By Demelza Ramirez (Bookwork Challenge—The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien)
He drew a deep breath. “Well, I’m back,” he said.
That was probably the worst thing he could have ever said. There he stood in his dark-washed straight jeans and sweater, looking all classy and sophisticated while I stood in the center of the kitchen, in a tank-top and underwear. I gripped the frying pan tighter. I’d grabbed it when I heard the door open, thinking it’d been a thief, coming to steal all three of my most valuable possessions: my grandmother’s diamond ring, my daughter Cassie, and my life.
I would have preferred the thief.
He bit his lip. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”
“Something,” I snapped. I pointed the frying pan at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I came back,” he said.
“Yes. I can unfortunately see that.” His face fell and I felt smug. He dropped the duffel bag he was holding by his feet and took several more steps into the kitchen. I backed away, but brandished the frying pan at him.
“Don’t come any closer!” I cried. I felt behind me, scrambling for the stupid landline I still owned. I could see my cell on the counter, nearest him. It was probably more useful there than in my hand anyway, reception was shit up here.
“Maggie . . . ,” he said.
“Don’t ‘Maggie’ me!” I told him. “I want you out of this house.”
“Please, won’t you just give me another chance?”
“I have given you enough chances,” I replied. “I said I wasn’t going to take you back when you decided to go, and I’m not turning back now.”
“Please, at least let me see Cassie.”
As if on cue, my daughter appeared in the doorway behind me. She leaned against the doorway, her arms folded. It looked like she had been preparing for bed, because her hair was up in a messy bun and her make-up was gone.
“Cassie!” he cried.
“Dad,” Cassie said. She scowled at him and I watched his face fall. “What are you doing here? Are you here to beg for forgiveness? To ask for another chance? I agree with Mom. She gave you enough chances. I gave you enough chances. You can’t just waltz in here and expect us to let you back into our lives. You screw our lives up for thirteen years! These past three years have been the best of my life, because you weren’t here. So please, do us all a favor and go find another whore to bed with for the night.” She pushed off the door frame and disappeared. I heard her run upstairs. I glanced after her.
“She looks just like you.”
I looked back at him. His face was sad, and his eyes seemed to glisten in the harsh light of the kitchen. He went to his duffel and moved it to the table. He pulled out a check book and flipped it open.
“I’ve done well for myself,” he said, pulling a pen out of his pocket. “I’ve made some money.”
“So I’ve heard,” I muttered. “It’s all the town can talk about.”
He chuckled. “What else do small towns have to talk about?” He ripped out the check and crossed the kitchen, pushing my frying pan lower. He held the check out.
“I don’t want your money,” I said.
“Please,” he begged. “Let me do one good thing for this family. Besides leaving.” I took the check and glanced at it.
“Can you even do this?” I asked, counting the zeros.
“Yes,” he replied. He turned and grabbed the duffle bag. “Bye, Maggie.” He disappeared down the hall and out the front door. I gripped the check to my chest and felt my heart pounding. We could get out of here. Cassie and I, we could get out of this God forsaken town and start over. She could go to college and we could live in a nice apartment or nice house without leaking pipes or broken shingles. I ran upstairs to Cassie’s room, bursting in. Cassie looked up from her book.
“What’s the bastard done now?” she asked. I glanced from Cassie to her wall above her head. She’d painted it over the summer and in flowing cursive had written CARPE DIEM. I grinned and looked back at her.
“Cassie, tomorrow you’re going to start packing your room.”
“What, why? We aren’t seriously going to go live with the man are we?”
“No, honey. We’re going to seize the day.”
He drew a deep breath. “Well, I’m back,” he said.
That was probably the worst thing he could have ever said. There he stood in his dark-washed straight jeans and sweater, looking all classy and sophisticated while I stood in the center of the kitchen, in a tank-top and underwear. I gripped the frying pan tighter. I’d grabbed it when I heard the door open, thinking it’d been a thief, coming to steal all three of my most valuable possessions: my grandmother’s diamond ring, my daughter Cassie, and my life.
I would have preferred the thief.
He bit his lip. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”
“Something,” I snapped. I pointed the frying pan at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I came back,” he said.
“Yes. I can unfortunately see that.” His face fell and I felt smug. He dropped the duffel bag he was holding by his feet and took several more steps into the kitchen. I backed away, but brandished the frying pan at him.
“Don’t come any closer!” I cried. I felt behind me, scrambling for the stupid landline I still owned. I could see my cell on the counter, nearest him. It was probably more useful there than in my hand anyway, reception was shit up here.
“Maggie . . . ,” he said.
“Don’t ‘Maggie’ me!” I told him. “I want you out of this house.”
“Please, won’t you just give me another chance?”
“I have given you enough chances,” I replied. “I said I wasn’t going to take you back when you decided to go, and I’m not turning back now.”
“Please, at least let me see Cassie.”
As if on cue, my daughter appeared in the doorway behind me. She leaned against the doorway, her arms folded. It looked like she had been preparing for bed, because her hair was up in a messy bun and her make-up was gone.
“Cassie!” he cried.
“Dad,” Cassie said. She scowled at him and I watched his face fall. “What are you doing here? Are you here to beg for forgiveness? To ask for another chance? I agree with Mom. She gave you enough chances. I gave you enough chances. You can’t just waltz in here and expect us to let you back into our lives. You screw our lives up for thirteen years! These past three years have been the best of my life, because you weren’t here. So please, do us all a favor and go find another whore to bed with for the night.” She pushed off the door frame and disappeared. I heard her run upstairs. I glanced after her.
“She looks just like you.”
I looked back at him. His face was sad, and his eyes seemed to glisten in the harsh light of the kitchen. He went to his duffel and moved it to the table. He pulled out a check book and flipped it open.
“I’ve done well for myself,” he said, pulling a pen out of his pocket. “I’ve made some money.”
“So I’ve heard,” I muttered. “It’s all the town can talk about.”
He chuckled. “What else do small towns have to talk about?” He ripped out the check and crossed the kitchen, pushing my frying pan lower. He held the check out.
“I don’t want your money,” I said.
“Please,” he begged. “Let me do one good thing for this family. Besides leaving.” I took the check and glanced at it.
“Can you even do this?” I asked, counting the zeros.
“Yes,” he replied. He turned and grabbed the duffle bag. “Bye, Maggie.” He disappeared down the hall and out the front door. I gripped the check to my chest and felt my heart pounding. We could get out of here. Cassie and I, we could get out of this God forsaken town and start over. She could go to college and we could live in a nice apartment or nice house without leaking pipes or broken shingles. I ran upstairs to Cassie’s room, bursting in. Cassie looked up from her book.
“What’s the bastard done now?” she asked. I glanced from Cassie to her wall above her head. She’d painted it over the summer and in flowing cursive had written CARPE DIEM. I grinned and looked back at her.
“Cassie, tomorrow you’re going to start packing your room.”
“What, why? We aren’t seriously going to go live with the man are we?”
“No, honey. We’re going to seize the day.”