The metallic smell intensifies and this time I do cough and sit up, opening my eyes abruptly. My dad slides his water glass toward me with an expression of concern, but I ignore it. Waves of fury, of frustration and defensiveness and desperation, threaten to drown me. I feel them pour through me, meld with my own desperate need to do something, to change things somehow; to keep Uncle Randall, who has to be nearby, from bullying Auntie Mina or any of us. I stumble out of my seat and into a half-run. When I get to the living room, I part the sheer curtains on the front window and peek out. Nothing. I peer down one side of the street, then the other, as far as I can from where I’m standing.
There it is, parked halfway down the street. Uncle Randall’s white Mercedes. And the driver’s side door is opening. My heart thuds.
I turn back around, letting the curtain drop. I have to tell Auntie Mina. I’ve almost reached the far end of the hall when the study door opens and she comes out. I stop short and stare at her, my fists clenched at my sides.
“He’s here,” I tell her. “His car is parked down the street. He’s coming.”
I swallow, and fight back hot tears that I refuse, refuse to cry.
“I know,” Auntie Mina says. She smiles gently, sadly.
I don’t even question how she knows. I don’t know whether he told her or whether she found out some other, more unusual way, if somehow she sensed it when I was hoping with everything in me that she could be strong. Does it even matter? All of a sudden my fingers and toes start to tingle and I feel like I’m going to pass out. Cold sweat breaks out on my forehead and I lean against the wall for support.
Auntie Mina puts one hand on my cheek, then draws me into a fierce hug. I can feel myself tremble slightly.
What now? I don’t know what to do. I look up at her questioningly.
“We wait,” she says.
twenty-six
Auntie Mina puts her arm around my waist and we walk into the kitchen together. My dad is already on his feet. In one glance he takes in my face, drained of color, and Auntie Mina’s, smiling unconvincingly. Dad comes up to us and puts a hand on each of our shoulders.
“What’s happened now?” he asks, sounding more re-signed than I expected.
“Uncle Randall’s here,” I say weakly. “I saw his car parked down the street. He’s coming.” I feel dad’s hand tighten.
“I didn’t realize he was planning to come here,” Auntie Mina says in a quiet voice. “He said—well, he thinks he deserves a face-to-face conversation before we decide to finalize the separation. He’s said it before.”
“What? That’s ridiculous,” my dad says.
“Maybe we should call the police,” I start saying, but nobody’s listening.
“You talk about respect, Ali,” Auntie Mina says, her voice strained now. “You always tell me that Randall needs to show me respect. If I show him this one small courtesy, I expect him to respect my space in return.”
“He’s never shown you enough respect.” My dad’s face is tight with tension.
Auntie Mina looks up at him, stubborn. “I know you’ve never liked him. But this is right for me. I’m comfortable just letting him have his say, and then we take a little time away and think about it. If it gets uncomfortable … ” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.
Dad makes an exasperated noise and starts pacing around the kitchen.
“You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” I say forcefully. “If we have to, we can call the police.” Auntie Mina glances at me. I look down at my hand; my phone is still in it from when I was going to call Mikaela. That seems like a year ago now.
My dad brings his fist down on the kitchen counter, rattling a few dishes in the dish drainer. We all jump.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea. If you insist on talking to the man, you should have a mediator. There’s just been too much—too much for all of us. I’m going to tell him that. I’m going to tell him it’s time to go home and cool off.” He moves toward the doorway to the front hall.
“I wish you’d just let me talk to him,” Auntie Mina says.
“You’ve been talking to him,” my dad points out. “And all it’s done is keep you from living your life. You have to move on. Life is better than this, Mina. He isn’t good for you.”
For the first time, I notice the laugh and frown lines together on my dad’s face, and I wonder if the frown lines were there before all of this happened.
It’s changed all of us.
“Mina, listen,” my dad says, his voice softening. “I hate to sound like a domineering jerk, but I can’t let you talk to him when he’s like this. It’s an issue of your safety. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Auntie Mina looks deflated. My stomach churns with worry. I hope she really understands what a loser he is, and how dangerous he is. All she has to do is remember that bruise on her shoulder, the one on her wrist. I sure can’t forget.
But I guess if you’ve loved someone that long, it’s hard to just stop.
There’s a sharp, angry knock on the front door. I go cold. My dad strides briskly into the front hall and goes outside, closing the door behind him. My heart in my throat, I start to follow.
“Sunny, no,” Auntie Mina says.
I keep walking to the door. I’m worried about Dad, but even more than that, I’m tired of hearing thoughts, snippets. This time I want the whole conversation. I want to see how Uncle Randall is going to act. And I want to be sure Auntie Mina treats him how he deserves to be treated.
What people think is one thing. What they do is another.
My mind flashes onto Spike—uncertain, hopeful, but kissing me as if there was no doubt in his mind what he wanted, no fear of repercussions. And Cody—who always seemed so confident, looking at me with fear, seething with desperation inside. I shake my head and focus.
I open the front door.
I sense Auntie Mina standing behind me, and she grabs my arm, but I pull away. I glance at her; she’s holding a golf umbrella. I look down at it stupidly.
“Just in case,” she says, the tiniest wry smile twitching at her lips. “I don’t think we’ll need it, but you never know.” I show her the phone in my hand, the numbers 9-1-1 already punched in. She squeezes my shoulder, gently this time, and I feel some of the tension, some of the fear for Auntie Mina, release its grip. I feel like we’re a united front.
I hope we are.
I turn back toward the open doorway. Dad is talking to Uncle Randall in the driveway. The white Mercedes is parked, somewhat sloppily, at the curb.
“ … doesn’t want to see you right now,” my dad is saying. His back is toward me, so I can’t see his expression; and he’s blocking Uncle Randall, too; standing between him and the cement walk leading up to our front steps.
“Well, at least let her tell me that herself,” Uncle Randall says, his tone polite but brittle. He tries to sidestep Dad, but Dad moves to block him. I take a big step back, my heart pounding, and crash into Auntie Mina.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dad says coldly. “I think you’d better leave now. You shouldn’t be confronting her when you’re both angry.”
“Come on. You and Debby are always the ones so into talking and letting it all hang out.” He’s standing really close to Dad now, jabbing a finger at his chest belligerently. “Now you’ve got us going to a counselor, letting a stranger in on all our private family business and telling us how our marriage is supposed to work. All that talk, and you don’t want me talking to her?” His voice oozes contempt and a dull fury swells within me. It’s a good thing I’m not holding the golf umbrella. I feel like smashing the windows of his precious car.