Cora is firmly in the bad category where she should really be in more of a murky gray in-between section. Yes, she was rude and abrasive, but she has her reasons. With a little patience and time to demonstrate we don’t all exist in the moral cesspit that our father inhabits, she would have come around.
But Danny doesn’t work that way.
“This isn’t going to make things better,” I warn, shaking my sore head and immediately regretting the action.
A rustling noise on the other end of the phone tells me he’s shrugging carelessly. “What does better look like anyway? We never wanted her to move in. We were just being accommodating so that Dad would move away, and we wouldn’t have to deal with his shit up close and personal anymore.”
“You know that Dad did put her father’s company out of business? I did some digging today.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Danny says, gulping some more water. “The thing is, it doesn’t really matter. I’m not my father. Neither are you, or Alden, or Tobe, or River. It happened over a decade ago, and I don’t need history that has nothing to do with me ruining my homelife.”
“I have a feeling your disposal of Cora’s clean clothes is going to do a lot more damage.”.”
“Maybe,” Danny says. “But she’ll learn. I’m a really great teacher.”
All-day, I feel antsy, as though something has slipped under my skin and into my consciousness. I manage to gather my brain cells for the one meeting I have, and then I skulk back to my desk to check off what’s urgent from my workload. The rest will have to wait.
On the journey home, I flick on the radio and listen to some mellow country music, needing the soothing, dulcet tones to steady the inflated-balloon feeling in my chest.
Will Cora be home already? How will she react to what Danny’s done? Will she blame the rest of us? And what will I say if she confronts me?
I might not like what Danny’s doing, but there’s no way I’ll do anything to undermine him, no matter how much my instinct is to run a cool hand and smooth the wrinkles in this situation.
After I park the car in the driveway, I rest my elbows on the wheel and my head in my hands. My hair is longer than usual, and I make a mental note to get it trimmed at the weekend. The sigh that rushes through my parted lips feels like a deep release from the tension coiled in my belly and into my bones.
This friction takes me back to a time when our home was filled with tension and arguments. When Mom was sick, Dad couldn’t find it in himself to respect her wishes and listen to what she wanted. Much like Danny, he had ideas of what was best for Mom and him and the rest of us, and he bulldozed his way over everyone. Back then, I used to hide out in my room so that I didn’t have to listen to any of it.
Is that what it’s going to be like now?
Already, I don’t want to go inside and face the music. Cora, on one axis, wielding a sledgehammer against a gong. Danny, and maybe the rest of my brothers, on the other with axes and hammers pounding a bass drum. There is nothing tuneful about conflict.
But I can’t sit in my car forever.
I need to eat and sleep so that I can reenter the world in the morning as a productive human being.
I trudge up the driveway to the house with heavy steps, already hearing the licking flames of an argument in progress.
As I turn my key in the lock, a high-pitched voice yells, “You asshole!”
There’s a slam of something metal against metal and a rumble of laughter from more than one man.
“Fuck,” I mutter, shoving my keys into my pocket and searching the box for mail as an easy distraction.
“Did you hear something?” Danny asks, his voice singsong with unrepressed pleasure.
“Fuck you!” Cora shouts, her words punctuated with another loud bang.
My hands ball at my sides, the tension is making me want to punch something.
“You know, I think we should have another party tonight,” Tobias says. “We still have a whole load of booze left.”
“Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Cora yells. “You think you’re going to make it impossible for me to live here with your stupid games and your stupid parties. Well, you’re not the only ones who can be this petty. You better watch your backs.”
“Did you hear something?” Danny repeats. I get the feeling that I’m going to be hearing that particular phrase a lot.
“Maybe it was the wind,” Toby says. “Or maybe it was my stomach grumbling.”
With another slam, footsteps begin to stamp along the hall. “You touch my laundry again, and you’ll be searching for your dicks in the trash,” Cora yells, her voice getting closer and closer. And then she’s there, in front of me, her face flushed, and her jaw clenched.