“Yelling is rude,” Shawn said, again speaking to the kitchen. “You’ll
stay down until you apologize.” I said I was sorry for yelling at him. A
moment later I was standing.
I folded napkins from paper towels and put one at each setting.
When I placed one at Shawn’s plate, he again jabbed his finger into my
ribs. I said nothing.
Charles arrived early—Dad hadn’t even come in from the junkyard
yet—and sat at the table across from Shawn, who glared at him, never
blinking. I didn’t want to leave them alone together, but Mother
needed help with the cooking, so I returned to the stove but devised
small errands to bring me back to the table. On one of those trips I
heard Shawn telling Charles about his guns, and on another, about all
the ways he could kill a man. I laughed loudly at both, hoping Charles
would think they were jokes. The third time I returned to the table,
Shawn pulled me onto his lap. I laughed at that, too.
The charade couldn’t last, not even until supper. I passed Shawn
carrying a large china plate of dinner rolls, and he stabbed my gut so
hard it knocked the wind out of me. I dropped the plate. It shattered.
“Why did you do that?” I shouted.
It happened so quickly, I don’t know how he got me to the floor, but
again I was on my back and he was on top of me. He demanded that I
apologize for breaking the plate. I whispered the apology, quietly, so
Charles wouldn’t hear, but this enraged Shawn. He grabbed a fistful of
my hair, again near the scalp, for leverage, and yanked me upright,
then dragged me toward the bathroom. The movement was so abrupt,
Charles had no time to react. The last thing I saw as my head hurled
down the hall was Charles leaping to his feet, eyes wide, face pale.
My wrist was folded, my arm twisted behind my back. My head was
shoved into the toilet so that my nose hovered above the water. Shawn
was yelling something but I didn’t hear what. I was listening for the
sound of footsteps in the hall, and when I heard them I became
deranged. Charles could not see me like this. He could not know that
for all my pretenses—my makeup, my new clothes, my china place
settings—this is who I was.
I convulsed, arching my body and ripping my wrist away from
Shawn. I’d caught him off guard; I was stronger than he’d expected, or
maybe just more reckless, and he lost his hold. I sprang for the door.