State of Grace (Complete)

Best Friends

When I get home I am disappointed because, as expected, the twins have already gone. It's like my mother is conspiring to get me away from them by showing up so late, although I'm pretty sure she and Daddy had a fight this morning. There are a few pieces of broken plates in the garbage can in the kitchen and the energy in the house feels wrong. Outside our yard is forlorn, the porch swing empty, and missing the energy that flows when the twins and I are together. The smell of horses and campfire clings to my clothes and is far more obvious now that I am standing in our empty house.

"Grace, take your things to the laundry, then go have a bath," Mommy orders. "Didn't they make you bathe at that camp? You smell." Everything sounds bitter coming from her mouth, filling with sourness from the lifeless house.

It's funny to me that she actually notices, since it's usually something she doesn't. "Yes, Mommy."

"Don't just stand there staring out the window, get moving," she snaps. "I'm going to lay down."

"Sorry, Mommy." I quickly respond to her orders, starting a load of laundry. Famished, I scour the cupboards for something to eat, settling on a box of cornflakes because there's nothing else. There's no milk, so I have them with water.

Daddy finally comes home to see me when it's close to bed time. I've been tiptoeing around Mommy since my bath because she's not feeling well. For dinner I made myself bread and butter then sat in front of the television watching cartoons while she sleeps on the couch. When his car pulls in the driveway, the long lines of brightness from the headlights illuminate the darkened room through the wavy glass windows. I resist the urge to jump up and greet him at the door, knowing that Mommy wouldn't like it.

"How's my favourite girl?" All the space in the room is full of energy and warmth as he scoops me up into a hug.

"Hi Daddy!" I clasp my arms around his neck, happy for this contact.

"Sorry I'm late," he says over my shoulder to where Mommy's scowling on the couch, "couldn't be helped."

"Yes, I know, all those literature emergencies in the English department on a Saturday, totally unavoidable." Acid drips from her tongue, the moment shattered. I can feel Daddy's grip change as the words burn into us.

"I have a present for you both," I exclaim, remembering the clay trivet I made. I so badly want things to be nice, for Daddy not to leave again.

"Sure thing Cupcake, let's see it!" Daddy's joviality is forced this time, but I run to comply, eager to please, hoping to change the mood.

"Don't run on the stairs," Mommy admonishes as I stomp up to my room.

When I come back down, I hand the newspaper wrapped square to Daddy so he can open it.

"Wow, Gracie, this is fantastic." He examines the porcelain square.

"I had to pound it, and roll it, and cut it out, then I had to let it dry so it could be fired and then I painted it with special paint!" I drew a picture of our house and wrote in careful letters underneath, 'The Yardleys.'

"What do you think, Carla?" He holds it to show her.

"Great," she says with little enthusiasm. "What is it?"

"One of those things for hot pots, you know to put them on the table," I explain.

"Nice. Time for bed now, please," her voice lifeless.

"But Mommy, Daddy just got home."

Her head whips in my direction, anger welling up in her, "Yes, and you were lucky enough to see him before bed, but now you're going. No arguments."