Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [52]
“That’s what I said.”
“Oh, come on, Dad. Mitch had a couple of friends over.” She glanced across the table at Mitch, who was white as a sheet. “It was no big deal.”
“If alcohol was served and someone was sick enough to throw up, it is a big deal, Mary. A very big deal. Everyone’s underage, and that doesn’t even touch the fact that you were stealing from us—your mother and me. We don’t want to have to put a lock on the liquor cabinet, do we?”
“No.” Bernice picked up her glass and took a sip. “Never. We want to trust our children.” She looked pointedly at Mitch. “All of them. You know, Mitch, we consider you as much our son as the twins are our daughters.” Mitch swallowed hard. Didn’t speak.
“So who was here?” Frank asked, slowly looking from one face to the next. Maggie wanted to squirm. Sweat broke out on her palms. “Some of Mitch’s friends, you said.” He paused at Mary Theresa before skewering Mitch with his favorite don’t-try-to-con-me glare. “Who?”
“Just some of the guys,” Mitch mumbled.
“They have names.”
“You know, the guys. Look, Dad, I’m not going to rat them out so you can call their parents.”
“I’m not calling anyone, but this is my house, your mother’s and mine, and we have certain rules. Rules you should understand. Rules that you must abide by.”
“I do. We all do.” Color was returning to Mitch’s face, and his pitiful, scared expression was changing into a slow, hard burn. Maggie had seen it before, at every athletic competition Mitch had entered, and whenever he was ready for a fight. The cords in the back of his neck tightened, his muscles tensed.
“But you chose to disobey them.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“No?” Frank’s eyes sharpened.
“I messed up.” Mitch stole a glance at Mary Theresa, and Maggie wilted inside. He looked like he was ready to kill someone. Anyone. “I’m sorry,” he said through lips that barely moved. “It won’t happen again.”
“I’ll say it won’t—”
“Frank.” Bernice held up a hand. “He said he was sorry, okay? Now, let’s let it drop. Everyone here knows what’s expected of him or her.”
Maggie’s stomach was in knots. She couldn’t wait to escape from the table, the house, go anywhere. She thought of the ranch, of Thane Walker, and riding Ink Spot far into the hills…
“Is that the way it was?” Frank Reilly demanded, and Maggie snapped back to the present, realized that all eyes were turned on her.
“I…I wasn’t here most of the time,” she hedged.
“But you came home.”
“Yeah.”
“Yes,” her mother corrected.
“Yes. I came home and Mitch had a couple of guys over, I didn’t really pay much attention, just went to my room.” Oh, they had to know she was lying, she was so poor at it. Her stomach rumbled, and her intestines felt like they were suddenly filled with water. “Can…I…be excused?”
“May I,” Bernice said automatically.
“Please. I don’t feel so hot.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just scraped her chair back and dashed down the hallway.
“Now, what’s gotten into her?” Bernice asked loud enough so that the question rang in Maggie’s ears.
Everything, Mom, everything! This whole family. It’s sick. It used to be normal and fun and secure, and now it’s just sick, sick, sick! Maggie ran to her bedroom, slammed the door shut, and nearly collapsed on the tile counter of the bathroom she shared with Mary Theresa. She couldn’t stand the undercurrents running through the air, didn’t want to think that her family, the one she’d depended on for as long as she could remember, was falling apart. Slowly she lifted her head to stare at her reflection in the mirror mounted over one of the twin sinks. The eyes that stared back at her were dark, haunted, and confused. Her skin was pale—no tinge of color in her cheeks. God, she was a horrible liar. Horrible.
She stripped off her clothes frantically, as if in so doing she could tear away all the lies and deceit, then she relieved herself and stepped into the shower. Cool, clear water ran over her, through her hair, down her neck and body, washing away the sweat and the worries, the fear that everything she’d trusted as