The Conclusion Read Free Page B

I couldn’t see his expression now. I saw only the back of his head, his longish hair falling beneath his jacket collar.
    He moved past me, walking heavily. Stepped up to the black cat, my new pet. Lucky. Lucky the cat.
    Without breaking stride, Darryl swung his leg back and kicked the cat. A sharp, lightning kick.
    The toe of his boot caught the cat under itsstomach and sent it flying off the floor—into the front window.
    The cat opened its mouth in a high squeal.
    It hit the windowpane with a solid thud. And dropped on its side to the floor.
    â€œDon’t kill it! Don’t kill it, Darryl!” I wailed.
    Darryl took a long stride toward the fallen cat. Changed his mind. Turned. And headed toward the front door.
    As he reached the front entryway, he muttered something under his breath.
    â€œWhat? What did you say?” I called after him, my voice trembling. My whole body shaking with fear.
    â€œI said you can’t get rid of me,” he repeated, his jaw still clenched tight with fury. “You’re stuck with me, Hope. And don’t forget it.”
    And then he was gone.
    Jasmine and Angel were gone too. Probably hiding in another room. Hiding from Darryl.
    I watched the cat slink to the back hall, its tail between its legs.
    I’m alone now, I thought, still trembling, still hugging myself tightly. I’m all alone in this place.
    â€œLucky? Hey—Lucky?” I called the cat. But, of course, he didn’t come.
    I took several deep breaths, waiting for my temples to stop throbbing, for my heartbeat to slow down. Then I pulled the sheet off the armchair, balled it up, and tossed it into the corner.
    I sank down into the plush, leather chair. It smelled stale and mildewy, but I didn’t care.
    I needed to think.
    What next? What to do next?
    I didn’t stay seated for long. Two large portraits on the wall across from the mantel caught my eye. A man and a woman.
    I climbed up and crossed the room to examine them. A gold plaque beneath the portraits explained that the couple had donated the house to the sorority.
    The man was old, bald, and had a beak like a chicken. Feeble-looking despite his expensive, well-tailored suit. He had a half smile on his face that made his expression kind of sad.
    And the woman. The woman was kind of horsey-looking. A long face. Big teeth. She wore a flowered dress with a high collar up to her chin.
    And her hair was up . . . just like . . . just like . . .
    Just like my mother wore.
    Her hair pinned up behind her head like a tilting beehive.
    The same eyes too. My mother’s eyes. So small and cold and disapproving. Eyes like steel marbles.
    I could smell that awful perfume, so sweet you wanted to puke. The only sweet thing about her. It’s a miracle the perfume didn’t turn sour on her skin.
    Sour.
    Yes. That’s my mother, all right.
    She followed me here.
    Will she follow me everywhere?
    Follow me to summer camp, Mom? Did you follow me? Did your sourness follow me all the way to Maine for my one measly summer away at camp?
    Dear Buttertubs.
    That’s how you addressed every letter you wrote to me that summer when I was twelve.
    Buttertubs Mathis. That’s what you wrote on the envelopes.
    And when the counselor called us together for mail call, she would shout out the names on the envelopes. Shout them out for us to come forward to claim our mail.
    â€œLinda Edwards . . . Marci Kass . . . Buttertubs Mathis!”
    They howled, Mother. The other girls—they thought it was a riot.
    But I didn’t laugh.
    When no one was looking, I cried.
    Dear Buttertubs,
    Are you getting enough to eat up there? Don’t dive into the swimming pool. You want to leave some water in it for the others . . .
    You wrote only two letters that entire summer, Mother. But they were enough.
    Enough to make me look like a total geek in front of everyone. Enough to make sure that I came home