Big Fat Disaster (8 page)

“Sonya, history shows us that powerful men often stray. That doesn’t mean they’re bad people; in fact, when Reese and I prayed together last night, he expressed regret at the pain he’s—”

“How long have you been in town?” Mom sounds incredulous.

“Just a day or two, I—”

“Then you
know
he’s having an affair.” Mom’s voice is rising. “You know that he resigned after admitting he’s been using the campaign’s credit card to—”

“That’s just a misunderstanding. Reese said—”

“Reese
said
?” Mom laughs bitterly. “Reese
said
? What, exactly, did Reese
say
?”

“Sonya, you need to calm down. The children are going to hear you, and—”

“Colby’s the one who discovered the affair! She found a picture of Reese kissing that goddamn slut!”

I gasp and clap my hand over my mouth. I’ve never even heard my mom say, “
Dang
.” I slide my face to the edge of the wall so that I can see them.

“Sonya! I am
shocked
to hear you use such language!” Grandma heaves herself out of the chair, tiptoes to the window, and peeks out. “Are you forgetting that reporters are sneaky and vile and will hang you out to dry if you give them the chance? Didn’t what Leah did to Mark’s reputation make any impression on you? Those snakes are probably slithering around on the ground outside, writing down every word you say!”

Hands on her hips, Grandma leans forward and tries to see if anyone’s skulking about beneath the window ledge. She takes a long look through the window, then, apparently satisfied, tiptoes back to her chair and sighs heavily as she lowers herself onto the seat. She glances my way and I jerk back, thinking I’ve been discovered. But she turns back to Mom and insists, “You need to stand by Reese throughout this! Let them see you by his side, presenting a united front.”

Mom shrieks, and something shatters.

Grandma freaks out. “You’re scaring me! Is that what you did to Reese to drive him away? Did you throw dishes at him, too?”

Mom takes a deep breath in and blows it out. “I didn’t throw that plate
at
you, and,
no
, I never lifted a finger in anger at Reese. But let me tell you what I have done. For the last twenty years, I have been the perfect politician’s wife. I supported Reese without question. I raised his children to respect him as the head of our household. I didn’t speak up when I disagreed with him—or with anybody else, either. I’ve smiled and kept up my looks and done my best to never attract negative attention.

“And this is the thanks I get: In the last four days, I’ve had to deal with the local news parking itself in my front yard. I’ve—I’ve watched my husband on TV, holding hands with another woman! Besides that, he could be sent to prison! Oh, and let’s not forget that we have to move out, and I have no idea where the children and I will go.”

Grandma sighs loudly. “Well…I can certainly see what Reese was talking about when he told me that everything always has to be about you.” Her voice cracks. “My poor son. I can’t even imagine what he’s had to put up with all these years. Just from what he told me last night, I—”

Mom laughs, and she sounds a little crazy. “Oh,
yes
. Reese has had it
so rough
, with a wife and children who adored him and had no idea he was stealing from his campaign to take his mistress to the Four Seasons spa three times since April!”

Grandma’s voice is so low that I practically have to come out of my hiding place to hear her. “Let me ask you something, Sonya. Now, don’t get more upset; just listen to what I’m saying. Please know that this question comes from a place of caring, because I love you as if you were my flesh-and-blood daughter.”

Mom murmurs a strangled, “Okay.”

“What are you doing to get him back?”

Dead silence…Then, it’s like a bomb of emotions explodes in our kitchen: “Are you kidding me? He hasn’t even bothered to call to check on the girls since he left! I’ve been trying to find out how I’m supposed to get Rachel moved two thousand miles to college. I’ve never driven a truck with a trailer.
I’ve
never been on a long trip like that by myself. Reese won’t call me back! Then
you
show up today and announce that Dale’s taking his place. It’s like I’m at the mercy of the choices he makes, and I’ve about had enough!”

Grandma matches Mom’s loudness. “There you go
again
! I’m telling you, you
cannot
keep saying things like that!” She lowers her voice and hisses, “Especially not so that others can hear you! Answer my question, please: I asked what
you
are doing to make him
want
to come home.”

I don’t even feel my feet move from the hallway to the kitchen: My rage has me rocket-powered. “Stop it, Grandma! Leave Mom alone! It’s not her fault that Dad left!”

Mom holds up a hand. “Colby, you don’t need to defend me. I’m a big girl.”

“Speaking of ‘big girl’…” Grandma looks me up and down. “How much do you weigh now?”

I clench my fists and lean forward. “That’s none of your fucking business! Have
you
looked in the mirror lately?”

Grandma springs out of her chair really fast for an old lady and slaps me hard. I spin on my heel and stomp toward my room, with Mom hot on my trail. I try to slam my door, but she lurches forward and snatches hold of my upper arm with a death grip. Her eyes are blazing.

“
How dare
you speak to your grandmother that way? Where did you even learn that word?”

“Are you on crack, Mom? I live in the real world. I hear that word every day at school. It’s in the music I listen to, it’s—”

Mom sputters, “
Crack
? Are you—is that…What music? Well, you’re certainly not going to listen to it anymore!” She steps into my room and snatches my iPod off my dresser.

“Mom! Didn’t you hear what Grandma said? How can you be mad at
me
after everything
she
said to you?” I’m furious at myself for starting to cry.

“You were
eavesdropping
?” Her face turns bright red, and she swallows hard. “What is the matter with you, Colby Diane? You used to be such an obedient girl!” She moves to the hallway, my iPod cord dangling from her hand.

“No, I wasn’t!” I yell. “I was
never
the obedient one. That’s Drew! And I was never the perfect one. That’s Rachel! You’d swear that I’m Aunt Leah’s child, remember? I’m the one who doesn’t fit!”

I slam my door and lock it, then throw myself face-down on my bed and scream into my pillow until my head feels like it’s going to explode. I sob so hard that I’m sure I’m going to throw up.

Later, somebody—I think it’s Drew—knocks on my door, but I can’t hear what she’s saying over the racket I’m making. Finally, I fall asleep.

I wake and think it’s morning, but my clock radio reads 6:18
P.M.
I ease open my door and peer down the hall. Silence. I pop into the bathroom and study the bright red handprint Grandma left on my cheek.

I tiptoe toward the kitchen and stick my head around the corner. There’s a note taped to the cabinet.

I pull the tub of chocolate chip cookie dough out of the freezer and pop it in the microwave for a few minutes to soften it up. Then I grab a spoon, snatch the dough from the oven, and go back to my room. I lock my door just in case everyone comes back, and settle on the floor among the cardboard boxes and garbage bags that hold pieces of my life.

I shovel in heaping spoonfuls of lukewarm dough and I don’t feel a thing—not the horror of finding the photo, not the deep-seated shame of being the one who told, not the indescribable ache of my dad leaving us. I don’t even think about the way my mom lets me know in a hundred tiny ways that she doesn’t like me, much less love me. I’m a numb mound of cells until I can’t eat another bite because it feels like my insides will explode. I’m surprised that the tub’s nearly empty; I bury it under some old magazines in a trash sack and crawl to my bed. My head is spinning, and raw cookie dough is backing up into my throat.

Good times.

Mom calls my name and knocks on my door, but I ignore it. She picks my lock. I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep when she sits on the edge of my bed and touches my shoulder.

“Colby?”

“Hmm?” I flutter my eyes as if I’m waking and try to sit up, but I’m still too woozy from eating nearly a pound of lightly heated cookie dough. I stifle a burning burp that I hope looks like a yawn.

“I brought you take-out from Panera Bread. Smoked ham and Swiss.” She sniffs the air and makes a face. “It smells like cookies in here.”

I mumble, “I don’t know why it would.”

She tugs at my arm. “Well, sit up. You haven’t been eating enough lately, and I’m worried about you.”

“According to Grandma, I’m as big as a house.” I glare at Mom because I know she thinks the same thing.

Mom sighs. “She means well, she’s just…” Her eyes are as dull as her voice. “I hope you’ll feel up to joining us, and that you’ll apologize to your grandmother.”

Even though I’m painfully full, I still have room for rage. “Has she taken back what she said to you?”

Mom snaps, “You weren’t supposed to hear that. I asked you to excuse yourself.” She tosses the take-out bag at me and massages her temples. “I may not like what she said, but there could be a grain of truth to it. Maybe your dad just made a mistake. He is a powerful man, after all, and it’s natural for women to—”

I blast her, shouting, “Seriously, Mom? You’re blaming
yourself
for what he did? He lied to you! He lied to
everyone
! My whole life, I believed it when Dad said that honesty is everything to our family!”

I don’t know how long Grandma has been listening in the doorway. “That has nothing to do with it, Colby! We don’t air our dirty laundry to the world! Your Aunt Leah could not grasp that concept, and that’s why she’s barely getting by. Do you want your mother to be broke and miserable, too? Do you want your whole world to be turned upside down?”

I touch her handprint on my cheek and murmur, “I think it already is.”

Around noon on Friday, Uncle Dale arrives in a pickup truck pulling a horse trailer. We all go out on the porch to look, and Rachel’s eyes are huge. “I’m supposed to put my stuff in
that
?”

He claps her on the back as he comes inside. “Well, sure, sweetheart, I hosed it out before I left Shreveport this morning. That trailer’s the Cadillac of equine travel. It’s got AC and everything! And—no worries—I left the windows open all the way here to air out the smell.”

Rachel slumps, and her voice is flat. “FML.”

“Ef-em-el? What on earth does that mean?” Mom asks.

Rachel rolls her eyes. “It’s French.” She gives me a warning look, like
I’m
going to tell Mom that
FML
means
Fuck My Life
. She sighs. “Stephanie’s going to die when I tell her this.” She slips her phone from her pocket and texts as she walks to her room.

Uncle Dale watches her go and turns to Mom. “I stopped by Leah’s place to see if she’s still mad at us and to ask Ryan if he wanted to go on a road trip to Oregon. I thought he might be inspired to apply to the same school in a couple of years, and I was also hoping that spending some man-to-man time with him on the way back home might help. I thought that I could explain to him about how the world works, so he won’t go through the rest of his life bringing a rain of fire down on himself. It’s not like Leah’s going to teach him about the importance of keeping his mouth shut.”