Nothing Sacred

“Yeah,” Martha said, allowing only a little of her concern to show through. “I’m watching my girls, too.”

“It’s horrible,” Sheila said, glancing toward the school as though checking to make sure the kids weren’t coming out unnoticed. “All our lives, this was a place where we were safe from the rest of the world, a place where you just knew things were going to be okay. Mike passed up some good job opportunities to stay here because of that. Because the safety and security of our family meant more than financial success. But lately, Mike’s been talking about moving to Phoenix. If he gets a good enough offer, I’m afraid we might….”

Her heart filling with dread, Martha commiserated as best she could, and thanked the Fates for remembering her, when the girls appeared just a couple of minutes later.

Ellen’s attacker might or might not still be physically present in this town, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was living among them. He’d taken up residence in their lives, instilling a fear that might never leave them.

“WE GOT OUR REPORT CARDS,” Rebecca said, getting to the car ahead of her sister and climbing into the coveted front passenger seat, leaving the back for Shelley.

“How’d you do?” Martha asked, leaning over to kiss her youngest daughter’s cheek. Rebecca was the most energetic and joyful of her kids. Though that liveliness was somewhat diminished these days, there was still enough of it to brighten the day.

“All A’s,” Rebecca said, bouncing one long skinny leg as she handed over her report card. The child didn’t seem to notice the heavy backpack she’d flung from her shoulders to her lap as she’d climbed in.

“That’s an awful lot of ice cream,” Martha said, glancing over the perfect scores with a sense of pride that she shared only with herself these days.

“You don’t have to take me out for every A anymore, Mom. I’m too old for that.”

“Hey,” Martha said, unwilling to accept yet another change in their family. “You think those trips are for you? Who do you think gets you up every morning, drives you to school, buys your supplies and helps with homework? Who nags you to get those good grades? I’m the one who deserves the ice cream.”

Giggling, Rebecca said, “You’re nuts, Mom.”

“I know. But I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Rebecca’s words were almost drowned out by the opening of the back door and Shelley’s goodbyes to a friend Martha had never met.

“Hi, sweetie, how was your day?” Martha asked, turning to smile at a daughter who didn’t even look at her.

“Fine,” Shelley said, staring out the side window and chomping loudly on a piece of gum. “Can we go now?”

Before someone sees us, Martha translated, reminding herself to remember what it was like to be sixteen, how she’d felt at that age.

Of course, being embarrassed by her mother hadn’t been an issue, since she’d never had one. As for her father, if he’d ever remembered to pick Martha up from anywhere, it would’ve been such a miracle, she’d have forgotten to be embarrassed.

But she’d heard from other parents that kids typically went through a stage where being seen with their parents was akin to social death. Ellen hadn’t been like that, so Shelley was her first experience of teenage rebellion.

“How were your grades?” she asked her recalcitrant daughter as she pulled away from the traffic surrounding the school.

“Fine.” That was all.

Martha glanced in the rearview mirror. Shelley was still staring outside.

“You going to tell me what they were?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember. Get off my back, already! You can see for yourself when we get home.”

Filled with dread, Martha didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want to face another challenge that day. That week. Hell, a year without unrest would be okay by her.

Shelley was halfway out of the car the second Martha stopped in the driveway.

“Hey, Shel!”

“Yeah?” The girl poked her head, hateful purple hair and all, in the door, but still managed to avoid her mother’s eyes.

“I’m on my way to Tim’s practice, but I’ll be home before dinner,” she said. “Leave the report card on the table.”