Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5), стр. 33

“We tried calling and texting you, but you didn’t answer.”

My teeth clenched.  I’d peeked at my phone last night multiple times but hadn’t once glanced at it this morning.  Stupid.  Not even at one of the few red lights in town.  Why the hell hadn’t I even thought to check?  “When did you call?”  Not that it mattered.

“A couple of hours ago.”

“So what happened?”

“Like usual, we took the kids to church this morning.  Sarah was in Sunday School class, and your mother and I were in Bible study.  It wasn’t long before her teacher came to get us.  Apparently, she was pretty defiant.”

“Defiant?”

“Yes.  Right in the middle of class, she asked why anybody believed in God.”  No matter how I personally felt about religion, I tried to be neutral around my kids—so, when my dad said, that, my eyes grew wide.  “Asked how—if there was a God—he could let things happen to innocent people.  The teacher tried to talk calmly with her about it, but apparently Sarah started ripping up the worksheet she gave her and said some pretty bad things.”

I moved my hand to my eyes.  “Dear God.”

“Exactly.”  My father, turning toward the grill, began flipping steaks.

“What did she say?”

The way my dad paused made my gut clench in agony.  “‘There’s no fucking God, and you people are fucking stupid to believe it’.”

For a moment, I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth.  “You’ve got to be kidding.  Sarah never says anything, let alone curses.”

“Where do you think she’s learned this stuff, Randi?”

I knew Sarah had heard me cuss on more than one occasion, but I’d never said anything akin to what my father alleged my daughter had said.  “Not from me.”

“Are you sure?”

I fought the anger beginning to swell in my chest, battled against how I was beginning to feel defensive.  “Dad, I swear.  I mean, the bad words, sure.  But…she’s never said anything like that at home.”  We stood in silence for a bit, the only sound coming from the grill as droplets of grease sizzled while they fell from the steaks.  I shifted to my other leg, drawing in a deep breath.  “So what happened after that?”

“We got Devon and left.  What else could we do?  And I have no doubt the minister will be calling later.”

“Dad, I’m so sorry.  She hasn’t said anything like this before.  Ever.”

“But you don’t take your kids to church regularly.  Maybe if you did, she wouldn’t have said something like that.”

“Did mom tell you what’s been going on with her?”

“She told me what you’d told her—that you’re taking her to a counselor.  She set a fire at school last week?”

“Yeah, dad.  Something’s going on with her.  I have no idea what.  And I’m obviously not equipped to handle it on my own.  She won’t talk to me.  So the psychologist is going to see what she can find out—she thinks something serious is going on.”

“That’s what your mother said.”  My father put the lid down on the grill, adjusting the knobs.  “Do you suppose that your lifestyle has anything to do with it?”

Suddenly, my back and shoulders tensed up.  “What do you mean?”

“Randi, why do you make me say it?”  As he sighed, I could practically feel the waves of disappointment coming off him.  “I can smell old alcohol on you.  You obviously went out drinking last night, and your mother said you were with a male friend.  You didn’t answer your phone when we called, so I can only imagine what you were doing.  Sarah has no father figure, and her mother is not setting the best example for her right now, is, in fact, continuing down the path she started when she left my house.  Don’t you know you influence her?  That how you behave could be part of the problem?”

“No, dad, I don’t think so.”  But maybe it did.  My knee-jerk reaction was due to feeling defensive, but could I have been the entire problem?  “But it doesn’t matter anyway.  Last night was kind of a last hurrah.”

“Hmm.”  After he lifted the grill lid again, he used the tongs to poke at one of the steaks.  “Hand me that platter there, would you?”

I grabbed the ceramic dish from the picnic table and handed it to my dad.  Jesus Christ.  Even at my age, I found my father intimidating—and why did I have such an issue dealing with him thinking badly of me?  It wasn’t like this was the first time.  But here I was, the black sheep, having fallen short once again.  “Have you given serious thought to living with us?  Your mother said she’s suggested it to you.”

“Yes, I have.”

“And?”

I fought to keep myself from squirming or sighing or showing any signs of discomfort—hell, from letting on to anything I was actually thinking.  I didn’t want to give my father any more fodder.  “Maybe.  I don’t know.”

“If you lived with us, you wouldn’t have to work, and we could watch the kids for you.  Your mother could take them to and from school.  You could just focus on your education and your children.  Doesn’t that sound like a good plan?”

On paper?  “Sure.”

My father was no dummy, though, and he sensed my hesitation.  “But?”

I wasn’t going to admit that I hated the idea of being beholden to my parents, of relying on them any more than I already did—and, if I said anything like that, he wouldn’t understand.  So I chose one of the lesser truths to share.  “You guys would spoil the kids.”

“Is there anything wrong with that?  We didn’t spoil you and your sister and look at how things have turned out for you.”

Low fucking blow.  “Oh, come on, dad.”  Maybe I’d have to venture into my other reasons.  “I like my independence.”

As my words settled, dad finally placed a steak on the platter.  “Your independence.  What kind of independence do you really have, Randi?  You’re always calling your mother and me