Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“Language,” Esther cautioned. “Emily, when he called this morning, Ronnie referred to the Pericope Adulterae. John 8:1–20. Do you know what that means?”

Emily had nothing to say. Her mother was almost giddy as she relayed the conversation. Nothing Emily had said in the last ten minutes had cracked Esther’s hard shell. Emily had challenged her, she had called her mother out for her hypocrisy, and now Esther was quoting John the Apostle as if none of it had happened.

“You know the passage,” Esther said. “The Pharisees brought to Jesus an adulterous woman. They told Him, ‘The Law of Moses commanded us to stone such a woman. What do you say?’”

Emily felt her mind going back through the conversation as she tried to find the moment Esther had climbed back onto her high horse. She was clearly expecting Emily to play the game, to do the same thing they did with Franklin. Ignore the bruises. Forget about the yelling. Pretend like the sobbing and begging Emily heard through their bedroom wall had come from the television and not her mother.

Esther said, “The Pharisees were trying to test Jesus. To see how strongly His morals would hold. Do you know what Jesus said? Do you?”

Emily was disgusted with herself for knowing the answer. She had learned it in Sunday School, but had not until this moment wondered why the Pharisees were ready to stone the woman but never deigned to consider punishing the man with whom she’d been caught red-handed.

“Do you know the verse?” Esther asked.

Emily recited by rote. “‘He lifted up Himself and said unto them, he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’”

“Precisely.” Esther nodded approvingly. “Reagan understands that good people can sometimes make mistakes. You know that he was divorced before he married Nancy.”

Emily nodded along with her mother as if she gave a shit about Ronald Reagan’s personal life. Emily was not an adulterous woman. She had not knowingly made a mistake.

“Ronnie told me that your father and I have set an admirable example by supporting you through this difficult time. He said it showed great strength of character.”

“Oh,” Emily said, as if everything was clear now. “If Reagan says you’re not a hypocritical coward, then what the fuck does your own daughter know?”

“I told you to watch your language.” Esther stood up from the table. The conversation ended that abruptly. “Place the pumpkin seeds by the bar in the parlor. Your father will be home soon. I want to make sure dinner is on the table by the time he is out of the shower. Your grandmother will probably …”

Esther’s entreaties faded away as Emily carried the bowl of pumpkin seeds toward the parlor. She should’ve known better than to attempt to argue with a woman whose career had been built on winning arguments.

But it was more than that.

Emily would never get through to her mother, mostly because the judge would always stand in the way. Esther was the housewife, the gardener, the food heater-upper, the mom, the daughter-in-law, the occasional field trip chaperone. The judge was the one whose principal design was to project strength. Everyone described her as intimidating. She held forth at parties like a scholar. Her opinions were circulated as if she was a deity. She wielded her intelligence like a sword. She ruled over her courtroom like a queen.

And then she came home and her husband pounded the shit out of her.

Emily ate a handful of pumpkin seeds. They crunched between her teeth. Instead of going into the parlor, she pushed open the patio door. Cold air whipped her hair around her face. She hugged the pumpkin seeds close to her chest.

Despite Sisyphus repeatedly rolling his rock across her body in the family kitchen, Emily smiled at the thought of seeing Jack. She would take him a plate of food once dinner was over. He generally subsisted on candy bars and beef jerky when he spent nights in the shed. At least going by the wrappers Emily cleaned out the next day. The pumpkin seeds would tide him over for a while.

The warped shed door hadn’t shut all the way. Emily would bring Jack one of the spare duvets from the closet. He never complained about the cold, but it was particularly brutal this time of year. There was no insulation in the shed. Even a slight breeze could rattle the single-paned glass like a train chugging down the tracks.

Emily paused outside the door, listening. Her heart felt shattered when she heard a low moan. Every time she told herself she was completely alone in the world, she should remind herself of what Jack was going through. Esther was a sanctimonious hypocrite and Franklin was a tyrant, but at least Emily wasn’t spending Thanksgiving in a cold shed.

She leaned down, thinking she could leave the bowl of seeds for him, but then she heard the moan again. Her heart ached for him. Emily had seen Jack cry before. More than a few times, to be honest. The distance he was keeping from her at school had been hurtful, but he was still her friend.

Emily pushed open the door.

At first, she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Her mind could not make sense of it.

Clay’s back was to the door. Jack’s hands were braced against the workbench. She thought they were fighting. Wrestling. Playing. But then she saw that Clay’s pants were down around his ankles. Jack moaned again. The bench shook as Clay thrust into him.

They were having sex.