He saw a row of brown cabinets, and a light fixture hanging from the ceiling by a decorative chain. The wallpaper was yellow and faded, a couple of corners peeling loose and curling away from the plaster.
Tabitha sat at the kitchen table. Her head rested in her hands, so Jared couldn’t see her face. Her shoulders rose and fell once as though she’d heaved a big sigh. Was she crying? A coil of anger wound its way through Jared’s chest. If someone hurt her, if someone made her cry . . .
Then the man came into the room, the same man he’d seen on the porch. He was close to fifty and overweight, his midsection straining against the confines of a stained sweatshirt. His face was flat and broad, and in the harsh overhead light of the kitchen, Jared saw pockmarks on either side of his bulbous nose. The lids of his eyes looked heavy, and his graying hair was greasy and thick. He lifted a newly lit cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, his eyes squinting as the smoke curled up toward the ceiling. Then he made a jabbing motion against the table, stubbing the cigarette out.
Tabitha hadn’t moved. Jared couldn’t even bring himself to look for a physical resemblance between such an ugly man and beautiful Tabitha. The thought was too distasteful. Jared’s anger switched to something else, something similar and even more pointed and painful. He understood it, even though he hadn’t experienced it in quite this way before. But the man’s proximity to Tabitha, the fact that he could be in the same house with her and know her so well, made Jared seethe. Jared was jealous, and the distance between him and Tabitha never felt greater. What else didn’t he know about her if he didn’t know what went on in her house?
The man said something, and Tabitha looked up. She didn’t appear to be crying, although she didn’t look happy either. Her face was a mask of caution as she considered her father from the corners of her eyes.
The man continued to speak, wagging his index finger in the air for emphasis. He didn’t seem angry, didn’t appear to be losing control of his emotions, but the lecture continued for several minutes while Tabitha listened without responding or moving.
And then the man stopped his talking. He stared down at Tabitha as though he was waiting for something. Finally Tabitha nodded, moving her head up and down three times.
The man moved closer to Tabitha. He hovered over her, looming like a massive shadow. Tabitha looked small. Young. Defenseless.
CHAPTER NINE
Jenna had met Celia Springer on the first day of junior high. They ended up sitting next to each other in homeroom, and at first, Celia acted as if Jenna weren’t there. Maybe that made the possibility of her friendship more appealing. Maybe it made Jenna want to work harder to earn that friendship from her. While the teacher, an older man with a comb-over named Mr. Phelps, read announcements, Celia studied her perfectly manicured nails, occasionally looking up with a casual flip of her flawless brown hair.
Then Mr. Phelps provided the opening for Jenna. At the end of his speech, he looked at them sincerely, not quite aware of what an object of derision he was in their eyes. Jenna felt sorry for him because he was trying so hard. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t make fun of him.
“I think,” Mr. Phelps said, “this might be hard, but if we work together we can handle it.”
Without missing a beat, Jenna whispered out of the side of her mouth, “I bet he says that to his wife.”
Celia tried to contain her laughter, but it burst out. She lifted her hand, cupping it over her mouth. But it was too late. And then Jenna laughed too, but louder, a sound that to her own ears sounded like a bray.
Mr. Phelps pounced, threatening them with detention. Celia controlled herself. Jenna couldn’t. It wasn’t even that funny, but Jenna ended up in detention alone. And then the next day, Celia didn’t ignore her in homeroom. They talked before the bell rang. They both loved George Michael, even though they wondered if he was gay. They both watched The Wonder Years religiously and admitted to daydreaming about Fred Savage, who they knew wasn’t gay. Celia had seen the movie Hairspray and looked disappointed when Jenna said she hadn’t. Jenna tried to recover by saying she intended to see it as soon as she could, maybe that coming weekend.
“I might want to see it again,” Celia said, her voice noncommittal.
Jenna prayed that Celia would go with her. And Celia did. After the movie, Celia invited Jenna to spend the night. Jenna had read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory several times by that point in her life. As she fell asleep in Celia’s large and comfortable home that night, she felt she’d discovered her own personal golden ticket.
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