Marcia Talley - Occasion of Revenge

“I’d give my eyeteeth to know what happened to them.”

“Why don’t you just ask?”

Ruth gave me an Oh, Sure look. “She’s after his money. I just know it.”

“You don’t know anything of the kind,” I said. “Did you see the car she’s driving?”

Ruth shook her head.

“A Porsche.”

Georgina, who didn’t have a car of her own, whistled. “They don’t come in Cracker Jack boxes, do they?”

“No, ma’am.” I tapped Ruth’s cheek lightly. “She could have inherited tons of money from her former husbands, sweetie. Maybe she really loves Daddy.”

If we had been taping a TV ad, Ruth’s explosive Ha! would have shattered the wineglass she held. “You realize, don’t you, my dears,” she drawled, “that if Daddy marries That Person and he dies, she’ll get everything. Grandmother’s furniture. Mother’s jewelry. This house. His car. Everything.”

Georgina leaned against the kitchen table. “Don’t be silly, Ruth. There’d be a will!”

I had to agree with Georgina. Daddy loved his family to distraction. He would never enter into a marriage without taking us, and his grandchildren, into consideration. “There’d be a prenup,” I stated with confidence.

Ruth wasn’t swayed. “Once he gets into the clutches of that hussy, absolutely nothing would surprise me.”

“Don’t you think you’re being just a wee bit premature?” Georgina chided. “They’ve only just met and you already have them walking down the aisle.”

“Georgina, dear, did you look at her?”

Georgina nodded.

Ruth upended her wineglass into the dishwasher. “I rest my case.”

But during dessert-Georgina’s homemade deep-dish apple pie, warm from the oven, over which Darlene gushed her approval-Ruth melted a bit around the edges, like a scoop of ice cream à la mode, softening enough to ask Darlene where she had bought her sweater and making it sound as if she really cared.

Unfortunately, Darlene seemed preprogrammed to blow it. “You know, George,” she said as we rose to leave the table, “if you put up a chair rail, you wouldn’t have all those scuff marks on the wallpaper.” She touched the paper, a beige silk floral that Mom and Dad had selected and hung themselves only weeks before Mother had been rushed to the hospital. Darlene leaned toward my father and said, sotto voce, but just loud enough for Ruth and me to hear, “If I ever move in, this ugly wallpaper will have to go.”

Beside me, Ruth stiffened dangerously. I yanked her through the door into the kitchen just in the nick of time. Whether Ruth dropped or threw the dessert plate, I’ll never know, but it hit the baseboard near the dishwasher, splashing melted ice cream all over my mother’s hand-braided rug. “How dare she!” she raged. “That’s it! I’m out of here! It’s high time I found a place of my own.” Her face was an alarming shade of red. “I’ve been nothing more than an unpaid servant ever since Mother died.”

“Ruth…”

She shook off my restraining hand and took a step toward the back door. “Forget it, Hannah.” I could tell Ruth was itching to pack her bags and get out of there. Right away. This minute. Slam the door and leave us all standing there, gaping, with dirty dishes piled sky high in the sink.

I folded Ruth into my arms. It was like hugging a marble column. “Cool it, Ruth,” I whispered against her ear. “If you run out on him now, it’ll leave the house wide open for Darlene to move right in.”

Ruth began to tremble. “I’m going to kill her,” she muttered.

I increased pressure on my sister’s back, squeezing hard until the trembling stopped. “OK now?”

Ruth nodded.

“Ready to go back in there?” I pointed toward the dining room.

“Maybe.”

With my hand against the small of her back, I urged Ruth into the dining room. Except for the dirty dishes, the room was now empty. We followed Daddy’s deep baritone into the living room where we found him seated next to Darlene on the sofa. Georgina sat in Mother’s chair, thank goodness; if Darlene had taken it, Ruth would surely have gone ballistic. I perched on the arm of the love seat next to Paul while Ruth chose to stand, lounging against the doorframe.

We had interrupted something.

Daddy looked at me. “Hannah, I’ve decided to move in with Darlene.”

No wonder everyone was sitting there stiff as statues. “But…” Ruth began.

Darlene raised a hand. “He’s not going to stay, girls. We’ve talked it over. He’s just here to pick up his shaving gear.”

“Daddy?” Ruth was blinking rapidly, close to tears.

“It’s all settled.” Darlene reached over and took my father’s hand, drawing it into her lap. No one spoke for several moments. The clock on the mantel ticked as loudly as the telltale heart.

Ruth turned on our father. “Can’t you talk? Does she talk for you now?”

Daddy sank back into the cushions. He looked like a scolded puppy-sad, confused, and a little frightened. “I have to live my own life.”

“I don’t believe this! After all I’ve-” Ruth’s mouth snapped shut.

“Ruth, I love you. And I appreciate everything you’ve done, I really do. But it’s time for me to do what I want for a change.”

“But you’re not even married!” Georgina protested. “It’s not right!”

Darlene gazed serenely at our father. “I think somebody over seventy can live where and with whomever he wants.”

“Georgina’s right,” Ruth said. “It’s a sin, Daddy. Go ahead and ask her. Ask Darlene. What’s her precious pope going to say?”

I stared in wonder. Since when did Ruth, our New Age flower child, care about religion? I was getting dizzy from the verbal Ping-Pong.

Darlene’s head snapped around, taking in each one of us in turn. “You don’t like me. None of you does.” Her voice broke. “You’re all against me.”

Daddy wrapped a solicitous arm around his suffering girlfriend.

“To be real honest,” Georgina commented, “we don’t know very much about you.”

“So, why are you treating me like… like dirt?”

“Don’t be silly,” Georgina soothed. “We’ve only seen you once before. How can you possibly say that?”

“I sense the coldness. What is it?” She looked directly at Ruth. “Do you think I’m a gold digger or something?”

“You said it, I didn’t.”

Darlene, her cheeks as pink as her sweater, sprang to her feet and advanced toward my sister. “Ruth, I’ve tried so hard to be patient with you, to make allowances for how you must feel about this house and about your mother, but…”

“But what, Darlene?”

“Well, I hate to say it, but you’re acting like a selfish brat!”

Ruth stepped aside deftly, turning to Daddy who was bent over, staring at his shoes. “Are you just going to sit there and let her talk to me like that?”

Daddy didn’t answer.

Darlene grasped the back of a chair, the ring on her finger strangling the plump flesh, her knuckles white. Anger simmered in the dry green eyes that were directed at Ruth. “You know what your problem is?” Her voice dripped venom.

Ruth interrupted before Darlene could finish. “I think I’m looking at it.” Ruth traded gaze for steady gaze.

Darlene sucked both thin red lips into her mouth.

Ruth, almost regal in her rage, faced our father in triumph. When Daddy looked away, she turned on Darlene. “Bitch!” And she spun on her toe and sailed out of the room.

No one spoke. In the deafening silence I could hear above the pounding of my own heart Daddy’s labored breathing. I felt as if the world had slipped, violently and dangerously like tectonic plates in the San Andreas fault. Only a few seconds had passed, yet it seemed that a gap had opened in the living room floor; a wide gulf now separated us from our father. I might reach out across the yawning crevice but Daddy, now standing stiffly next to Darlene, was slipping farther and farther away.