Free Lacy's End by Victoria Schwimley Page B

the door. “Hi, Mom,” she said, coming to kiss her mother on the cheek and give her a hug. She noticed the welt. “What did you do this time?” she asked with sarcasm.
    “I talked back.”
    Lacy rolled her eyes. “Certainly you should know better by now.” She broke off a leaf from the aloe vera plant, milked out some of the sap, began to rub it on her mother’s cheek. She grinned. “Nonetheless, I’m proud of you.”
    Brenda couldn’t help but smile. “I thought you had a shift at the diner this evening.”
    Lacy plucked an olive from the pasta salad Brenda was making and plopped it in her mouth. “They were slow, so Ray sent me home. Bummer, too, I really needed—”
    Brenda cut her off, shame rising and coloring her face. “You’re sixteen, Lacy. You shouldn’t have to work so hard.”
    Lacy shrugged, took some plates out of the cupboard, and began to set the table. Leaning across to place her mother’s plate on the other side. She said, “I told you, I’m going to college and getting us out of here.”
    “That should be my job,” Brenda whispered.
    “What?” Lacy asked.
    Brenda shook her head. “Nothing.”
    “It’s just as well, I suppose. I’m buried in homework tonight.”
    “Need some help?”
    She didn’t, but she knew her mother wanted an excuse to be away from her father. “I have a history test tomorrow. You could quiz me.”
    Brenda smiled. “Sounds great,” she said. “Will you call your father? Dinner’s ready.”
    She went to the back door and shouted for her father. He didn’t hear her, so she stepped off the porch and went in search of him. She could hear the sounds of the lawnmower and followed them. She saw him mowing near the tomato garden. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted for him. He still didn’t hear her. She crossed the lawn and tapped him on the shoulder, startling him. He turned, and his hand flew across her face so hard that she fell to the ground.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing sneaking up on me like that?”
    She sat there, stunned. Her hand came up, caressing her cheek, which was already swelling. She didn’t doubt it was red, too. She maneuvered herself into a standing position, glared at her father and said, “Dinner’s ready.”
    She turned and walked away. When she was halfway to the house, still in hearing range, her father shouted, “I’m sorry.” She paused but did not turn around, did not even acknowledge him speaking.
    She slammed the door when she entered the kitchen, walked wordlessly to the dining room table and sat stonily in her seat.
    Brenda was setting dishes on the table, but she paused in her task when she noted the red, swollen cheek. “Again?”
    Lacy nodded but said nothing. She just picked up a serving bowl and began serving herself. She would most likely take flak from her father about not waiting for him, but tonight, she didn’t care. However, when her father entered the house, he went straight to the washbasin in the laundry room. He took off his dirty shirt and donned a clean one from the stack of shirts that were kept on a shelf in the laundry for just such occasions. He washed his face and hands and took his place at the table. He noted Lacy was already eating and said, “You don’t wait to thank the good Lord?”
    Lacy shook her head. “I said my own prayer.”
    “Try again,” he said and offered his hand to Lacy.
    She stared at it, defiantly, but then she saw the look on her mother’s face, fearful and pleading. She took her father’s hand in her left and reached across the table with her right to grab onto her mother. Brenda squeezed Lacy’s hand, offering support and gratitude. Lacy barely touched her father’s hand.
    Peter began the blessing. “Oh dear, mighty, Father, thank you for the bounty upon our table, for the family around it, and for the wisdom you bestow upon us. Amen.” Lacy and Brenda both muttered, “Amen,” and began eating.
    Peter chewed silently, watching