Free A Soft Place to Land by Susan Rebecca White

insisted.”
    “He loved to make good time,” said Ruthie, remembering the uncomfortable sensation of holding her pee during car trips to visit their relatives in Union City, Tennessee.
    “When we were getting back into the car after lunch at McDonald’s, Mom glanced at me while fastening you into the car seat. ‘Damn it,’ she said, which was surprising because she rarely cursed. I had a ketchup stain across the pretty little ruffled T-shirt she had dressed me in. She sighed—you remember those sighs of hers—but then she said, ‘Oh well. Peggy is going to have to get used to the fact that young children are messy.’
    “Which is all to say that I arrived looking a little out of sorts. Phil pulled the Volvo into the driveway of the little brick ranch on Fairwoods Road, and before Mom had a chance to fix my hair or help me find a new shirt this pretty pixie of a woman opened the door and came and stood on the front porch, looking toward the car.
    “‘There she is,’ said Mom. ‘And she certainly is attractive.’
    “Peggy was wearing a bright yellow blouse tucked into a wraparound denim skirt with a big butterfly embroidered on its side. She was so tiny and cute. She didn’t look pregnant at all. She wore her blond hair in a long braid down her back. She looked like a preschool teacher, like someone who would greet you at the classroom door, hold your hand, and lead you over to the table where the apple juice and cookies were all set out.
    “When Mom saw Peggy standing on the porch, she put the pink plastic Goody brush back in the glove compartment. ‘I guess we should go meet your new stepmommy,’ she said.
    “Phil had already gotten out of the car. He opened my door. I stepped out and started walking on the front grass toward Peggy.
    “‘Sweetheart, use the path, please,’ she called, in her melodious, tinkling voice. And so I walked over to the brick path that wound from the driveway to the door. Phil and Naomi hung back, hovering by the Volvo, as if planning to take off as soon as they saw me safely enter the house. I was so anxious that they were going to leave that I kept turning around, checking to make sure they were still there.
    “Finally I reached Peggy. I remember being overwhelmed by how pretty she was, with her shiny blond hair, the light dusting of freckles over her cheeks, her heart-shaped lips.
    “She studied me for a moment and then said, ‘My goodness, for all the child support Matt sends, I would have thought you’d come better dressed!’”
    Ruthie squealed in horror. Peggy was like someone out of a fairy tale, but with a twist. From her looks and general cheerfulness you would assume her to be a good witch when really, underneath, she was awful.
    Or at least, that was how Julia painted her to be.
    “Of course then she blushed, realizing she’d been rude, I guess, and said, ‘Well, this just means we can go shopping at the mall and get you some cute new things!’”
    “God,” said Ruthie. “What a mag.” “Mag” was a word that Ruthie had invented. It meant “bitch,” but you could say it without swearing.
    “I think she was actually trying to be nice at that moment. Trying to be chummy.”
    “Okay. Then what a dumb butt.”
    “Yep,” said Julia, “I think Mom scared Dad out of marrying smart women. Not to mention women his own age.”
    Peggy was only five years Matt’s junior, but even though she was now thirty-five she seemed younger. There was just something so girlish about her, so hopelessly naïve. She was someone who adored the idea of projects—but was horrible at follow-through. Julia loved to tell Ruthie about all of the unused appliances in Peggy’s kitchen: the Cuisinart that was purchased so she couldmake homemade baby food for her one and only biological child, Sam; the pasta roller; the ice-cream maker; the juicer.
    They all went untouched. Gerber, Mueller’s, Breyers, and Tropicana filled Peggy’s grocery cart instead.
    “She’s an