Castles on the Sand

Fourteen

“No, I haven't joined them. It was a movie night,” I explain.

“It was Mutual.”

“Huh? No... I think they said mutual, or whatever you call it, was cancelled. Carson asked me out.”

“It's John, isn't it?”

“What? No-”

“Has he been in touch with you?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Why? Why do you talk to him?”

“I don't really. He emails me.”

“He emails you what?”

“He tells me about our family and stuff. It's no big deal.”

“Your family are a bunch of Mormons.”

“They're still my relatives. I'm not gonna go to church with them. I just want to know who they are.”

“Toxic, weak minded sheep who follow their cheerful leader. They claim to have a prophet, did you know that? One guy in Salt Lake City who talks to God and tells everyone else what to do.”

“Yeah, I kind of looked that stuff up. Definitely not gonna join the religion, so don't worry about it.”

“Mormons hate women, all right? They're misogynists. They believe your place is home, pregnant, with a lot of craft projects so that you can pretend you matter to the world but you don't.”

“I'm not gonna marry Carson or join the Church, so it's all good.”

“I said the exact same thing about James. Oh, I'll never marry him. I'm no one and he could have anyone. I'd be lucky to end up with him. Then at eighteen I'm living in a studio apartment with twins on the way and that's it. That's my life.”

“Okay, stop. Getting ahead of ourselves here.”

She buries her face in her hands. “I did not escape from that life to have you turn right around and waltz back in.”

“I am not going to church with them!”I shout. “Stop lecturing me and listen. I am not looking for a relationship with God. I went on a date with Carson. There's a difference.”

Mom gets to her feet. “How often do you talk to John?”

“I don't know. He emails me. Sometimes I email back.”

For a moment she just stares at me, her eyes narrowing, then she lunges across the room and slaps me across the face. Pain explodes across my still tender nose and sinuses and I find myself clinging to the fridge door handle to keep from falling down. I must have stumbled into it after Mom's blow. “Mom...”

She curses, then ducks out the back door.

Papers flutter in her wake and I snatch one out of the air. It's a cancelled rent check. The others on the floor prove to be other canceled checks, but I take a closer look at one and see that it's actually a bounced check. Mom's overspent her bank balance again. I pick them all up – a headache beginning to throb behind my eyes – and stack them neatly on the table again. I hate it when mom hits me. She never does it hard enough to leave a mark, but it stings to have the one person I live with hate me so much that she resorts to violence.

It makes me feel like a stranger in my home, an intruder, someone who isn't welcome. When I walk back to my room, I can't even sit down on my bed, I perch on the edge and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The two black eyes have faded into just dark circles, but I wonder if they'll purple up again.

Out in the back yard, I sense more than hear her potters wheel start up. I hope that calms her down.

And I really wish I could call Kailie. I flip through my pitifully short list of phone contacts and stop on John's name. A glance at the clock tells me it's eleven p.m., which means it's midnight in Utah. My thumb hesitates, then punches the send key.

One ring and I feel like I'm being rude. Two and I feel like I'm taking a bad night and making it a million times worse. Three and I get ready to hang up.

“Hello?” says a sleepy voice.

“Hi.”

“Mmm, hi. Who's this?”

“It's Madison.”

“Madison?” He says my name as if I'm a movie star who just called him at home. “Really? How are you? It is so good to hear your voice.”