Page 31 of Shadow of Fury
Wren took a deep breath for strength. She hadn’t even bothered to hope that their mother would go easy on the pills today so that she’d be coherent enough to understand the effort her youngest daughter made for her. She’d given up hope a long time ago when it came to their mother beating her addiction to the mind-numbing meds the doctors had prescribed after Lark’s death. Still, she was infuriated on Raven’s behalf because her younger sister always tried so hard and their parents couldn’t give her even a shred of recognition or appreciation.
“Wren!” Raven turned, a wide grin plastered on her face, “There you are!”
“Sorry I’m late.” She moved to drop her bag on the window seat and leaned down to kiss her mother’s cheek, “Happy birthday, Mom.”
Her response was slow even by her usual standards but Mavis Culvert raised her head enough to blink, “Where’ve you been, Wren? Your sister has been cooking for hours.”
“Work.” Wren bristled at the question. “Where’s Dad?”
“He ran to the store for… something.” Her mother looked thoughtful and Wren shot a glance at her sister whose tight smile confirmed her assumption.
Beer. He’d run out to get more beer which would have annoyed her even if she believed he’d actually run out, but she didn’t. He kept the fridge well-stocked with thirty-packs and he had an in-case-of-emergency six-pack in the mini-fridge at the back of the garage. He hadn’t needed to run out and get more beer but he’d said he did so he wouldn’t be stuck sitting around the house where his well-meaning youngest daughter might actually expect him to maintain a conversation.
Raven only turned her smile up another wattage, “Wren, could you get the serving spoons for me? This is almost ready to be tabled.”
“Sure.” She squeezed past her sister in the small kitchen and pulled open the drawer that had always held the serving utensils. “How many do you need?”
“A spoon for the corn, another for the mashed potatoes, and a fork for the turkey should be good.”
“Turkey?” Wren raised an eyebrow. “You cooked a whole damn turkey?”
“It’s what Mom requested.” Raven shrugged one shoulder and Wren rolled her eyes.
“I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t know the difference between store-bought sandwich turkey and the real thing at this point.”
“Don’t start.” Raven pursed her lips, “I like to cook and I don’t get to do it enough for the people I love.”
“Okay. Sorry I mentioned it.”
“It’s fine, just put the utensils on the table and then grab the iced tea out of the fridge for me.” She turned back towards where their mother sat silently at the table. “It’s almost ready, Mom.”
“Well, we can’t eat until your father gets back so you may as well…”
“I’m back.” The door that led from the garage swung open and they all turned to watch as Cona Culvert pushed into the room.
Wren bit her tongue when she noticed the open thirty-pack of his favorite cheap beer in one hand and an open can in the other. He couldn’t even wait until he got home from the store to crack one open. That, or, he’d been in the garage longer than any of them realized, drinking and avoiding his family. Wren figured one scenario was just as likely as the other and moved out of his way as he headed for the fridge to put his new cans inside.
“Hey pumpkin.” He winked in Wren’s direction as he passed and opened the fridge to stow the box of beer, “Good of you to make it for dinner, though you never did miss many of those.”
Wren’s teeth ground together as the barb hit its mark and her dad chuckled as if he’d told the funniest joke in the world. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he still used that old childhood “endearment” that she hated. He’d called her pumpkin all her life because her mother had dressed her as one for Halloween as a baby. She could have forgiven the poor nickname choice if anyone had ever let her forget that she’d been a pumpkin because she was so round and chubby no other baby costume had fit, but they hadn’t and apparently never would.
It didn’t matter that she’d grown out of her baby fat by the time she was a teen. The damage had been done. All the supposedly humorous remarks about her eating dessert or never missing a meal had done the job. She’d stopped eating in front of people and started running to burn off the calories of the tiny amounts of food she allowed herself.
When Lark had died, she’d gone days without eating anything and almost ended up in the hospital but Raven had pulled her back from that dangerous precipice.
When she’d finished crying and the anger had taken over, she’d recognized her eating disorder for what it was and gotten help. She’d known that she had to be strong enough to take care of herself and her little sister when her mother faded into the haze the pills created and her father tried to drown his sorrows in the booze. Lark’s death, her parents’ neglect, Raven’s love, they had been the things to save her and put her on a healthier path.
But her father didn’t understand any of it because he’d been too distant even before Lark’s death to realize Wren needed real help.
“Dad. Stop.” Raven stepped between them.
“What? It’s a joke. She can’t take a joke?” He immediately became defensive, puffing his chest up and taking a big gulp from his beer.
“It’s not a joke and it’s not funny.” Wren hissed.
“Jeez, pardon me. I didn’t realize the fun police were here.”
“Go and sit down, please. Dinner’s ready and I’m about to start serving.” Raven pointed to the table.