“You can stay there,” Jeremy said and turned back to Sawyer. “Miss me, buddy? Come give your old dad a hug.”
Sawyer put Marlow behind him and turned to me. “You both should go home.”
I nodded. I took Marlow with me and looked over my shoulder. Neither Sawyer nor his father moved. They remained in their stances, staring at one another.
The next morning, the red truck was gone. I didn’t ask Sawyer about what happened. I didn’t ask who the man was because it would have felt like a lie. A lie because I knew exactly who the man was and why Ada was so angry.
But I didn’t know if Sawyer was.
Later that week, Mom came home weary and spoke in a monotone. “What do you girls want for dinner?”
“Hard day?” Moni asked, looking up from folding laundry at the kitchen table.
“Too hard. I was slammed at work. I think I’ll have to go in early tomorrow to get a head start on another project.” She rubbed her temples. “What was I saying?”
“It’s okay, I make dinner.”
“Oh, Halmoni. You already do so much. I can pull something together.”
We sat down a half hour later, without Dad, who was late. There was much back and forth between Marlow and me over what dinner should be. I suggested macaroni and cheese while she kept pushing for cut-up hot dogs and mustard. When she saw the macaroni and cheese with reheated broccoli on the side, she pursed her lips immediately.
Mom recognized the look and sighed. “Marlow, please. Not tonight. I have way too much going on. Please. Let’s eat and have a nice meal.”
Marlow picked up her fork and then dropped it. Rebellion won over.
“I wanted cut hot dogs and honey mustard.”
“Well, we aren’t eating that,” Mom snapped.
I had heard this song and dance many times before. Usually, Marlow would give up after coaxing from Moni.
She spun her fork and then shook her head.
“Marlow, you’re not a baby anymore. You are eight, going on nine. Now please eat.”
She was met with silence, which was worse than a retort.
Mom’s mouth tightened. Her forehead flushed.
I observed with a knot in my stomach as Marlow picked up her fork once more. She took a forkful of noodle and shoved it in her mouth, chewing rapidly. Her mouth moving in exaggerated motions, twisting her nose into grotesque distorted shapes.
“Marlow.”
She kept going. Moving faster and faster until she spit. Regurgitated macaroni flew onto her plate and onto the middle of the table.
I had never seen Mom move at such lightning speed, scooping up the chewed-up noodle and shoving it into Marlow’s mouth.
“Put it back,” she said darkly. “Put it all back how it was before!” she shouted this time.
Marlow pushed her chair back and wiped at her mouth. She smiled at Mom.
“Go to your room,” Mom snarled.
She stared down at her own plate as Marlow ran out. Her hand on the side of her head as she stabbed macaroni noodles until they piled up on her fork.
We ate the rest of dinner quietly, Moni only asking if I wanted more or if anyone wanted fruit. The garage door rumbled, Dad came in, keys clanked, and he cleared his throat.
“Where’s Marlow?” he asked right away.
Mom pointed up.
Dad looked at Moni.
“She not hungry.”
“So she’s in her room?”
Mom stood up. “I wrapped a plate on the counter for you.”
“Hold on. You can’t just starve one of our daughters.”
“Who said anything about using that word?” Mom scraped her plate into the garbage disposal.
Dad sighed. “Maybe that’s a strong word. But let’s at least try before taking that measure.”
The dish hit the bottom of the sink hard. “I meant the other word,” Mom said loudly.
I didn’t like the way Dad’s face looked after she said it. A rapid aging combined with a raw anger that pulsated in his eyes.