Struck by Deb Loughead

Author:Deb Loughead
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2009-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

chapter eight

Dad’s car was in the driveway when I got home—of course.

I walked through the front door and right up the stairs to my room. I didn't even glance toward the sofa, where I knew they were sitting. They were probably necking. Gross. I didn't need a reminder of pushy Eric and his pushy tongue.

I was still in a daze anyway, after what happened that afternoon. I didn't even want to play Ophelia, and I hoped Seema was wrong about me getting the part. I couldn’t get Lucy or her mom’s sorrowful eyes out of my mind now either. I thought about the guilt I’d felt looking into those eyes after all the strange coincidences. How weird that, after all the babbling that had been going on at school, nobody had even bothered to visit Lucy. As scared as I had been to go over there myself, I felt good about cheering Mrs. Mantella up for a least a few minutes.

I was just settling at my desk to start an essay, wondering if there would be any dinner tonight, when I heard it. The front door slammed—so hard the windows in my bedroom rattled. I froze. I dreaded what I might hear next. Sounds travel easily through the thin walls of low-income housing. Then I heard it. The wrenching sound of Mom’s gulping sobs.

Fury grabbed my throat. How could he do this to her again? I hurried downstairs into the gloomy living room. The lights were all off, and Mom was hunched over the arm of the sofa sobbing her heart out. I switched on a lamp.

“What did he do now, Mom?” I said.

“Nothing,” she mumbled into the sofa. “Go away, Claire. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Well, we’re going to,” I told her. Then I settled into the sofa beside her and started rubbing her shoulder. That was when I spotted the big red welt on her forearm. I hadn’t seen one for months. Coincidence? Don’t think so.

“What’s this?” I said, stroking it gently with my fingertip.

“Never mind,” she said and pulled her sweatshirt sleeve down to hide it.

“He did it again, didn’t he, Mom?” I whispered.

“No.” Long pause. “I banged it on a doorknob.” Her voice was muffled, but I could tell she was lying. She could never look me in the eye when she lied about Dad.

“Mom! Why do you keep letting him do this to you? And why did he do it this time, anyway?”

“Because…” She sniffed hard and sat up. Her eyes were pink, her face puffy and tear-streaked. But something was different this time. She was scowling, and that was a good thing. “Because he wanted money to buy beer, and I told him I don’t have any. We need all our money to get by, don’t we? There isn’t any to spare, is there? Then… then he asked where my purse was, and I wouldn’t tell him. I hid it, Claire. I hid my purse on him.”

“Mom!” I hugged her hard.

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