I spied the chip lying at the foot of the stairs, nestled up against the post. “Finally.” Grabbing the wood glue from the garage, I squeezed a tiny bit onto the broken piece and pressed it into the frame.
Taking a step back, I closed my eyes and re-opened them. I couldn’t see the chip. Well, if I didn’t look hard for it. Hopefully, Mom would never notice.
A faint thumping noise came from the front of the house. Dwayne from three doors down must have the bass cranked up on his car stereo again. He kept the volume so loud when he drove down the street the windows on the houses shook. Mr. Hernandez would run out of the house at the first thump and yell at Dwayne to turn the music down. I don’t think he realized Dwayne couldn’t hear him.
I strode into the kitchen. All the panicking had made me thirsty.
As I poured some water, the thumping noise continued, getting louder with each passing moment. Between each thump came a swish. Thump ... swish ... thump ... swish.
Wait. Swishing? Dwayne’s music never swished. The thumps came closer together.
The washing machine.
I dashed to the garage and saw it shimmying an inch at a time, getting further from the wall. I grabbed the edge and pushed, feet sliding against the floor. But it didn’t move an inch backward. After a huge buck, the water hose broke loose from the washer.
“Holy crap.”
The hose waved through the air spewing water full force from the end. The stream hit me in the face and I spluttered when the water went up my nose and I couldn’t breathe. I stepped back and coughed. My eyes stung as I brushed the water off my face.
The washer clicked and changed from spin to rinse cycle, and the shimmying stopped. Unfortunately, it was wedged at an angle between the dryer and the freezer so I couldn’t get behind it to turn off the water.
I ducked the swirling stream and ran to the washer. I pushed the knob in then leaped on top of the washer and lunged for the water valve. Leaning across the gap, I was just able to grip it.
I twisted for all I was worth, but the valve wouldn’t budge. The hose got me again, and my knees slid toward the edge as I gasped and nearly slipped off.
“Power beyond my wildest imaginings, my butt.” Madame Vadoma was soooo wrong. I couldn’t even turn off a stupid faucet.
What if I couldn’t stop the water from flooding the garage? If Mom came home before I got it all cleaned up, I’d be grounded for life.
Chapter Five - Dealing With the Aftermath
C’mon Angela, you can do this. Seizing the valve with both hands, I wrenched it as hard as I could and it finally moved. The water pressure lessened. I kept twisting until the water pressure slowed to a trickle, then stopped.
Soaked from head to toe, I turned and sat on the washer. Water dripped from my bangs into my eyes as I surveyed the damage. Except for the water covering the garage floor, nothing else seemed affected.
I hopped off the washer and grabbed Mom’s rag box. “How’d this miss getting drenched?” Back on my hands and knees, I mopped up the excess water. Another load of laundry I’d have to do.
This wouldn’t have happened if Mom had been home. I wouldn’t have knocked the picture off, and she’d have stopped the washer before the hose spewed water everywhere. She probably would have checked to make sure I hadn’t overloaded the washer to begin with.
Mom would have been home if she and Dad weren’t divorced.
Their divorce ruined my life.
After wrestling with the hose to get it back on the washer, and moving things around inside, I started it again. I held my breath hoping the hose would stay on as the water filled the tub. When it began to swish, I left.
I stopped at the door. If I dripped water through the house, I’d have another mess to clean up. Stripping, I tossed my wet clothes by the washer, wrapped a dry towel from the rag box around me, and fled to the stairs leaving no sign of the disaster except damp footsteps on the tile.
Showered, changed, and wet clothes in the wash, I made it back to the family room and plopped on the couch to watch TV. I listened as car after car passed on the street, and one finally pulled into the drive. I glanced at the clock. Almost eight o’clock, again.
The door swung open and Mom entered, her arms full of bags. “Hey, Ange. A little help?”
I grabbed a bag before it fell from her arms and took it to the kitchen.
Once she put the sacks on the counter, she hugged me. “How was your day, sweetie?”
I shrugged. “It was okay.” Definitely not the time to mention the washer fiasco and I would never talk about the picture. I scuffed my toe against the floor. “It would have been better if you’d been with me.”
Mom stroked my hair and grimaced. “I’m sorry, hon.”
Disappointed, I scowled. “But you were supposed to go with me to the school carnival.” We never had time to do anything together any more. Add another way the divorce ruined my life.
She laughed. “No one wants to go with their mom ...” Her eyes met mine and the smile died on her lips. “Oh, honey. Please don’t take it so hard. I’ll make it up to you.”
Yeah, right. How could she make it up to me when she was never home to begin with? I stalked away and flopped on the plush cinnamon love seat. I picked at the rope coming through on the corners.
“Angela, can I get you to help me put the groceries away, please?”
I groaned.
Her hand flew to her hip. “Angela, I’m tired. I don’t have the strength or energy to deal with attitude tonight.”
“F-i-i-i-i-ne.” I dragged myself from the couch and stomped to the kitchen.
Neither of us said a word as I grabbed a bag, pulled a package of spaghetti out, and set it on the counter. I rubbed the tile surface with the tips of my fingers. I’d shopped with Dad for the tile because he wanted to surprise Mom with a new countertop. He had been so excited when he found the white tile with rainbow iridescent swirls because he knew Mom would be ecstatic.
Mom plugged the kettle in for cocoa.
Did she remember how hard he’d worked to install the counter for her? She hadn’t even complained about the mess he’d made with the grout.
Mom held up a can of Moos Chocolate Whipped Cream. “Do you want whipped cream on top?”
I shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
Mom bit her lip.
I put the last box in the pantry as the water boiled. Mom poured the water on the cocoa mix and the chocolaty aroma filled the kitchen. I danced around shaking the whipped cream, while Mom stirred and added a touch of milk.
She tapped the spoon on the rim. “Okay, spray me.”
I pointed the nozzle at her and cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”
“No.” Her hands flew up in front of her. “Just hit the cocoa.”
I put big, fluffy clouds of whipped cream on each cup, then put the end in my mouth and gave a squirt.
“Angela! How many times have I told you about putting the nozzle in your mouth?”
I grinned and a dollop of whipped cream squeezed out the corner. I wiped it with my thumb and sucked it off. “I stopped counting.”
“Oh Angela, don’t be silly. Why don’t you make some popcorn?”
Mom was going all out to make up for not being able to go to the carnival with me. I threw a popcorn bag into the microwave and set the timer. I loved the popping sound when the kernels burst. And there was nothing like the smell of fresh popcorn. When the popping finished, I poured the bag into two bowls and set them on the table.
I carried my cup over. Before setting it down, I flicked my tongue across the top and let the chocolaty cream melt in my mouth.
Mom sat and laced her fingers around her cup. “Angela, we need to talk about how you’re dealing with the divorce.”
Not again. Mentally I groaned, but didn’t make the mistake of letting it out.
When I didn’t say anything, Mom sighed. “You’ve had to make some big adjustments because I’m working so many hours. And it may feel like it’s al
ways going to be this way, but it won’t be.” She waited for me to speak.
I stirred the whipped cream into the cocoa, my lips pressed tightly together.
She took a sip, and a brown speck covered the tip of her nose. “You know I’m searching for a better job, with more pay and fewer hours, but right now, this is what I have.”
The whipped cream on her nose made mine tickle. “Uh, Mom? You might want to ...” I brushed my nose.
She pinched the tip of her nose, looked at her fingers, and laughed. “Thank you.” She scrubbed her nose with a napkin.
“If you need to talk to a counselor about your feelings, your dad and I will make sure you get the help you need.”
I grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Mom, I’m fine. I don’t need to talk to anyone.”
Mom stared at me for a long moment, concern wrinkling her brow. “Well, if you’re sure. Anytime you change your mind, you let me know.” She placed some popcorn on her napkin. “So tell me all about the carnival and then I want to see your new clothes.”
We spent the rest of the night chatting like old times and I modeled my new clothes.
As Mom left my room, she paused at the door and leaned against the jamb. “I’ve missed this so much, Angela. I like spending time with you.” Her fingers trailed the door, lingering as she left.
Chapter Six - Disappointment
Sunlight streamed through the curtains and hit my eyes. Traces of my dreams hung around a moment before breaking up and disappearing like smoke. Except for being about a black cat with glowing eyes, I couldn’t remember anything. I laughed. The cat from last night had invaded my dreams. I pulled my comforter higher to block the light. But it was no use. Not able to go back to sleep, I stretched and rolled to look at the clock.
Noon? But I never slept in.
My stomach clenched. Something must be wrong. Dad should have been here to pick me up already.
It’s a good thing I had done all my chores because Mom wouldn’t let me go if they weren’t. If I wasn’t ready to go, it’d be one more thing for them to fight about.
Yanking my comforter over the pillow, I smoothed out the lumps. I shoved my feet in my slippers and hurried to the bathroom.
Showered, changed, and hair curling from the steam, I ran down the stairs. Mom sat at the kitchen table with papers strewn all over.
Her eyes looked tired above her smile. “I wondered how long you’d sleep.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep so late.” My stomach growled. I’d have to eat before I did anything. “When is Dad supposed to be here?” I needed to know how fast I had to move.
The hurt in Mom’s eyes said it all. “Angela.”
“Don’t.” He wasn’t coming, but I didn’t want to hear her say it. No wonder she let me sleep in.
I tore up the stairs, leaped onto the bed, and buried my head in the pillow.
Not even a minute later, I heard Mom’s footsteps along the hall. “Honey.”
“Leave me alone.” I didn’t want to hear whatever lame excuse Dad had given her for not wanting to spend time with me.
She tapped on the door before opening it.
Lifting my head, I glared at Mom as she crept into the room. “Is this what I’m supposed to deal with because of the divorce?” I turned to face the wall. “Yeah. I’ll work on making sure I don’t care anymore.”
“Angela, sweetie, I’m so sorry.” The bed creaked as she sat on the edge and rubbed my back. “Your dad cares about you—”
“Yeah, right. He cares so much he can’t bother to spend time with me. The only one he cares about is Holly. I hate her.”
Mom took a deep breath. “Ange, something unavoidable came up.”
The anger burning in the pit of my stomach swelled. “Don’t lie to me. I don’t fit in his new life with Holly-the-homewrecker and he doesn’t want the hassle.” Tears brimming, I faced her. “Please, just leave me alone.”
Her forehead wrinkled and frown deepened, but she stood and left the room.
I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling. I should get used to being forgotten by Dad. Who could blame him for not wanting me around?
When Dad and I spent time together, I was a living reminder to his new wife Holly that she wasn’t the first love of Dad’s life. And I never made any attempt to get along with her. She tried to be nice to me, but only because she wanted to make Dad think she was perfect. So I did my best to be a pain in her side because she ruined my life.
The scene I had caused the last time I had been with them rolled in my head.
I stuffed my history book into the backpack and zipped it up. Before grabbing the handle, I took a look around my sometime bedroom to see whether I had forgotten anything. I sneered. Talk about the least inviting place. Holly had decorated it for me.
Off-white walls, standard issue floral curtains and matching bedspread, the room could have been designed for a hotel. It certainly wasn’t something a nearly teenaged girl wanted. No personality at all. Boring.
So, yeah, it wasn’t my bedroom at my dad’s, it was the guest room and I just happened to be the one who occupied it most frequently.
Despite having all my things, I stood in the middle of the room, stuck. I wanted to spend the last few minutes of the weekend with Dad, but Holly would be there. We couldn’t even go out to his workshop and build stuff like we used to without her interrupting us.
“Angela?”
I cringed. Just the sound of her mousy voice sent shudders through me.
The door creaked open and Holly poked her head through the opening. “Do you have all your things? I thought we could leave a little early and stop somewhere along the way for a bite to eat. Your pick.”
“What’s the matter? Did the Internet run out of tasty recipes you can fail at in under thirty minutes?”
The flush creeped up her throat into her face until it glowed a bright red. “I ... I meant it as a treat since we don’t ever go out to eat as a family.”
Family. The word sucker-punched me in the gut. Family is what I used to have before she came along. “Fine. Let’s go to Famous Dave’s for a burger.”
I wanted to go to the Italian place over on 3rd Street, but Mom, Dad, and I had been there too often as a family, and it felt wrong.
“But I thought we might—” Holly’s lips pinched tight at my glare.
I held back a laugh. Dave’s was only famous in the mind of the owner, Dave. But it was the perfect place for Holly, who detested burgers, and wouldn’t find a single salad on the menu. If we were going to eat as a family, she’d have to sacrifice her precious waistline.
Although, by the looks of it, she may have been secretly hitting the burgers. Her oh-so-petite frame wasn’t quite so petite any more. What had she been doing to pack on the pounds?
I swung the backpack over my shoulder and strode toward the door. Dad stood in the den sneaking in a few minutes watching football before we left.
“Game good?”
“Hey, Pumpkin.” He put his arm across my shoulders.
Before he had a chance to bore me about the game, Holly grabbed the remote and turned off the set. Then she put her arms around us both, and bowed her head.
“Let’s pray. Dear Heavenly Father, I ask ...”
What the—
I broke from her embrace. “I’m going to the car.” It was all I could do to keep from yelling at her.
I didn’t want her to touch me, let alone hug me. And in prayer? If I needed to pray, I’d do it one on one with God. When I reached the car, I opened the back door, threw my backpack in, slid in after it, and slammed the door.
A few minutes later, Dad and Holly followed me out. Holly dabbed her eyes with a tissue, then blew her nose.
After getting in the car, Dad turned and gazed at me, his eyes boring into mine, the pain in them pinning me to the back seat. “You ready?”
I gave him a curt nod and he turned away as if he couldn’t bear to look at me for another second. Heaviness settle
d in my heart as he started the car.
Holly’s periodic sniffs were the only sound on our way to Dave’s. Did she have to be such a dramatic diva? But if I said anything, Dad would be even more annoyed.
So much for going out to eat as a treat.
The aroma of frying burgers and onions greeted us when Dad opened the door at Famous Dave’s. I told him what I wanted to eat and sat in a booth next to the window. Holly followed and slid into the booth on the opposite side of the table. She cupped her hand over her mouth and nose and her face paled to the point where it took on a slightly green tinge. Our eyes met and hers welled with tears. I stared out the window. Can this visit just be over already?
If I had to keep staring out the window to avoid Holly’s suffocating sorrow, I’d get a crick in my neck. And it wasn’t like anything interesting was happening. Cars zoomed by on the road and an old guy walking his dog stopped every few steps to let his dog sniff stuff and then pee on it. Gross.
When Dad carried the food to the table, he put my burger down in front of me with a bang and sat next to Holly.
He wouldn’t speak to me. He was upset, but it wasn’t my fault. I jabbed a french fry in ketchup and shoved it in my mouth. I glanced at Holly.
She pressed her lips together and her chin trembled.
For goodness sake. Not tears again.
She dashed the tear away as it fell and Dad patted her hand.
How did I get to be the bad guy in all this? It wasn’t fair. I refused to look at Dad. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on his face. How did Holly do it? She was the one who should apologize. I never asked for her to hug me. Besides, group hugs were for sporting events. I wolfed my food down as fast as I could. I wanted to go home.
Chapter Seven - First Entry
The Journal of Angela Ashby Page 4
