It certainly wouldn't be an easy or happy situation, but it could work.
The same arrangement had worked for three years with her father, hadn't
it?
She drove around for twenty minutes, until her fingers were no longed
gripping the wheel like a vise and the reflection of her face in the
rearview mirror was no longer capable of frightening children and small
dogs.
She assured herself that she was now perfectly under control. So under
control that she thought she'd take Aubrey out to McDonald's for a
treat. And on her very next evening off, she was taking them both to
Oxford for the Firemen's Carnival. She certainly wasn't going to stay
around the house moping.
She didn't slam the door of her car, which she felt was an excellent
sign of her now placid mood. Nor did she stomp up the steps of her
parents' tidy Colonial. She even paused for a moment to admire the
pale-purple petunias spilling out of a hanging planter near the picture
window.
It was just bad luck and bad timing that her gaze shifted a few inches
past the blooms and that she spotted her father through that picture
window, lounging in his recliner like a king on his throne.
Temper geysered and blasted her through the door like a sharp-edged
pebble from a well-aimed slingshot.
"I have a few things to say to you." She let the door slam at her back
and marched up to where Pete rested his feet. "I've been saving them
up."
He goggled at her for the five seconds it took for him to arrange his
face. "If you want to speak to me, you'll do it in a civilized tone of
voice."
"I'm through being civilized. I've had civilized up to here." She made a
sharp slashing motion with her hand.
"Grace! Grace!" Cheeks flushed, eyes huge, Carol hustled in from the
kitchen with Aubrey on her hip. "What's gotten into you? You'll upset
the baby."
"Take Aubrey back to the kitchen, Mama. And it won't traumatize her for
life to hear her mother raise her voice."
As if to prove arguments were inevitable, Aubrey threw back her head and
sent up a wail. Grace stifled the urge to grab her, run out of the house
with her, and smother her face with kisses until the tears stopped.
Instead she stood firm. "Aubrey, stop that now. I'm not mad at you. You
go on in the kitchen with Grandma and have some juice."
"Juice!" Aubrey sobbed it, at the top of her lungs, straining away from
Carol with her arms held out to Grace and fat tears trembling on her
cheeks.
"Carol, take the child in the kitchen and calm her down." Pete clamped
down the exact urge as Grace's and waved a hand at his wife impatiently.
"Child hasn't shed a tear all day," he muttered, with an accusing look
at Grace.
"Well, she's shedding them now," Grace snapped back, adding layers of
guilt onto frustration as Aubrey's sobs echoed back from the kitchen.
"And she'll forget them five minutes after they're dry. That's the