Free The Love Children by Marylin French

bitch?”
    â€œYou act just like her sometimes.”
    That did it. I stood up.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with you?” he cried.
    I didn’t know myself. I ran up to my room and packed my stuff in my duffel bag, then counted my money. I’d been saving my wages over the summer, and with tips and no expenses for living, I’d accumulated a few hundred dollars. I’d never had that much money in my possession before, and it made me feel strong. Since my friends and I looked down on materialism, I knew I’d have to think about this, but later, not now. At least I was sure I had enough for a bus ticket to Cambridge. When I got downstairs, the kitchen was empty. My father had disappeared, along with the bottle of Canadian Club. Either he’d gone out to the studio or was in bed. I refused to look for him, refused to ask him to drive me into town, not after the way he’d spoken to me. And I was too angry to leave him a note. Let him worry. If he even noticed I was gone.
    I walked to the road and hitched into town. I had to sit in the bus station for a couple of hours, but I had a paperback of Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook with me. It was near midnight
when I got home; Mom was sitting in the kitchen over a drink. I groaned, but she wasn’t drunk. She looked ravaged. We hugged each other. We didn’t talk at all. I wanted to yell at her for what she’d done, but she looked too wasted. It would have to wait.
    The next day, she looked okay. We were both home, neither of us had work to go to. So we dawdled in the way we both liked to in the morning. I liked to drink coffee and sprawl on the old armchair we kept in the kitchen and read. I was loving The Golden Notebook . Mom liked to make coffee and read her newspapers—the New York Times and the Boston Globe. It took her hours to get going in the morning.
    So we were lolling there in the kitchen, reading, and I decided to plunge in.
    â€œDad was very upset yesterday.”
    She looked up. “I hope he didn’t take it out on you.”
    â€œOf course he did. You knew he would!”
    She put her newspaper down and looked at me. “I’m sorry, Jess.”
    â€œYeah. He said he met you at Logan.”
    She grimaced. “Yes.”
    â€œWhat did you do?”
    She shrugged. “It was so stupid. He said . . .” She sighed and stopped. “I don’t know how to explain . . .”
    â€œI know what he said. He told me.”
    â€œOh. Well, it was so stupid. The chances are his telegram didn’t go to the right place, and in Mexico . . . Things are so confused there anyway . . . There’s little chance that he did actually cancel the power of attorney. Anyway, I think I am really divorced. I have papers. . . . But even if I’m not, it doesn’t matter. I mean, he understands that we’re not together anymore, not husband and wife anymore. That’s all that matters to me. That we are legally divorced matters only if one of us wanted to marry again, and I won’t, I wouldn’t put myself in that situation again, ever . For me,
marriage was too horrible. But not for him; he’ll marry again. So if he did mess things up, it’s himself he messed up, not me. I told him that. He’ll be the bigamist, not me.”
    She lit a cigarette and breathed in deeply, then glanced at my mug. “More coffee?” She stood and went to the stove and poured a mug for herself. I held mine out and she filled it.
    â€œWhat makes you think Dad will marry again?”
    â€œHe was happy being married; he wasn’t unhappy being married to me.”
    â€œBut you were?” I couldn’t help sounding a little accusing.
    â€œOf course. You know what his tantrums were like. He went into such rages . . . even before he started drinking so much. I was thinking about divorce long before he went to Vermont. His living up there probably kept the marriage alive for a few more