Angel had at least tried.
They sat in darkness, on Mama’s rose-patterned sofa, illuminated only by the streetlight filtered through the trees and sheers on the window.
Angel couldn’t tell Mama about Neil. Not yet. How could she tell her that she’d crumpled like a day-old balloon when Neil died? How could she explain how hopeless and hard trying to change was? Or how difficult it was to outrun a reputation? How could she say any of it without hurting Mama’s feelings? After all, it had been Mama’s reputation she’d been running from.
She’d wanted to settle anywhere but here.
Then Mama had called and Angel had come running to Ordinary to save Missy from herself.
Mama must have seen the turmoil on her face, because she rubbed Angel’s knuckles and said, “Never mind for now. Let’s find you something to eat.” Before Angel could start in on what she thought about Missy’s fiancé, the front door opened and she tensed.
Phil. Her skin crawled before she even saw him.
He stepped into the living room. “Why is it so dark in here?” he asked, his tone brusque.
Mama flicked on the lamp. “Look who’s come home, Phil,” she said, her voice soft, tremulous.
Angel bit her tongue so she wouldn’t say what she thought. For God’s sake, Mama, stand up for yourself.
In the split second before Phil realized Mama wasn’t alone, he looked severe. That changed when he saw Angel.
His manner became snaky. Oh, Lord, he could be the villain in a silent movie, scrubbing his hands in glee over the heroine tied to the train tracks. The word unctuous came to mind. Yuck.
That image was only her imagination, though. Phil was an ordinary man, not a cardboard villain in a movie. Still, Angel had trouble liking him.
Was hating a person as much as she loathed Phil illegal?
His crafty gaze took in the tension between Angel and Missy. Phil never missed a thing. Chances were he would somehow use this to his own advantage.
“Angel,” he said. “How’s my favorite daughter?”
Daughter? Gag me.
Just because Mama had agreed to marry him, Angel was suddenly his daughter? No freaking way. Never. That was too creepy.
When he approached the sofa, Angel remained seated and held her breath while he embraced her, endured it because Mama watched her with such hope, as if to say, Please, Angel, like him, for me.
Oh, Mama, you’re all I’ve got. I would die for you, but put up with Phil? No way.
Angel smelled beer on Phil’s breath.
She pulled away. “You’ve been drinking. Where?”
Mama gasped. “Angel, that’s rude.”
Phil watched Angel with a smug grin. She could see the hamster maniacally spinning the wheel of Phil’s mind, calculating how much he could get away with because he knew she didn’t want to hurt Mama more than she had to. He knew she would do whatever she could to ruin his chances with Mama. He also knew that Mama’s happiness mattered more to her than anything.
Phil made her think of rodents. Too bad for the rodents.
“At the new place,” Phil replied. “Chester’s Roadhouse.”
“Why did you go alone?” Angel asked. Mama placed a soft warning hand on Angel’s shoulder that she ignored. “Why did you go without Mama?”
“Your Mama doesn’t like it there. Right, Missy?” Phil looked at Mama. She nodded.
“Do you remember Chester Ames?” Mama asked.
Angel remembered Chester. He used to treat Mama and her like gold.
“He opened a bar on Main Street,” Missy said.
Okay, that answered her question why Phil hadn’t taken Mama with him. Chester had a giant crush on Mama that time had never dimmed. Mama had always had a soft spot for him, too. Angel used to fantasize about how good life would be if Chester were her father. Chester had been married, though, and faithful to his wife.
Clearly Phil had picked up on that mutual at traction.
“Good for Chester. He’s a great guy,” Angel said, her emphasis implying that he was a better man than Phil.
“I can take you there tomorrow night,” Phil said.
Not on your life. “No, thanks. Mama, I’m heading to bed. We can talk more in the morning.”
Angel passed Phil without a backward glance. For the sake of Mama’s happiness, Angel would consider that he might be good for Mama in some way that Angel hadn’t yet determined. She would try as hard as possible in the next few days to see him from Mama’s point of view. But no way was she ignoring her instincts. While checking for the good, she would also watch for the ways in which Phil was trouble.
MISSY FELT PHIL STIR beside her and roll out of bed. Sitting on the side of the mattress, he pulled on his underwear then left the room.
Her breasts hurt, ached, and a weird sort of…stopped-up feeling…throbbed in her lower belly. Sex with Phil never satisfied her.
He wasn’t big enough—in his size or in his attention to her needs. Sex was about him and what he wanted. She was dumb enough to always give in.
Lord knew she had needs. Always had.
Face it, Missy, you’re forty-five years old. Phil is thirty-five. You’ll do anything to keep him.
You would think a man Phil’s age would have more energy, more to give a woman.
She listened to him shuffle down the hall, noted that he slowed in front of Angel’s room. She bit her lip.
A grown woman shouldn’t be jealous of her own daughter, but Missy was feeling her age.
Angel was young and beautiful. Men fell all over her. They used to do that with Missy.
What if Phil left? Where would that leave her?
With no one.
The darkness pressed in on her. She remembered those days after her own mother had left.
“You’re sixteen now, kid. Take care of yourself.”
“Mama, not yet. I can’t. I’m not smart like you.”
“With a body and face like yours, you’ll do fine.”
“Please don’t go.” Missy had pleaded more.
Mama had left anyway.
In the trailer alone, with no way to support herself, to finish high school, with no skills, Missy had turned to men. They liked her body. She had learned early to lean on them.
What if Phil left and no other man ever found her attractive again?
She was so pathetic, clinging to Phil as though he was the last man on earth. What if this was the rest of her life? What if she never enjoyed sex again? What if she kept on being jealous of her own daughter?
Missy heard Phil exit the washroom and walk toward their bedroom.
He stopped in front of Angel’s door.
Angel’s doorknob rattled, ever so slightly, but Missy heard it.
She held her breath. Don’t go in there.
He continued toward Missy’s room and the breath she’d been holding flew out of her. She rolled away so Phil would think she was sleeping.
He hadn’t gone into Angel’s room tonight, but he’d thought about it.
AFTER MIDNIGHT, ANGEL lay on her bed, watching the