He scratched his chin again and took another drink before he said, “Get out of my house, Margot, before we do something we’ll both regret.”
“What’s the matter? You have trouble hitting things that might hit back?”
Just like always, there was no gearing up to violence with him. He went from calm to murderous rage in an instant; he nearly always acted on his violent impulses the moment they hit. It was the reason his wife was being observed overnight at the hospital.
Margot, of course, knew this, so she ducked when he snatched the bottle. She knew throwing things at people was one of his favorite things to do in this state and he didn’t disappoint. Even though she saw it coming, she missed taking a fifth of Jack to the face by only inches.
He stood up, but Margot sat him right back down with a kick to the chest. When he hit the chair, it topped over backward, spilling him out the other side. She was moving in to press her advantage when his hands found the lamp that had also hit the floor when the chair tipped over. Instead of pinning him down and putting him into some manner of chokehold, Margot was raising hands and taking a lamp to the forearms instead of her face. It didn’t do any damage, but it slowed her down enough that he was able to roll to his feet and square off with her.
“You made me waste half a bottle of whiskey!” he growled.
Margot didn’t say a word as she closed the distance between the two of them.
He smiled and motioned for her to keep coming.
“Both of you, stop!”
Margot didn’t look back at her sister; instead, she kept her focus on him.
“You promised, Margot,” Melanie shouted and then sobbed loudly.
“Look what you did,” her father said as he motioned toward Melanie, “You made your sister cry.”
“What I did?” Margot said as she shuffled forward. Her dad, however, moved out of striking range. He wasn’t wrong when he said he’d taught her half of what she knew. He may have drunk half a fifth of Jack Daniels, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have experience fighting under the influence. It occurred to Margot her chances might be better if he were sober.
“Don’t make me kick your ass in front of your sister,” he told her. “You know she’s sensitive.”
He wasn’t wrong. When they were kids, Melanie’s reaction to this kind of thing was to run away and hide. Her reaction hadn’t changed much as she reached young adulthood. Still, Margot didn’t lower her fists. He certainly wasn’t above hitting her when her guard was down.
“You going to leave?” Margot asked.
“It’s still my house.”
“It’s Mom’s house.”
“Is she telling me to leave?”
“No, I am.”
“Well, it ain’t your house either.”
“If Mom says you have to leave?”
“Then I’ll go.”
Margot stepped back out of punching range and lowered her hands. “Fine, go ahead and pack your stuff. She’ll be telling you to get the hell out once she gets back from the hospital.”
He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Margot turned and walked away.
“You promised,” Melanie said as she walked by.
“I guess that makes me a liar,” Margot quipped as she kept going.
“You owe me a bottle of whiskey!” her dad shouted as she reached the door. Margot didn’t bother responding.
Chapter 3
Margot considered going to the hospital but just like she knew how going to visit Dad was going to go, she could see how it would go with Mom as well. In the end, she’d be mad at Margot for interfering in her life and Margot would be mad at her for keeping a guy who treated her like a punching bag around.
Margot could hear it in her head: “It’s my life,” followed by the long list of excuses for her father’s behavior. Since her mom’s voice was already in her head, Margot decided there was no reason to hear it again in person and went home.
Before she realized the irony of what she was doing, Margot found herself sitting in her own easy chair with a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks in her hand. Unlike her Dad, she preferred Maker’s Mark. Her salary made both it and her apartment across the street from the beach affordable.
She was thinking about pouring another glass when her phone buzzed. She checked the face and saw it was Ms. Oliver, Sean's mother. With all the drama her father had created, Margot had forgotten to call her to let her know how the search for Sean was going. There wasn’t much to tell and until they identified the body, she didn’t want to worry her since the dead guy appeared too old to be either of her sons. She still should have checked in, though, if only because she’d said she would.
For about two seconds, Margot let herself think it might be good news. Perhaps, Ms. Oliver was calling to say Sean, and maybe even his brother, Steve, had come home on their own.
She answered. Before she could say anything, the voice on the other end whispered, “He’s back.”
Margot didn’t need to ask who.
“I need your help,” Ms. Oliver continued. “Can you come to my house? Now?”
So much for good news. Margot told her, “I’m on my way. Have you called 9-1-1?”
“No, I called you. Can you handle it? I trust you.”
“Okay, but if it’s too bad, call 9-1-1, that’s what it's there for.”
“Just hurry, please.”
Ms. Oliver ended the call. Margot grabbed her gun since Ms. Oliver’s estranged husband wasn’t a blood relation, and left her apartment.
Margot was glad she’d only had one glass of whiskey, even though one glass still probably put her on the wrong side of the driving under the influence laws. She kept this in mind as she pushed her Toyota Prius up above the speed limit and sped through an intersection where the light might have yellow for a millisecond when she entered. A DUI wouldn’t help her impending promotion.
Her phone buzzed again, and
