The Weight of Blood (10)

Wendy’s lips tightened, feeling Kenny’s energy shift. She knew he hated Jason’s relentless egging—although he’d never admit it. Wendy patted his thigh with a sympathetic smirk, reminding him to ignore Jason’s passive-aggressive digs. Really, he should take pity on him. After all, Jason hadn’t made it into either his first-or second-choice schools. They heard his dad had to pull some strings for him to play for USC. Meanwhile, Kenny’d had colleges kicking down his door since their first state championship.

Kenny brushed the hair out of her face. “Is it cool if I go?” he asked in a voice just above a whisper. In the past she’d often complained about them not spending enough time together, and there were only a few weeks left before Kenny would be gone, off to training camp.

But Wendy smiled. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll just . . . catch a ride with Jules.”

“Sweet,” Jules said, grinning. “You owe me some Dairy Queen anyways.”

Wendy gulped. Did she have enough to cover that? Her parents had already maxed out her emergency credit card.

Kenny raised an eyebrow at her. “You sure?”

Wendy straightened with a sugary-sweet smile. “Totally,” she said, kissing his nose, then pulled away to nibble on a carrot stick.

She was completely fine with him spending time with the boys. Because what Kenny didn’t know was that Wendy wasn’t going to Brown in the fall. She was going to the University of Alabama. With him. After all the investment she put in—helping him get ready for games, extra hours practicing in the weight room, protein smoothies every day, making sure he turned his assignments in on time . . . he would need her. She planned to tell him around the Fourth of July, right before they had to start packing for school. They wouldn’t need two cars since they’d be everywhere together, unless he was at an away game, which of course she’d drive to. They’d live on campus their first year, but the next year they’d have to find something off campus, walking distance. Maybe a condo? She wanted to major in psychology but thought business admin would be better. Accounting classes would help her learn how to manage their books. He’d most likely propose right before the draft, maybe at graduation. The wedding colors would be baby blue and sage. They’d have a summer wedding at the country club, two hundred people minimum. And whatever team they ended up with, she’d want a house in Springville to raise the kids. They’d have at least three, all boys. Well, maybe two boys and a girl.

She had it all planned out. Like always.

Maddy had just taken the casserole out of the oven when she heard Papa’s keys in the door. She waited by the stove, listening close. Depending on his steps, she could tell if he’d had a good day or bad. Good, he would enter whistling The Andy Griffith Show theme song, his step light and easy. Bad, he would throw his store keys on the console and stomp upstairs, barking about his dinner.

She held her breath and waited. No movement. But she could feel his presence in her bones through the walls.

“Madison,” he said, his voice firm.

She flinched at the sound of her own name, heart sinking to the bottom of her stomach. Shaking, she glanced at the cookbook on the counter, the one she always imagined had belonged to her mother, and found herself longing for someone she had never even met to save her.

Don’t keep him waiting.

She wiped her hands on her ruffled white apron and touched her freshly washed and blow-dried hair, still a puffy cloud, the roots crinkled like packing paper. Not as before, but he noticed when one strand sat out of place.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and stepped into the kitchen doorway.

Papa stood in the narrow foyer, the light above him muted by dust. He just . . . stood there in his white short-sleeved button-down and brown tweed pants that sat high, cutting into his protruding belly. His pale face was the texture of a waxy wrinkled prune, thin lips in a sharp line as he took in her appearance.

“How?” he spat. “How could you be so careless? So stupid? How?”

Maddy twisted her fingers together. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

He prowled toward her. “What is the one thing I ask of you? Every day, what do I ask?”

“To check the weather,” she mumbled to the floor, tears welling.

“How many times are you supposed to check?”

“Three times.” She sniffed, paralyzed with fear. “I did, Papa! I checked! It didn’t say anything about rain—”

He closed the distance between them in three swift steps and backhanded her into the wall.

“Don’t you lie to me!” he roared, standing over her. “You didn’t check. You couldn’t possibly have checked!”

He yanked her up by the hair, dragging her to the hallway mirror.

“Look! Look at yourself! You’re a mess! A disgusting mess.”

Maddy stifled a scream, falling to her knees.

“Please, Papa,” she begged. “I’m sorry.”

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, going out in public? Letting people see you like this? Do you want to be a Negro? Is that what you want? You want to bring shame upon this family?”

“No, Papa!”

“How could you do this to me?”

“Papa, I’m sorry!”

He straightened and calmly began taking off his belt. Maddy gulped, scooting backward.