A Thousand Acres_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [84]
Pammy came into the room, and I said to the two girls, “Maybe there’s something on TV. This could be a long night, with the storm and everything. We ought to have the televison on, anyway.” They moved obediently to the couch, and ended up watching the only thing we could get, which was a performance of the New York City Ballet on PBS.
During the news they drifted off, Pammy rolled back against the arm of the couch, her head flopped and her hair in her face. Linda lay against Pammy, breathing deeply, her mouth open. I set down my knitting and gazed at them, thinking how they often seemed bewildered and wondering if it had always been thus with them and, bewildered myself, I had taken that to be a normal condition. Rose said, “Let’s carry them up to bed for now anyway. If there’s a warning, we can wake them up and get them into the basement, but it looks more like just a bad rain to me.” After we came down, Rose stood at the door, watching the gathering storm and waiting for the truck.
A pair of headlights turned off the road, momentarily crossed the back wall of the room, went dark. Rose stayed where she was and didn’t say anything. I sat still. After a long, quiet moment, punctuated by the bang bang of two truck doors closing, Ty’s voice, low and calm, said, “Ginny, come out here please.”
This was it.
Rose pushed the screen door and I followed her. Our father was standing in front of the truck. Ty was behind him. He said, “Larry has some things to say. I told him he should tell you them himself.”
Daddy said, “That’s right.”
Rose took my hand and squeezed it, as she had often done when we were kids, and in trouble, waiting for punishment.
Daddy said, resentfully, “That’s right. Hold hands.”
I said, “Why shouldn’t we? All we’ve ever really had is each other. Anyway, what are we in trouble for? Why are you getting ready to tell us a bunch of things? We haven’t done anything wrong except try our best with you.”
Rose said, “It’s going to storm. Why don’t I take you home and we can talk about this in the morning?”
“I don’t care about the storm. I don’t want to go home. You girls stick me there.”
I said, “We don’t stick you there, Daddy. It’s the nicest house, and you live there. You’ve lived there all your life.”
“Let me take you home.” Rose’s tone was wheedling.
I urged him. “It’s been a long day. Go on with her, and then tomorrow we can—”
“No! I’d rather stay out in the storm. If you think I haven’t done that before, my girl, you’d be surprised.”
A wave of exasperation washed over me. I said, “Fine. Do what you want. You will anyway.”
“Spoken like the bitch you are!”
Rose said, “Daddy!”
He leaned his face toward mine. “You don’t have to drive me around any more, or cook the goddamned breakfast or clean the goddamned house.” His voiced modulated into a scream. “Or tell me what I can do and what I can’t do. You barren whore! I know all about you, you slut. You’ve been creeping here and there all your life, making up to this one and that one. But you’re not really a woman, are you? I don’t know what you are, just a bitch, is all, just a dried-up whore bitch.” I admit that I was transfixed; yes, I thought, this is what he’s been thinking all these years, waiting to say it. For the moment, shock was like a clear window that separated us. Spittle formed in the corners of his mouth, but if it flew, I didn’t feel it. Nor did I step back. Over Daddy’s shoulder I saw Ty, also transfixed, unmoving, hands in pockets. Then Pete turned the corner and drove up in his own pickup.
Rose said, “This is beyond ridiculous. Daddy, you can’t mean those things. This has got to be senility talking, or Alzheimer’s or something. Come on, Pete and I will take you home. You can apologize to Ginny in the morning.” Pete turned out his headlights and got out of the truck, his voice, sounding flat and distant, said, “What’s up?”
“Don’t you make me out to be crazy! I know your game! The next step is the county home, with that game.”
“I’m not making you out to be crazy, Daddy. I