if she wanted to soak Ondine
in, get as much out of her as she could.
Ondine was good for her, Yvonne thought. She was a good girl, a sweet girl, and Morgan’s … difficult attitude … that was a
phase. Her daughter’s vulnerability touched Yvonne and she reached out and stroked her back as she rose to meet the oncoming
car.
Morgan smiled and turned to her mother to hug her. The headlights of the car lit them up. Though Yvonne knew Morgan was being
affectionate for the spotlight now, she still couldn’tresist hugging her daughter back. She tried not to think about how cold Morgan’s arms felt around her torso, how rigid and
unfeeling.
“Bye, Mom,” Morgan said and kissed her on the cheek, then grinned at Ondine and waved. She skipped down the steps to the car.
Yvonne saw a slim brown arm and the top of a head peek out the driver’s window.
“Hey, Mrs. D’Amici!”
Yvonne waved.
“Hi, Ondine. Be good tonight.”
She nodded. “Don’t worry, we will.”
“Love you, Mom,” Morgan called back, opening the car door. “K.A. and I will call you later.”
Yvonne smiled. “Love you, too.”
She did love Morgan, she thought, rubbing her arms to get the chill of the evening air out of them. She loved her daughter.
It was crazy, Yvonne knew — but she was afraid of her, too.
I N THE PARKING LOT OF O’B RIAN ’ S , Ondine looked in the rearview mirror, pulling a stray braid from her smooth brown forehead. She had put a little eyeliner
on for the booze-buying excursion, but she didn’t like makeup and anyway, nothing could make her soft, big-eyed face look
older than the seventeen yearsit was. Clear cinnamon skin; those violet, almond-shaped eyes, fine eyebrows, and a mouth she thought was too pouty gave her
the look of a perpetual child, though she was almost an adult. She looked at Morgan next to her, rummaging through her purse
for the dark red lipstick she favored.
Equally delicate, Morgan arranged her face so as to telegraph its seriousness. Ondine was fascinated by the way that Morgan
could shift, with the fluidity of wind across water, into a woman twice her age. Nothing about her face changed; its components
only combined differently to make a different impression.
Right now she was becoming the kind of woman who bought alcohol for a party on a Saturday night.
“I am
so
twenty-one years old.” Morgan smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“I’m impressed,” Ondine replied, opening the car door. Morgan followed and they walked across the glass-strewn pavement of
O’Brian’s — a run-down liquor store on a block surrounded by a garage and a few empty lots.
In the cashier’s cage a middle-aged man in a maroon Windbreaker and soiled khakis sat on a stool reading the sports pages.
He smiled and looked Morgan up and down, then waved at the girls as they walked in. Morgan headed straight for the liquor
aisle.
“See.” She smirked, jerking a thumb back at him. “This’ll be a breeze.”
Ondine stayed quiet. She had never tried to buy alcoholbefore, never given a party. Trish and Ralph let her have sips of wine and beer when she wanted it, but Ondine didn’t care
that much for booze. It made her sleepy at parties and she always ended up the quiet girl on the couch, dozing, waiting to
drive her friends home.
“I’ll go get the wine,” Morgan announced, heading off toward the back of the store.
“Yeah, okay,” Ondine called after her. She didn’t know much about wine so she was glad Morgan had taken the initiative, although
the meagerness of O’Brian’s selection suggested that she didn’t have to know too much to make her choice. Screw top or carton?
That about summed it up.
Something about Morgan’s focused attention unnerved her though. She had turned back to Ondine and was staring at her. Ondine
smiled.
“Um, Ondine?” Morgan asked, her voice hushed.
“Yeah?”
“Were you going to stand there all night
like a
in, get as much out of her as she could.
Ondine was good for her, Yvonne thought. She was a good girl, a sweet girl, and Morgan’s … difficult attitude … that was a
phase. Her daughter’s vulnerability touched Yvonne and she reached out and stroked her back as she rose to meet the oncoming
car.
Morgan smiled and turned to her mother to hug her. The headlights of the car lit them up. Though Yvonne knew Morgan was being
affectionate for the spotlight now, she still couldn’tresist hugging her daughter back. She tried not to think about how cold Morgan’s arms felt around her torso, how rigid and
unfeeling.
“Bye, Mom,” Morgan said and kissed her on the cheek, then grinned at Ondine and waved. She skipped down the steps to the car.
Yvonne saw a slim brown arm and the top of a head peek out the driver’s window.
“Hey, Mrs. D’Amici!”
Yvonne waved.
“Hi, Ondine. Be good tonight.”
She nodded. “Don’t worry, we will.”
“Love you, Mom,” Morgan called back, opening the car door. “K.A. and I will call you later.”
Yvonne smiled. “Love you, too.”
She did love Morgan, she thought, rubbing her arms to get the chill of the evening air out of them. She loved her daughter.
It was crazy, Yvonne knew — but she was afraid of her, too.
I N THE PARKING LOT OF O’B RIAN ’ S , Ondine looked in the rearview mirror, pulling a stray braid from her smooth brown forehead. She had put a little eyeliner
on for the booze-buying excursion, but she didn’t like makeup and anyway, nothing could make her soft, big-eyed face look
older than the seventeen yearsit was. Clear cinnamon skin; those violet, almond-shaped eyes, fine eyebrows, and a mouth she thought was too pouty gave her
the look of a perpetual child, though she was almost an adult. She looked at Morgan next to her, rummaging through her purse
for the dark red lipstick she favored.
Equally delicate, Morgan arranged her face so as to telegraph its seriousness. Ondine was fascinated by the way that Morgan
could shift, with the fluidity of wind across water, into a woman twice her age. Nothing about her face changed; its components
only combined differently to make a different impression.
Right now she was becoming the kind of woman who bought alcohol for a party on a Saturday night.
“I am
so
twenty-one years old.” Morgan smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“I’m impressed,” Ondine replied, opening the car door. Morgan followed and they walked across the glass-strewn pavement of
O’Brian’s — a run-down liquor store on a block surrounded by a garage and a few empty lots.
In the cashier’s cage a middle-aged man in a maroon Windbreaker and soiled khakis sat on a stool reading the sports pages.
He smiled and looked Morgan up and down, then waved at the girls as they walked in. Morgan headed straight for the liquor
aisle.
“See.” She smirked, jerking a thumb back at him. “This’ll be a breeze.”
Ondine stayed quiet. She had never tried to buy alcoholbefore, never given a party. Trish and Ralph let her have sips of wine and beer when she wanted it, but Ondine didn’t care
that much for booze. It made her sleepy at parties and she always ended up the quiet girl on the couch, dozing, waiting to
drive her friends home.
“I’ll go get the wine,” Morgan announced, heading off toward the back of the store.
“Yeah, okay,” Ondine called after her. She didn’t know much about wine so she was glad Morgan had taken the initiative, although
the meagerness of O’Brian’s selection suggested that she didn’t have to know too much to make her choice. Screw top or carton?
That about summed it up.
Something about Morgan’s focused attention unnerved her though. She had turned back to Ondine and was staring at her. Ondine
smiled.
“Um, Ondine?” Morgan asked, her voice hushed.
“Yeah?”
“Were you going to stand there all night
like a
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