of its lid flayed out like wings—and set it next to me.I watched her rummage through an odd assortment of papers ad dog-eared photos, until she brought out one snapshot of a toddler standing on a wicker chair.
“Your daddy carried this with him everywhere he went,” she said softly, handing me the picture.
I stared at myself, only recognizing a similar smile and the same way I still squinted my eyes when I looked into sunlight. I held it, but I didn’t cry at first.
Lutie scrabbled through the contents of the box. “There was something else,” she said. She shook her head. “I can’t imagine where it's run off
I shook my head and wrapped the afghan tighter around myself. “This is not acceptable,” I said and breathed deeply. “Drunkenness is not okay, especially when it's my daughter. She's sixteen, Rubin. Where I come from that's considered underage.”
“I feel like a total fool. She said she was only drinking soda.” He had a hangdog look.
“Soda? Rubin, she puked her guts out in there. Anyway, since when will a teenager admit she's drinking? The legal age is still twenty-one.” I stood there and shivered, unable to say more.
More retching sounds coming from the bathroom reinforced my point.
Rubin shook his head. “Don’t you think she's been punished enough?”
“What would you know about it? You don’t even have kids.”
“Look, she's making choices. She may not be legal, but she's old enough to make decisions.”
“That's the point,” I said, aware that my voice sounded shrill. “It's my priority to help her make good choices. So maybe you were right. Move away and my job gets easier.”
Rubin froze, as if I’d slapped him. “Fine.” He stood up and yanked at the screen door before turning back to me. “You think you wrote the book on living out here? I’ll tell you something, lady. Linc Jackson owns this town, and we’re the outsiders. Good luck making it past December without a friend or two.” He kept his hand on the door.
The fires of regret inched up my cheeks. Since when was I the perfect parent? Here was someone who had the moral fiber to come over and apologize. Wasn’t that worth anything?
“I didn’t mean that … about the moving,” I said and extended a hand. “I’m just trying to raise my kids right.”
After a few moments he smiled but didn’t accept the handshake offer. “I know I don’t have kids to worry about,” he said softly. “I should have watched them more closely. Really, I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”
I could feel my indignation melting, but I resolved to stay clearheaded. He opened the screen again.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, the words slamming me back into reality. Jim looked up from his pig bed. I nodded, and Rubin left.
Aunt Lutie came out from her room then. Her thin knee-length gown fluttered, silhouetting her spare frame. “Everything okay out here?” she asked, looking back toward the bedrooms.
“No, but that's all right.”
“Well, you know where to find me if you need to talk.”
“I just need some sleep.” I exaggerated a yawn.
“Honey, you know your daddy wanted to be here for you, don’t you?” Her words poked a hole right through my soul.
I couldn’t fight the waver in my voice. “Aunt Lutie, I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Well, he did. Right up until the day the good Lord took him, he was calling your name. He was too ashamed to find you, but I know he loved you.”
“Really?”
“As the Lord is my witness.” She sat down on the sofa beside me and put her arms around me. She smelled faintly of talcum powder.
I had too many questions. Did I have brothers or sisters? Had he tried to find me? Did he have my picture? “I want to know everything, Aunt Lutie.”
She smiled that closemouthed smile, got up and went down the hall. She brought out the cardboard shoebox—the corners of its lid flayed out like wings—and set it next to me.I watched her rummage through an odd assortment of papers ad dog-eared photos, until she brought out one snapshot of a toddler standing on a wicker chair.
“Your daddy carried this with him everywhere he went,” she said softly, handing me the picture.
I stared at myself, only recognizing a similar smile and the same way I still squinted my eyes when I looked into sunlight. I held it, but I didn’t cry at first.
Lutie scrabbled through the contents of the box. “There was something else,” she said. She shook her head. “I can’t imagine where it's run off
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