One or the Other by John McFetridge

hips. Dougherty often thought that when they came out here Judy changed a little. He never would’ve said anything to Judy but he thought when they came into this house she started to be a little more like her mother. She really did now.
    Not that he’d ever say that. What he did say was, “I don’t know.”
    Judy stared at him for a moment and kind of shook her head in disbelief and then looked at her mother. “Why would I be happy about this?”
    â€œI’m finally becoming myself, not just Mrs. Thomas McIntyre.”
    â€œYourself? And dad had to move out?”
    â€œHe didn’t have to, but it’s what he wanted.”
    Abby came up out of the basement then and was on her way to the kitchen when Judy said, “Abby, come here.”
    â€œNo,” Abby said. “Don’t talk to me.”
    Judy said, “I don’t believe this.”
    â€œWell, I don’t believe you.” Audrey was leaning back on the couch then, getting out her cigarettes and lighting one and saying, “I guess it was crazy of me to expect a little support from you.”
    Judy said, “No, it’s just . . .”
    Dougherty walked into the kitchen then, thinking maybe Judy and her mother could use a little time alone.
    Abby was on the phone, twisting the cord around her fingers and letting it go and twisting it again. Dougherty was pretty sure she was sixteen or seventeen, about the same age as his little brother, Tommy, but sometimes he got Abby mixed up with Gillian, who was a year older. There was one more sister, Brenda, between the two girls at home and Judy, but she was out west somewhere, Calgary or Vancouver or something, Dougherty was never sure.
    â€œOkay, bye.” Abby uncoiled the phone cord from her fingers and hung up the receiver. “They still going at it?”
    â€œThey’re just talking now,” Dougherty said. “I think it was just the shock — Judy wasn’t expecting it.”
    Abby went to the fridge and opened it. “Why not? Everybody else was.”
    â€œI guess we didn’t really know what was going on here.”
    â€œI’d say you should’ve come out here more often, but I wouldn’t come here if I didn’t have to.”
    â€œWe’re not that far away.”
    â€œYes you are.”
    Abby had a glass of ginger ale in her hand then and Dougherty could hear his own father complaining about the kids drinking his mix. In his father’s case, it was Pepsi he mixed with rum but he never called it Pepsi or Coke, just mix. Who drank all the mix? Dougherty almost laughed thinking about it.
    â€œHow long has it been bad?”
    â€œIt’s always been bad,” Abby said.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œReally.”
    â€œSo when did he move out?”
    â€œI don’t know. I hardly ever see him — working late was the official story,” Abby said. “I guess he stopped coming home a while ago.”
    â€œLike a few days or weeks or what?”
    â€œShit,” Abby said, “you’re such a cop. I don’t know, a while.”
    â€œOkay.” Dougherty realized he was thinking like a cop in a domestic. He wasn’t really interested in the details, they didn’t matter at all, he just wanted to get people talking, making conversation, getting people calmed down. But they were calm. He said, “You okay?”
    â€œSure, what’s it to me? I don’t care what they do.”
    â€œRight, yeah.” Now Dougherty was thinking this was the point he usually left, everyone calmed down and talking, the husband out of the house. He never saw what happened next.
    Judy came into the kitchen and said, “So, that’s it. Crazy.” She crossed to the drawer by the sink and got out a bunch of restaurant menus and said, “You want St-Hubert or Chinese?”
    â€œEither one.”
    Judy looked at Abby and said, “What about you?”
    â€œI’m