“Come. Sit down.” He motioned to the chair next to his, his face grave. “We need to talk.”
I hesitated, my mind loud with all the things he might want to discuss. I couldn’t remember the last time my father and I had talked about anything. Maybe once, when I was sixteen and I’d won the state fair baking contest for the first time. He reminded me that pride was a sin.
My mother told him to hush, giving him the evil eye when she overheard, then proceeded to tell me how proud she was.
But at present, I couldn’t think of anything he’d want to talk to me about.
Maybe the New York trip? Maybe he wants to remind me that pride is still a sin.
I dismissed this theory. As long as my success brought in money to the family, he didn’t seem to care whether or not it was sinful.
“Jennifer, come sit down.” His tone was hard. He was angry.
I hesitated. What had I done to make him angry? I tried to think.
Unless . . .
And suddenly I knew. The room tilted just slightly and I leaned a hand on the counter at my side. My father knew about Cletus. Dread and fear pumped through my veins.
But you will not allow fear to control you. You are in charge of yourself and your decisions. No one else.
“Jennifer!”
My name was a demand and it made me jump; it also spurred me forward. I crossed to him with slow, shuffling steps, gathering my courage and resolve along the way. I walked calmly to the proffered chair and sat down, folding my hands on the table.
“What would you like to talk about?” I asked, my gaze even, my voice steady. Nevertheless, my nerves were taut and I braced myself for extreme unpleasantness.
I think I surprised him, because his frown intensified. “I want to talk about your behavior over the last few months.”
I gritted my teeth and pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t say something nasty.
When I was fairly certain I could trust myself to speak without being disrespectful, I said, “I’m moving out.”
I hadn’t decided until just now. But this moment, coming home to my father’s displeasure—his perpetual displeasure—was enough to answer the question. I was moving out.
Something flickered behind his eyes, a flash of something like mockery and disdain. “Oh? Is that so?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“With Cletus Winston?”
I nodded again. “That’s right.”
“And how will you live? Or is he going to be your sugar daddy?”
I didn’t flinch, but his words felt like a slap. “I’m going to what I always do. I’m going to bake.”
He leaned forward unexpectedly, shoving his face in mine. “Your momma will not be paying you a single cent, young lady. You leave, you move in with that boy, then you’re dead to us. Do you understand?”
I blinked at him, my face suddenly hot, my hands suddenly sweaty. I struggled to swallow. This was the only home I’d ever known. I thought about what it would mean, to be disowned.
My father had disowned Isaac. He never spoke of him. My momma still did. I could tell she pined for her lost son.
But, to my father, it was like he’d never existed.
I loved my parents.
I loved my father.
But for the first time in my life, I questioned why. Why did I love this man? I didn’t know. I didn’t know why I loved him. He’d never particularly liked me. He’d never been especially loving.
I stood, clearing my throat, and backed away from the table. I pushed in my chair. All the while my father followed me with his eyes, rage making the veins rise in relief on his forehead.
The last several months had led me here and it was a terrible moment. But I knew what I had to do. I lifted my chin, holding on to my composure by sheer force of will.
“If that’s what you want, then so be it.” My voice was uneven, shaky, but I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry. “I’m not going to allow you to control me. Not anymore.”
His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. I’d surprised him.
Hastily, gathering his wits, he pointed at me. “I don’t think you understand. You leave here with nothing. You take that car, I’ll report it stolen. You’re walking out of here with those disgraceful clothes and nothing else.”
“I understand perfectly. I’m not stupid.”
“Yes. You are stupid.” His tone was flat and hateful. “You’ve always been stupid. Why do you think your momma had to homeschool you? Do you really think Cletus Winston, Cletus Winston, is going to stand by you? Be a good provider? Do you think he’s going to stay with you? He won’t. He’ll leave you high and dry—just like his daddy did to their momma—and then you’ll have nothing. Nothing.”
I shook my head, my insides growing cold and numb. “I don’t need him to provide for me. If momma doesn’t want me at the bakery, then I can go elsewhere.”
“You think so?” His jaw ticked with frustration and his eyes narrowed threateningly. “We’ll sue you. We’ll sue you and you’ll never get a job. Never.”