her heart plummeted to her
stomach. I’ve really stepped in it now. Pretending to live in a nice
house with a manicured yard in an upscale neighborhood was one thing. What was
she going to do? She certainly couldn’t go out and rent a set of parents that
would measure up to the standards of Judge and Mrs. Hartwell.
Like
Scarlett O’Hara, Honey Belle decided to think about it later.
“Goodnight,
Tripp.”
The
BMW’s engine revved and Tripp leaned toward the window and waved. “Sweet
dreams, Honey Belle. I love you.”
Still
feeling the roll of emotion within her and wondering if it showed on her face,
she waited until he was out of sight before heading in the direction of the gas
station where she’d parked the truck.
Tripp
Hartwell the Third loved her. Her feet felt as if they’d sprouted wings as she
skipped down the sidewalk.
By
the time she arrived home, her clothes had dried stiff from the salt water.
Gathering her sandals in her hands, she stood on the back steps and brushed the
dirt from her feet. She eased the door open and tiptoed into the living room.
Moonlight
lit the small area, making it possible to get to her bedroom without turning on
a lamp. Now if she could only avoid the squeaky board in the center of the
living room floor...
There
was no need to worry about waking her parents. The moment she stepped into the darkened
space, a voice stopped her cold. Lamp light filled the room.
Her
mother sat on the sofa with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t say a
word. All the while her gaze burned into Honey Belle. Her silence was like an
itch that wouldn’t go away. When she didn’t speak, Honey Belle said, “‘Night,
Mama.”
She
could almost see her mother’s chest heave with the heavy breath she drew in.
The air seemed to squeeze through her mother’s nostrils. Her pursed lips looked
as if she’d been sucking lemons, and her eyes were narrow, angry slits. “I told
you, didn’t I...didn’t I?”
Honey
Belle knew the storm was coming, she just didn’t know what kind of storm to
expect. Would it be the kind where the sun shone through the rain, doing little
damage, or would it be a full-blown hurricane?
She
had a feeling it was the hurricane. Her mother had gone from looking sad to
looking furious. Her gray eyes were as cold as a December morning.
Honey
Belle knew what her mother was referring to. Refusing to cower to intimidation,
she lifted her chin to show her defiance. “You tell me lots of things, Mama.
Which would you be referring to?”
Her
mother pushed from the sagging sofa. She stood in front of Honey Belle. “That
boy has done had you. It’s written all over your face.” She poked a finger
against Honey Belle’s chest. “And now that he’s had you, all the dogs in the
neighborhood will come around sniffin’. Even I can smell the musky scent of sex
on you.”
“You
have a cruel and filthy mouth, Mama.” Honey Belle tried to turn aside. At that
moment, all she wanted was to get away from her mother’s accusing scowl.
Her
mother reached out and grabbed her arm with such force it felt as if her
fingers had bruised the skin. “You’re ruined, girl. No decent man will want
you. Not now. Not ever.”
She
sank to the sofa and buried her face in to her dishwater-reddened hand. “I was
sixteen when you were born. Your life won’t be much better than mine. Always
workin’ and never getting’ nowhere.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
For
a moment, Honey Belle felt no compassion for her mother. Unable to hide her
resentment, she wanted to lash out with all the bitterness welling inside her,
against the shabbiness of the house, the couch with its sagging springs, and
the death odors from her dying father.
She
parroted her mother’s words. “ Always working and getting nowhere? My life
won’t be much better than yours? Who was it, Mama, that forced me to quit
school and give up my future? Don’t sit there sobbing and feeling sorry for
yourself and laying
stomach. I’ve really stepped in it now. Pretending to live in a nice
house with a manicured yard in an upscale neighborhood was one thing. What was
she going to do? She certainly couldn’t go out and rent a set of parents that
would measure up to the standards of Judge and Mrs. Hartwell.
Like
Scarlett O’Hara, Honey Belle decided to think about it later.
“Goodnight,
Tripp.”
The
BMW’s engine revved and Tripp leaned toward the window and waved. “Sweet
dreams, Honey Belle. I love you.”
Still
feeling the roll of emotion within her and wondering if it showed on her face,
she waited until he was out of sight before heading in the direction of the gas
station where she’d parked the truck.
Tripp
Hartwell the Third loved her. Her feet felt as if they’d sprouted wings as she
skipped down the sidewalk.
By
the time she arrived home, her clothes had dried stiff from the salt water.
Gathering her sandals in her hands, she stood on the back steps and brushed the
dirt from her feet. She eased the door open and tiptoed into the living room.
Moonlight
lit the small area, making it possible to get to her bedroom without turning on
a lamp. Now if she could only avoid the squeaky board in the center of the
living room floor...
There
was no need to worry about waking her parents. The moment she stepped into the darkened
space, a voice stopped her cold. Lamp light filled the room.
Her
mother sat on the sofa with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t say a
word. All the while her gaze burned into Honey Belle. Her silence was like an
itch that wouldn’t go away. When she didn’t speak, Honey Belle said, “‘Night,
Mama.”
She
could almost see her mother’s chest heave with the heavy breath she drew in.
The air seemed to squeeze through her mother’s nostrils. Her pursed lips looked
as if she’d been sucking lemons, and her eyes were narrow, angry slits. “I told
you, didn’t I...didn’t I?”
Honey
Belle knew the storm was coming, she just didn’t know what kind of storm to
expect. Would it be the kind where the sun shone through the rain, doing little
damage, or would it be a full-blown hurricane?
She
had a feeling it was the hurricane. Her mother had gone from looking sad to
looking furious. Her gray eyes were as cold as a December morning.
Honey
Belle knew what her mother was referring to. Refusing to cower to intimidation,
she lifted her chin to show her defiance. “You tell me lots of things, Mama.
Which would you be referring to?”
Her
mother pushed from the sagging sofa. She stood in front of Honey Belle. “That
boy has done had you. It’s written all over your face.” She poked a finger
against Honey Belle’s chest. “And now that he’s had you, all the dogs in the
neighborhood will come around sniffin’. Even I can smell the musky scent of sex
on you.”
“You
have a cruel and filthy mouth, Mama.” Honey Belle tried to turn aside. At that
moment, all she wanted was to get away from her mother’s accusing scowl.
Her
mother reached out and grabbed her arm with such force it felt as if her
fingers had bruised the skin. “You’re ruined, girl. No decent man will want
you. Not now. Not ever.”
She
sank to the sofa and buried her face in to her dishwater-reddened hand. “I was
sixteen when you were born. Your life won’t be much better than mine. Always
workin’ and never getting’ nowhere.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
For
a moment, Honey Belle felt no compassion for her mother. Unable to hide her
resentment, she wanted to lash out with all the bitterness welling inside her,
against the shabbiness of the house, the couch with its sagging springs, and
the death odors from her dying father.
She
parroted her mother’s words. “ Always working and getting nowhere? My life
won’t be much better than yours? Who was it, Mama, that forced me to quit
school and give up my future? Don’t sit there sobbing and feeling sorry for
yourself and laying
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