Isolation (Book #1 of the Taylor Series)

Eight

I slam my car door, as it has miraculously taken me an hour and a half to get home. Not only because the late people are trying to get to their church before it's over, but also because my car could only hold a steady 25 miles per hour today. Groaning, I kick the front left tire.

Probably shouldn't have done that. With this car's history of fragility, I wouldn't be surprised if that tap managed to flatten the tire.

I twist the door handle, and luckily Mom left it unlocked. That or Dad's home. It's probably the latter. I walk into the cool, air-conditioned house, and immediately notice Dad sitting in the ugly flea market chair, reading a newspaper with one hand, and holding Gavin in the other. Gavin lets out a melodic baby laugh when he spots me.

"Decided not to go today?" Dad grumbles in his usual scratchy, masculine voice. A voice he puts on when he wants to show that he has the authority in the house.

I sigh and shut the door quietly. "Nah," Dad likes to ignore my feelings on religion, almost as if I'd never come out about being an Atheist, which is kind of a good thing. It just means that he treats me like he still loves me, "I wasn't feeling up to it today. Besides, it looks like Gavin missed me at home." I smile and make weird faces at him until he giggles loudly.

"Me neither, your mother is in one of her moods again. Talked about it all last night, something about needing to pray extra hard at the altar this time." He mumbles and somehow manages to turn the page to the sports section with Gavin occupying both of his hands. I sit down on the couch diagonal from him and slip off my shoes. Clearing my throat, I turn back to him, who now seems to be entirely interested in the story in the newspaper.

"Timberwolves won Friday," Dad mutters, nodding along to the rhythm of his own voice.

I nod too, "Yeah, figured. Went against the Bruins, was a no-brainer." I smile and fiddle my toes into the stained carpet. What once was a white carpet, is now a beige after years and years of wear and tear. Not to mention, nine children.

"I would've thought it would've been a closer game. Won 42-9. It's like they're in an entirely different league." He smiles, and Gavin spits up, forcing me to turn away.

I'm not exactly a child fan, so you can imagine that I'm not exactly impressed when I see them vomit on themselves. Don't get me wrong, they're adorable, especially when my siblings were babies, but after baby #3 there's nothing left to look forward to. At least coming from me, the oldest sister. I've gotta give mom credit because she's somehow managed to fake excitement every single time a kid takes their first steps.

The thought reminds me of earlier, "Dad." He looks up from the newspaper, through his broken glasses. His stern glance forces me to continue without even having to say a word, and I let out a breathy sigh.

"Why are you with mom? I mean, after all these years, after all these kids, after all of her mood swings and freakouts... What keeps you here?" I ask, and his face shows an expression of boredom. As if he gets asked this on the daily.

"I love your mother." He says simply and monotonously.

Like, come on, man. At least say it like you mean it.

I raise my eyebrow and play with my fingers, waiting for him to continue, and little do I know that his silence afterward is permanent. He turns the page of the newspaper and bounces Gavin on his knee slowly. Gavin lets out a contagious giggle and smiles up at Dad with wide bright blue eyes. I can't help but smile up at him too.

"Does Mom love you as much as you do her?" I ask suddenly, and I don't know why.

Even though I know it's completely irrelevant. Besides, somewhere deep inside me, I already know the answer. But still the question just comes out. Dad doesn't look up, but I know that he's thinking it over because his eyes are no longer moving as he reads.

"Sometimes I wonder about the exact same thing, but I know it's just that she herself is dedicated to the life of God. Your mother practically oozes Matthew 10:37-39." He mutters, and I narrow my eyes at him confused.

"What's 'Matthew 10:37-39?" I ask, and he looks down at Gavin lovingly before turning back to the newspaper.

"It states something to the extent of 'Those who love their mothers or their fathers, their daughters or their sons, more than they love God are not worthy of following him'." I stare at him and he clears his throat, "Deep down, Eve, I'm pretty sure we all know that your mother is just scared. Scared to death of what she's done in her life, so she's slowly trying to make it up to God. I love your mother, and I hate seeing her afraid of our Lord and Savior. If I have to deal with her freakouts and her constant bickering just so she can feel better about life, what she's done, what we've done... Then so be it. I'd do anything for her. It's much better for her to dedicate her life to God than to Cocaine or Meth. Wouldn't you agree?" He asks, making eye contact with me.

I slowly nod, almost being lured in by his sad, worn down by life, blue eyes. "Yes, sir," I mutter, and he nods.

"Good, let's not discuss this again, especially not with your mother. She'll be in a good mood after church. We wouldn't want to spoil that." He sighs, and I nod again.

He says 'we' like he doesn't really mean 'we'. It's obvious that he's talking about me directly. I can't even pretend to be surprised or hurt, either. It's true. I get up from the couch, suddenly unmotivated, and walk up the stairs to my bedroom. I need to work on Stella's essay for tomorrow.

"Eve!" Dad calls to me suddenly, and I stop midway up the stairs.

"Yeah?" I call back.

"Your mother is a good woman!" He calls back, and I roll my eyes as I stare down at the ground.

I nod sarcastically, but call back to him, "Yeah, I know." The fake sincerity in my voice nearly makes me gag.

Yeah, good woman. Good being the operative word.