Chapter 3

3: 3

On the day of the senior class rally, the grade dean read my name out from the stage.

"Clementine Henson has earned priority admission to a top university. She is the pride of this school."

"As long as she performs on the SATs the way she should, the doors are wide open for her. Let's all congratulate her together."

Down in the audience, Aunt Marla, Uncle Dale, and Grandma sat in the front row, more thrilled than I was.

Uncle Dale got so worked up he shot to his feet and started clapping.

"Look at that, that's my girl too. Two top students in one family now. We ought to change the spa's sign to the Honors House."

Before he could finish, Aunt Marla yanked him down by the hem of his shirt.

"Sit down, would you. Don't embarrass the girl."

But Aunt Marla went through half a pack of tissues just wiping her own eyes.

That night the whole family threw me a celebration dinner on the top floor of Uncle Dale's bathhouse spa.

Grandma raised her glass, her face flushed and glowing.

"My granddaughter really made something of herself. Here, Grandma's drinking to you."

Will lounged with a toothpick in his mouth, one leg crossed over the other.

"All right, all right, don't let it go to your head. The SATs aren't over yet."

That was what his mouth said, but he was grinning so wide you could practically see straight down his throat.

I smiled and clinked his glass.

Right then, a familiar number lit up my phone.

I hesitated, then picked up anyway.

"Clemmie, sweetheart, are you doing okay over at your aunt's?"

"You haven't even met your little brother yet. He's almost two now, he can say 'sister.'"

"We all miss you so much. Daddy even mailed you some new clothes. They should get there in a couple of days."

The hand holding my glass went stiff. The whole table turned to look at me.

Aunt Marla saw my face change, put down her chopsticks at once, and her tone shifted.

"Who is that?"

I didn't say anything.

"Clemmie? Did you hear me? Your mom and dad both miss you."

"My mom is dead."

The whole table fell silent.

After a long moment, my father let out a laugh and changed his tone.

"Fine. Daddy's got something real to talk to you about. You know that old house your mom left behind?"

"That whole block is about to be cleared for redevelopment. You're still young, you wouldn't understand all the paperwork on the deed."

"Why don't you come back for a trip, sign your name, and Daddy will handle the rest for you."

"The money from selling it can go straight to your college tuition. Call it a little something from your mom."

My heart sank. So that was what he was after.

That house was my grandfather's, left to my mom before she married, hers alone.

On her deathbed she'd transferred it into my name. It was the last thing she left me to hold on to.

For years he hadn't sent a single word. Now that the house was getting torn down for payout, suddenly he remembered he had a daughter.

"I'm not signing. That house was my mom's. You're not getting one cent of it."

On the other end, the tender loving-father act ripped apart in an instant, and he started cursing.

"You ungrateful little brat. I fed you and put a roof over you all those years, and you can't even sign your name for me?"

"Just like your mother, a worthless waste born under a bad star. Nothing but money pits, the both of you."

"Let me tell you, that house is mine. That's final."

I was shaking with rage, barely able to keep hold of the phone.

Aunt Marla snatched it out of my hand and let loose on him with a stream of curses that shook the roof.

She went at him for a good ten minutes and never repeated herself once.

"You call my girl one more time and see if I don't haul a plane over there and beat you with it."

Then she hung up, clean and quick, and blocked the number.

She turned around, the fury dropping off her face in a second, and pulled me in, shaking as I was.

"Don't take any of it to heart. Aunt Marla's here."

Uncle Dale chimed in. "The sky could fall and Uncle Dale would hold it up. Don't think about a thing, just focus on your exams."

Will flicked his toothpick onto the table and gave a cold snort.

"He dares show up here, I'll make sure he walks in standing and leaves flat on his back."

Grandma thumped her cane on the floor. "That deadbeat sets foot in the Midwest, I'll be the first one to take him down."

A few days later, the package my father mailed arrived.

A crumpled plastic bag, stuffed with a few pieces of static-clinging street-stall junk.

At the very bottom was a bib covered in dried food stains.

Will came over, took one look, and threw the whole bag in the trash.

"Just how big is the hole in your dad's head? He actually mailed you his son's used stuff?"

That's my father for you. He genuinely believes that mailing a few ratty clothes counts as fatherly love.

And I knew this wasn't going to end so easily.

A man like that will do anything for money.