Free Seasons of Her Life by Fern Michaels

earth is a son of a bitch. That’s how these Navy men talk. Be sure to tell Pop you subjected me to this. In fact, tell him anything you want, but you are not going to pick my dates. I’ll go out next week with Andrew because he is nice and he did wait. Don’t do it again. Because if you do, I’ll snatch that little runt you’re dating and I’ll tell him all about you, starting with how dirty and sneaky you are.” She was breathless when she finished.
    â€œDo whatever you want,” Amber seethed. “You’re nothing but garbage. Human garbage.”
    Ruby’s voice took on a singsong quality. “Garbage? I know a thing or two about garbage, Amber. Our father, the pillar of St. Barnabas, lusts after Grace Zachary. I saw him undress her with his eyes. Grace sticks her tongue out at him behind his back. Mom saw him do it, too. He’s a goddamn lecher, and I’ll bet you’re just like him when nobody’s looking.”
    â€œFilthy mouth. You wait. You just wait!” Amber seethed, and with that she was out the door.
    Ruby’s arm shot out for the door and slammed it. Human garbage. So that’s what they thought of her. Her eyes burned. Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t care if her father said it, but somehow the fact that her sister believed it ate at her soul. She couldn’t say why, but it did.
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    Amber checked the handful of change before she laid it on the small metal shelf by the pay phone. She wondered vaguely if she would have to call home again tomorrow night. Her hand was poised to drop in the first dime, when she looked at her wrist. It wasn’t eleven yet, so it was all right to call. Her parents went to bed at eleven. Nothing was allowed to interfere with her father’s routine. According to Ruby, though, Grace Zachary interfered with . . . something. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Pop was right, Ruby had a dirty mind.
    Until tonight, when Amber had to devote extra minutes to compose herself, she hadn’t realized what a responsibility it was calling home every week. Mondays she always had a headache; sometimes they carried into Tuesday. She had a headache now. Damn Ruby.
    She dutifully waited while the operator placed the call. She dropped her money into the slot, coin by coin. Although she always hoarded change all week for her duty call, so far she’d never talked for more than three minutes; more often than not, her father hung up after the first ninety seconds.
    George always picked up the phone on the third ring. Up from the chair, across the living room, out to the hallway and the foot of the steps, sit down, pick up the phone. Right on schedule.
    â€œGeorge Connors.” No hello, no greeting of any kind.
    Amber worked a smile into her voice, hoping to hear it returned, even though she knew better. “Hello, Pop, it’s Amber. How are you? How’s Mom? This isn’t too late, is it?”
    â€œNot too late, daughter. Five minutes till it’s time to go upstairs. Your mother is fine.” He never said how he was. He never asked how she was, either. Amber sucked in her breath and forced a smile. For whom she didn’t know. Maybe herself.
    â€œPop, it’s Ruby. She’s doing terrible things. You ... she cusses something fierce. She won’t listen to me.” Her voice was pleading. Again, for what she didn’t know.
    â€œI placed Ruby in your charge, daughter. Are you telling me now I made a mistake?” Not bothering to wait for her defense, he went on. “It’s up to you to use a firm hand, a strong hand. Give her what-for every hour if she needs it. Maybe I made a mistake, sending you girls to the city.” The implied threat was there, and Amber felt her knees weaken. “I have next weekend off. Your mother might like a ride down there. Is there anything else, daughter?”
    â€œNo, Pop.”
    â€œThen I’ll say good night. Don’t make this