Post by Deleted on Sept 24, 2015 5:47:56 GMT -5
Stillwater, WV. USA
The midday sun was hot for June, beating down unhindered on the sidewalk as the girl took a moment to straighten her ponytail and collect the wayward strands from her forehead, curling them behind her ears. She knew she was coated in a sheen of sweat, she could feel it on the back of her neck. Keen to get out of the cloying summer, she pushed open the glass-paneled front door and ducked into the shade of the brick building hung with the green and white sign ‘Addler’s Grocery’.
The bell above the door chimed with her entry and the cool breeze from the window box air-conditioner behind the counter hit her skin, giving instant relief. She practically sighed with the respite from the humidity.
“Hey, Nance.”
The greeting made her head turn to check behind the front counter and she hesitated for a minute when she came face to face with the deep brown eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. His salt and pepper hair showed the damp touch of sweat where it was slicked back from his weathered brow and his mouth, framed by deep creases on either side under the shadow of stubble stretched into a friendly smile. Michael, despite being nearly thirty years her senior, had caused that kind of mental stumble since sophomore year when the pretty boys stopped being attractive...
“Hi, Mr Kershaw.” the blonde returned with a flustered smile of her own. Whatever relief she had gained from the chilled air dissipated in seconds as her cheeks and ears grew warm.
“How many times I gots t’tell ya? Call me ‘Michael’,” he corrected her like he always did, cedar eyes bright and warm.
“Sorry, …Michael, ol’ habit.” The blonde returned sheepishly, sliding her thumbs into her hip pockets as she approached the counter.
“You’re gonna go and make me feel ‘old’.” he smirked.
For a moment, when she bent to collect one of the shopping baskets stacked beside the counter, her stomach rolled as he held that eye contact for an instant longer and she feared her blush would give her away. Not that old, her brain added. When he broke into a grinning breath of laughter she froze, afraid she had just said it out loud.
“You, uh… you got somethin’ here.” Michael explained, reaching over the counter to brush back a strand of her fringe. The roughened pad of his thumb brushed over her eyebrow and made a shiver prickle up her spine.
“I… wha?” she mumbled dumbly, taking a second to snap out of the stupor of his touch. He let go and Nancy turned immediately to put some distance between them again before she went and embarrassed herself. Reaching to grab the sunglasses tower next to the cashier and turn it until she found one of the little mirrors amongst the frames, she inspected the tingling place where he had touched.
The smudge of thick, black grease was impossible to miss. Smeared into her hairline, it even had particles of grit clinging to its inky lesion and she cringed. “Ah, shit,” the girl swore under her breath and tried to scrape it off with her thumb.
“Here y’go,” Michael was grinning as he lent over the counter, holding out the box of tissues.
Nancy knew she had to be bright red now as she snatched a few handfuls so hastily she nearly pulled the box from his hands and turned her back on him again to frantically begin scrubbing. The grease was stubborn and the best she succeeded was pushing most of it into her hair, making a tuft stick up at the roots stiffly. Slicking it back she inspected the dismal result of the black streak now above her temple and the angry red patch across her brow.
“Thanks,... Michael” she groaned, stuffing the soiled tissues into her back jeans pocket. Rather than look up at him she fussed with settling the basket handles into the crook of her arm and headed to get her groceries while wanting to trip and fall into a hole in the floorboards.
Hurrying into the rows of shelves lined up across the shop floor, Nancy stabbed her fingertips against her brow, furrowing her features into a grimace. She cursed herself for not taking five damned minutes to check herself in the hallway mirror on her way out the door. She knew Michael Kershaw would be here. Would it have been too much to maybe put on some mascara and brush her hair?
And if Emmie saw her heading into Addler’s all done up she wouldn’t hear the end of it for a week…
“You been helpin’ ya pa in the garage?” the masculine voice called from the front of the store.
When Nancy stooped to glance back towards the counter from between the cans of peas on the shelf she saw he had returned to restocking the cigarettes in the racks on the wall behind the register.
“Yeah, how’d ya guess?” she replied with a huff of chagrin. The reply came out a little more biting than she had meant it to, coloured with the memory of hauling herself out of bed before dawn that morning and skipping breakfast. He called it ‘helping’ but they both knew different.
To soften it, she added: “Where you hidin’ the creamcorn?”
“We out till Friday. Sorry, Nance.” he apologized.
Her father was fond of creamed corn on toast and it was one of the few things she could tempt him with to get the man to eat at least one meal a day. “S’kay...” she muttered and went about collecting the rest of her items in silence.
The quiet of the stagnant day outside pressed oppressively against the front windows of Addler’s, no breeze stirring the trees or making the sign of the corner store across the road swing. Inside there was only the sound of Michael unboxing the cigarette cartons, the slide of the drawers on their rails coming and going as he stowed them away and the minute signs of life from midst the shelves where the blonde rummaged.
A little over ten minutes after she came in, Nancy was heading back to the front counter with the loaded basket over one arm and two large bottles of milk and orange juice under the other. Michael looked up as she emerged from the rows of shelves and murmured a quick ‘lemme get that for ya’ as he grabbed the cardboard box off the counter and tossed it to the floor behind.
Depositing the basket and the rest onto the bench, Nancy gave him a fleeting stretch of her lips in a thankful smile as she began unpacking the overfilled basket across the surface. Michael did not waste a minute and started tallying it up on the calculator, repacking each thing carefully into plastic bags.
With the basket emptied, Nancy ducked for a second to drop it back onto the stack where it belonged and straightened to pull the fold of notes out of her pocket.
“You goin’ to graduation Saturday?” he asked casually as he stowed the two bottles of milk side by side into a bag.
The question made Nancy pause for a moment, looking up at him halfway through counting out the notes. Her brow creased for a moment before she brushed it off with a forced laugh and shook her head. “Nah. Dropped out months ago. Probably wouldn’t even let me in.”
A heavy silence threatened to settle on the counter for a moment as both of them mulled on her blithe words. She had the feeling he saw right through the indifference, knew how much it bothered her not to be lining up with the rest of her classmates and getting that piece of paper.
Nancy swallowed the thick lump which formed in the back of her throat and withheld the scowl which tried to drag the corners of her lips down.
She had been indecisive even up to the past minute about whether or not she would go to the party at the town hall. Emmie had asked her constantly to go, but Nancy could not shuck the shame of her drop-out at the beginning of the year and the nagging feeling that she had no place among her peers anymore.
They had diplomas now. Keys to college and careers. The only thing worse than sitting there and listening to them excitedly chat about their futures when they left Stillwater would be dodging the inevitable questions about why she had walked out a week into senior year and never come back…
Michael had the mercy to let it drop, feeling the change in her demeanour like a cool breeze from the air-con and he finished up the last few items in silence. He smiled at her when he told her the price and she smiled back as she handed the cash over, but the congeniality was gone from her bright green eyes now. She felt tired and drained all of a sudden.
“Why don’t I tote this lot ‘round the garage later? Save y’ carryin’ it.” he offered as her hand fisted the closest bag.
Pale blue eyes flicked up to meet brown ones, her fingers still tight around the plastic ties and she knew he was being more than gentlemanly.
“Nah, nah, s’okay, reck’n I better take ‘em.” Nancy was quick to stop him, grabbing the cluster of bags hastily into both fists. There were five of them, but she threaded the handles onto wrist and forearm and hefted them clear of the counter.
“I’ll bring the creamcorn ‘round Frid’y.” he called as she fled for the door, an undertone that brooked no argument threaded through the offer.
“Thanks, Mr Kershaw.” she called flatly, yanking open the front door and ducking back out into the stifling heat.
* * * * *
Nancy had barely reversed the brown panel Dodge Ram out of Addler’s parking lot before that lump swelled painfully in her throat and choked her. She could feel the hot sting beneath her lower lids, but the girl grit her back teeth and sucked in a deep breath to suppress the tears.
What was the point driving home and crying like a dainty little thing just because Michael Kershaw had treated her like a charity case? Half the damn town knew Adam Beckett was filling his lungs with Greg’s crap. But coming from Michael, it hurt more than the sideways looks in the main street. It shouldn’t. She was just some pathetic junkie’s girl with a quaint little crush on an older man.
Get a hold of yourself, she viciously berated her reflection in the rear view cracked mirror, swiping away the beads of saltwater clinging to her lashes and blinking tightly to clear her eyes. It would only start an argument if he walked into the house with tear-reddened eyes and her father decided to take interest.
But if Nancy Beckett had known that would be the last time she would see Michael Kershaw alive, she would have turned the truck around right then…
* * * * *
By the time she reached the other end of town and pulled the truck into the lot in front of the garage, the white of her eyes had faded and the redness of her face abated. There was still that angry blotch on her forehead, taunting her with the memory of her embarrassment as she raked strands of hair from her face in the mirror. Nancy swore at the glass under her breath as she pushed open the door and slid to the gravel.
After collecting the bags from the back of the pickup and rearranging them on her arms, she headed for the side of the brick building, passing under the large awning shading the petrol pump.
The faded red sign was still out front on the roadside, the dented metal panel swinging back and forth on the frame, but then again Adam hadn’t brought that in for months. The only indication he was not in the shop were the roller doors still shut tight and baking in the afternoon sun.
Rounding the corner of the workshop and stepping up onto the wooden staircase which creaked under her weight, she hefted her load to the second story where the small porch protruded under a tin awning. Here she took the moment to lower one of the plastic bags from her grip to set it on the old, scuffed car floor mat which sat in front of the threshold and give herself the agility to pull open the screen door gently. The rusted spring hooked between the frame and the wall crackled and squeaked long and low, but to her relief not too loudly.
Propping the door open with the toe of her sneaker and leaning in, she brought all the bags onto the faded linoleum tiles and closed the screen as carefully as when she had come in.
Standing there in the shade of her kitchen Nancy listened for a moment; the sound of the television droned from the hallway deeper into the house, which was the nail in the coffin. The roller doors downstairs were still locked as she had left them that morning and now there was the evidence that he had finally gotten out of bed but he had merely thrown himself down in front of the TV. The hard lump of disappointment in her chest hardly stung anymore these days…
Withholding her sigh, the blonde girl began putting away the refrigerated groceries with careful and quiet movements, trying to get them out of the merciless heat before they spoiled. She got as far as stowing the milk, cheese and steaks in the fridge before there was a guttural cough from the next room and his voice rose through the house:
“Nancy, darlin’, you home?”
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly before closing the fridge door. “Yeah, Pa.”
The sound of the armchair squeaking told her he was coming before the creaking floorboards did and she set herself to work at the bench pulling the tins out with her back to the hallway. Several seconds passed before she heard him again, this time his weathered voice was clearer just a few feet behind her.
“How’d ya end up with them pist’ns?” Adam Beckett asked.
Raising her head, the girl took stock of him by his reflection in the window over the sink. His close-shaven hair was completely grey these days, although he had lost none of the full hairline which crowned him in photos of his youth. But the ravages of his vices and sorrow had deeply gouged lines around his thin lips, across his stern brow and sunken his once bright, blue eyes. A festering old wound of shame reopened inside her when she noticed that, despite the heat, he was wearing a rumpled, plaid shirt over his stained tank. As if just hiding the fresh ones would fool her anymore.
She knew there would be no sleep for her tonight until she searched every inch of the house and found where he was keeping it this time...
It had been a few months since she had to play this passive aggressive game and right now they could hardly afford for him to waste money buying more junk every time she threw his stash out.
“Replaced the cracked rings,” she told him curtly, her voice harsh like her thoughts.
He grunted and came into the kitchen, heading for the fridge stiffly. “Ya get it all back in?” he assumed as he opened the door and grabbed the new bottle of milk.
As she watched him break open the cap and take a swig from the bottle in the window Nancy shook her head. “Haven’t finished cleanin’ all the cylinders yet. Gonna get some lunch goin’.Ya want peas an’ mash with ya ste--“
“God dammit, Nancy!” the man snapped, banging the milk bottle down on the kitchen table between them. “I told ya I need’d that shit done! Dean’s gonna be ‘ere in the mornin’ an’ I’m fixin’ ta have the damn engine back in b’fore he gets here!”
“I was workin’ on it at six this mornin’, Pa!” Nancy protested, whirling to face him across the tabletop. “Lunch ain’t gonna hurt nothin’! I’ll git it done!”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it!” Adam snarled, lurching away from the dining chair and making it scrape across the floor as he shoved it. “I’ll fix it myself, girl!”
“Leave it, Pa! I said I’d do it!” Nancy called after him as he barged out the screen door, but his boots on the stairs did not falter in their furious descent.
She flinched as she heard him throw up the roller door downstairs so hard it crashed back on its runner and shuddered through the floor under her feet.
Letting the oxygen rush from her lungs, the blonde collapsed forward onto the table and buried her face into her hands…
The midday sun was hot for June, beating down unhindered on the sidewalk as the girl took a moment to straighten her ponytail and collect the wayward strands from her forehead, curling them behind her ears. She knew she was coated in a sheen of sweat, she could feel it on the back of her neck. Keen to get out of the cloying summer, she pushed open the glass-paneled front door and ducked into the shade of the brick building hung with the green and white sign ‘Addler’s Grocery’.
The bell above the door chimed with her entry and the cool breeze from the window box air-conditioner behind the counter hit her skin, giving instant relief. She practically sighed with the respite from the humidity.
“Hey, Nance.”
The greeting made her head turn to check behind the front counter and she hesitated for a minute when she came face to face with the deep brown eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. His salt and pepper hair showed the damp touch of sweat where it was slicked back from his weathered brow and his mouth, framed by deep creases on either side under the shadow of stubble stretched into a friendly smile. Michael, despite being nearly thirty years her senior, had caused that kind of mental stumble since sophomore year when the pretty boys stopped being attractive...
“Hi, Mr Kershaw.” the blonde returned with a flustered smile of her own. Whatever relief she had gained from the chilled air dissipated in seconds as her cheeks and ears grew warm.
“How many times I gots t’tell ya? Call me ‘Michael’,” he corrected her like he always did, cedar eyes bright and warm.
“Sorry, …Michael, ol’ habit.” The blonde returned sheepishly, sliding her thumbs into her hip pockets as she approached the counter.
“You’re gonna go and make me feel ‘old’.” he smirked.
For a moment, when she bent to collect one of the shopping baskets stacked beside the counter, her stomach rolled as he held that eye contact for an instant longer and she feared her blush would give her away. Not that old, her brain added. When he broke into a grinning breath of laughter she froze, afraid she had just said it out loud.
“You, uh… you got somethin’ here.” Michael explained, reaching over the counter to brush back a strand of her fringe. The roughened pad of his thumb brushed over her eyebrow and made a shiver prickle up her spine.
“I… wha?” she mumbled dumbly, taking a second to snap out of the stupor of his touch. He let go and Nancy turned immediately to put some distance between them again before she went and embarrassed herself. Reaching to grab the sunglasses tower next to the cashier and turn it until she found one of the little mirrors amongst the frames, she inspected the tingling place where he had touched.
The smudge of thick, black grease was impossible to miss. Smeared into her hairline, it even had particles of grit clinging to its inky lesion and she cringed. “Ah, shit,” the girl swore under her breath and tried to scrape it off with her thumb.
“Here y’go,” Michael was grinning as he lent over the counter, holding out the box of tissues.
Nancy knew she had to be bright red now as she snatched a few handfuls so hastily she nearly pulled the box from his hands and turned her back on him again to frantically begin scrubbing. The grease was stubborn and the best she succeeded was pushing most of it into her hair, making a tuft stick up at the roots stiffly. Slicking it back she inspected the dismal result of the black streak now above her temple and the angry red patch across her brow.
“Thanks,... Michael” she groaned, stuffing the soiled tissues into her back jeans pocket. Rather than look up at him she fussed with settling the basket handles into the crook of her arm and headed to get her groceries while wanting to trip and fall into a hole in the floorboards.
Hurrying into the rows of shelves lined up across the shop floor, Nancy stabbed her fingertips against her brow, furrowing her features into a grimace. She cursed herself for not taking five damned minutes to check herself in the hallway mirror on her way out the door. She knew Michael Kershaw would be here. Would it have been too much to maybe put on some mascara and brush her hair?
And if Emmie saw her heading into Addler’s all done up she wouldn’t hear the end of it for a week…
“You been helpin’ ya pa in the garage?” the masculine voice called from the front of the store.
When Nancy stooped to glance back towards the counter from between the cans of peas on the shelf she saw he had returned to restocking the cigarettes in the racks on the wall behind the register.
“Yeah, how’d ya guess?” she replied with a huff of chagrin. The reply came out a little more biting than she had meant it to, coloured with the memory of hauling herself out of bed before dawn that morning and skipping breakfast. He called it ‘helping’ but they both knew different.
To soften it, she added: “Where you hidin’ the creamcorn?”
“We out till Friday. Sorry, Nance.” he apologized.
Her father was fond of creamed corn on toast and it was one of the few things she could tempt him with to get the man to eat at least one meal a day. “S’kay...” she muttered and went about collecting the rest of her items in silence.
The quiet of the stagnant day outside pressed oppressively against the front windows of Addler’s, no breeze stirring the trees or making the sign of the corner store across the road swing. Inside there was only the sound of Michael unboxing the cigarette cartons, the slide of the drawers on their rails coming and going as he stowed them away and the minute signs of life from midst the shelves where the blonde rummaged.
A little over ten minutes after she came in, Nancy was heading back to the front counter with the loaded basket over one arm and two large bottles of milk and orange juice under the other. Michael looked up as she emerged from the rows of shelves and murmured a quick ‘lemme get that for ya’ as he grabbed the cardboard box off the counter and tossed it to the floor behind.
Depositing the basket and the rest onto the bench, Nancy gave him a fleeting stretch of her lips in a thankful smile as she began unpacking the overfilled basket across the surface. Michael did not waste a minute and started tallying it up on the calculator, repacking each thing carefully into plastic bags.
With the basket emptied, Nancy ducked for a second to drop it back onto the stack where it belonged and straightened to pull the fold of notes out of her pocket.
“You goin’ to graduation Saturday?” he asked casually as he stowed the two bottles of milk side by side into a bag.
The question made Nancy pause for a moment, looking up at him halfway through counting out the notes. Her brow creased for a moment before she brushed it off with a forced laugh and shook her head. “Nah. Dropped out months ago. Probably wouldn’t even let me in.”
A heavy silence threatened to settle on the counter for a moment as both of them mulled on her blithe words. She had the feeling he saw right through the indifference, knew how much it bothered her not to be lining up with the rest of her classmates and getting that piece of paper.
Nancy swallowed the thick lump which formed in the back of her throat and withheld the scowl which tried to drag the corners of her lips down.
She had been indecisive even up to the past minute about whether or not she would go to the party at the town hall. Emmie had asked her constantly to go, but Nancy could not shuck the shame of her drop-out at the beginning of the year and the nagging feeling that she had no place among her peers anymore.
They had diplomas now. Keys to college and careers. The only thing worse than sitting there and listening to them excitedly chat about their futures when they left Stillwater would be dodging the inevitable questions about why she had walked out a week into senior year and never come back…
Michael had the mercy to let it drop, feeling the change in her demeanour like a cool breeze from the air-con and he finished up the last few items in silence. He smiled at her when he told her the price and she smiled back as she handed the cash over, but the congeniality was gone from her bright green eyes now. She felt tired and drained all of a sudden.
“Why don’t I tote this lot ‘round the garage later? Save y’ carryin’ it.” he offered as her hand fisted the closest bag.
Pale blue eyes flicked up to meet brown ones, her fingers still tight around the plastic ties and she knew he was being more than gentlemanly.
“Nah, nah, s’okay, reck’n I better take ‘em.” Nancy was quick to stop him, grabbing the cluster of bags hastily into both fists. There were five of them, but she threaded the handles onto wrist and forearm and hefted them clear of the counter.
“I’ll bring the creamcorn ‘round Frid’y.” he called as she fled for the door, an undertone that brooked no argument threaded through the offer.
“Thanks, Mr Kershaw.” she called flatly, yanking open the front door and ducking back out into the stifling heat.
* * * * *
Nancy had barely reversed the brown panel Dodge Ram out of Addler’s parking lot before that lump swelled painfully in her throat and choked her. She could feel the hot sting beneath her lower lids, but the girl grit her back teeth and sucked in a deep breath to suppress the tears.
What was the point driving home and crying like a dainty little thing just because Michael Kershaw had treated her like a charity case? Half the damn town knew Adam Beckett was filling his lungs with Greg’s crap. But coming from Michael, it hurt more than the sideways looks in the main street. It shouldn’t. She was just some pathetic junkie’s girl with a quaint little crush on an older man.
Get a hold of yourself, she viciously berated her reflection in the rear view cracked mirror, swiping away the beads of saltwater clinging to her lashes and blinking tightly to clear her eyes. It would only start an argument if he walked into the house with tear-reddened eyes and her father decided to take interest.
But if Nancy Beckett had known that would be the last time she would see Michael Kershaw alive, she would have turned the truck around right then…
* * * * *
By the time she reached the other end of town and pulled the truck into the lot in front of the garage, the white of her eyes had faded and the redness of her face abated. There was still that angry blotch on her forehead, taunting her with the memory of her embarrassment as she raked strands of hair from her face in the mirror. Nancy swore at the glass under her breath as she pushed open the door and slid to the gravel.
After collecting the bags from the back of the pickup and rearranging them on her arms, she headed for the side of the brick building, passing under the large awning shading the petrol pump.
The faded red sign was still out front on the roadside, the dented metal panel swinging back and forth on the frame, but then again Adam hadn’t brought that in for months. The only indication he was not in the shop were the roller doors still shut tight and baking in the afternoon sun.
Rounding the corner of the workshop and stepping up onto the wooden staircase which creaked under her weight, she hefted her load to the second story where the small porch protruded under a tin awning. Here she took the moment to lower one of the plastic bags from her grip to set it on the old, scuffed car floor mat which sat in front of the threshold and give herself the agility to pull open the screen door gently. The rusted spring hooked between the frame and the wall crackled and squeaked long and low, but to her relief not too loudly.
Propping the door open with the toe of her sneaker and leaning in, she brought all the bags onto the faded linoleum tiles and closed the screen as carefully as when she had come in.
Standing there in the shade of her kitchen Nancy listened for a moment; the sound of the television droned from the hallway deeper into the house, which was the nail in the coffin. The roller doors downstairs were still locked as she had left them that morning and now there was the evidence that he had finally gotten out of bed but he had merely thrown himself down in front of the TV. The hard lump of disappointment in her chest hardly stung anymore these days…
Withholding her sigh, the blonde girl began putting away the refrigerated groceries with careful and quiet movements, trying to get them out of the merciless heat before they spoiled. She got as far as stowing the milk, cheese and steaks in the fridge before there was a guttural cough from the next room and his voice rose through the house:
“Nancy, darlin’, you home?”
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly before closing the fridge door. “Yeah, Pa.”
The sound of the armchair squeaking told her he was coming before the creaking floorboards did and she set herself to work at the bench pulling the tins out with her back to the hallway. Several seconds passed before she heard him again, this time his weathered voice was clearer just a few feet behind her.
“How’d ya end up with them pist’ns?” Adam Beckett asked.
Raising her head, the girl took stock of him by his reflection in the window over the sink. His close-shaven hair was completely grey these days, although he had lost none of the full hairline which crowned him in photos of his youth. But the ravages of his vices and sorrow had deeply gouged lines around his thin lips, across his stern brow and sunken his once bright, blue eyes. A festering old wound of shame reopened inside her when she noticed that, despite the heat, he was wearing a rumpled, plaid shirt over his stained tank. As if just hiding the fresh ones would fool her anymore.
She knew there would be no sleep for her tonight until she searched every inch of the house and found where he was keeping it this time...
It had been a few months since she had to play this passive aggressive game and right now they could hardly afford for him to waste money buying more junk every time she threw his stash out.
“Replaced the cracked rings,” she told him curtly, her voice harsh like her thoughts.
He grunted and came into the kitchen, heading for the fridge stiffly. “Ya get it all back in?” he assumed as he opened the door and grabbed the new bottle of milk.
As she watched him break open the cap and take a swig from the bottle in the window Nancy shook her head. “Haven’t finished cleanin’ all the cylinders yet. Gonna get some lunch goin’.Ya want peas an’ mash with ya ste--“
“God dammit, Nancy!” the man snapped, banging the milk bottle down on the kitchen table between them. “I told ya I need’d that shit done! Dean’s gonna be ‘ere in the mornin’ an’ I’m fixin’ ta have the damn engine back in b’fore he gets here!”
“I was workin’ on it at six this mornin’, Pa!” Nancy protested, whirling to face him across the tabletop. “Lunch ain’t gonna hurt nothin’! I’ll git it done!”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it!” Adam snarled, lurching away from the dining chair and making it scrape across the floor as he shoved it. “I’ll fix it myself, girl!”
“Leave it, Pa! I said I’d do it!” Nancy called after him as he barged out the screen door, but his boots on the stairs did not falter in their furious descent.
She flinched as she heard him throw up the roller door downstairs so hard it crashed back on its runner and shuddered through the floor under her feet.
Letting the oxygen rush from her lungs, the blonde collapsed forward onto the table and buried her face into her hands…