Son of Destruction

36




Nenna


I woke up feeling awful. If I slept at all. I mean, by the time I fell down on the bed it was light outside.

How can you grow up along with all your friends, smart women who talk about everything all the time and still end up knowing the tune, but not all the words to your life? I tried to tell Dan how it happened, I mean, I opened up my soul but my nice new friend ran out of the house at dawn like his hair was on fire and it breaks my heart.

On top of Davis, it was just too much. At least that’s done. Kicking him out was like lopping off a foot to stop necrotizing fasciitis or gangrene; you have to amputate to save your life. You’re not dead but you hurt so much that you roll around on the bed, too messed up to sleep.

Oh, I know where he is. Davis, I mean. He’s out at the Pierce Point Marriott where every other man in God’s creation is having more sex than Davis ever had with Gale. Instead of screwing, he’s on the phone with that quasi-intellectual skank, do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘She may not have her doctorate but she’s the most intelligent woman I know,’ but he means she will go down on him in a broom closet if she has to, anything to get what she wants and what she wants is my husband.

Well she can have him, credit card debt and all, thank God Chape Bellinger’s office made me separate our finances before this thing blew up in my face. God, I’m depressed. It’s lonely in here without Davis, the rat, and Steffy’s off at my friend Cathy’s house for a sleepover with Jen, I’m one woman alone in here with no one to talk to, but at least Steffy has a best friend.

No Davis coughing or thumping around downstairs; it’s so quiet that I can’t sleep, I’m too tired to do anything, but it was almost time to start getting ready for church, so I shuffled downstairs and made coffee – instant, since it’s just me. I was half minded to call Cathy and ask her to wake my daughter, say I need her to . . . something. Too early. Instant coffee and.

And nothing.

Morning paper, for all the good that does me, nothing I really need to know, like what in God’s name made Davis bump fronts with his own first cousin. It’s practically incest. Or what’s going to happen to me.

‘Mom. Mom?’

‘Steffy!’ Rescue! Thank heaven you’ve come.

But she was running in like I just saved her from sudden death and before I could say, ‘Why are you home so early,’ or, ‘Did Cathy drive you,’ or, ‘Where’s your stuff,’ she ran smack into me with this ginormous hug. ‘I’m home!’

‘Sweetie, you’re early!’

Her smile was so wide that I should have started with the questions, but she headed me off with such a nice surprise. ‘It’s Sunday, right?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Duh, Mom. Church.’

‘Church!’

‘No way are you going to church alone.’

And my heart went out to her; there are things about your nearest and dearest that you know, and things you don’t want to know, and what’s important to me right now is making it through. That’s the only thing any of us really needs – somebody to help us make it through; I was so excited! ‘Aren’t you sweet! I’ll make blueberry muffins.’

‘If you want, I’ll wear the pink dress.’

‘You hate that dress.’

She looked at me, all, Oh, Mom. ‘It’s church.’

‘I thought you hated church!’

‘You’re not going in there all alone.’ She gave me the sweetest smile. ‘Since Dad . . .’

‘Say no more.’ You understand! And didn’t I hug her then, and didn’t I think we might make it without him after all. ‘Don’t you worry about Dad. And don’t you worry about me. We’ll both be fine.’

Now Steffy’s sitting at the kitchen table with her head bent in the morning sunshine, as if we’re already in church. She has the funnies open in front of her but she isn’t reading, she’s just sitting like a little sponge, soaking up the room, and me? The kitchen smells so good with my muffins baking, the sunlight looks so pretty on my daughter’s hair that I don’t feel half as bad as I thought. It’ll be nice living here, just the two of us. We can be ourselves. Now that I know prickly, resentful Steffy’s on my side, I can handle this. I can do anything, now that I know.

I turn the oven up a notch so the muffins will be ready sooner and I can slather them with butter and honey and serve them to my wonderful, loyal only daughter and best girlfriend before the mood evaporates and we have to go out and face the rest of my life.