The Daughter They Charged for Love

3: 3

Half a month later, we had a visitor.

My father's old army buddy, Arthur James, came in wearing a stiff, ingratiating smile.

"Dennis, you hit the lottery. Congratulations!"

Then his face folded into worry.

"Dennis, my boy got into college. Embry-Riddle. Good school. The acceptance letter's already come."

"Money's tight for me right now. I don't have much put away."

His voice dropped.

"I was going to have him take out student loans, but I don't want him carrying that kind of pressure. He said too, that he'd rather his classmates didn't know. Wouldn't be able to face them."

My father clapped him on the shoulder.

"Kid's grown, wants to save face. I get it."

Arthur fidgeted, looking pained.

"I've got nowhere else to turn but an old comrade. I'll pay you back in installments every month!"

My father thumped his own chest.

"An old comrade needs help, of course I help."

He shot my mother a look, a signal.

My mother didn't hesitate. She picked up her phone and scanned Arthur's payment code.

"Is a hundred thousand enough? Say so if it isn't. A kid's education is a big thing. If we can help, we help."

Arthur's eyes went red. He stood and bowed.

My parents graciously insisted he stay for dinner.

I stood in the kitchen doorway and watched the whole thing.

A hundred thousand, gone with one tap of a thumb.

After Arthur left, I spoke up.

"Dad, Mom. His kid was afraid of the pressure, wanted to save face, and you lent him a hundred thousand."

"So what about me? You made me take out student loans."

My mother's hands went still over the dishes.

"How is that the same thing? Arthur's your father's old army buddy."

The liquor had gone slightly to my father's head.

"Right. An old comrade asks for help, you can't turn him down."

I looked at them both.

"So a daughter counts for less than a comrade. Is that it?"

They choked on it, neither able to answer for a moment.

Then my father slammed the table hard, the reek of alcohol coming off his breath.

"You have any idea how much money you've cost this family? That boy doesn't owe his parents three hundred thousand!"

I gave a bitter little laugh.

"No. Other people's kids don't have to sign IOUs."

A sharp crack.

My father hurled the bottle to the floor.

"Grown some backbone now, have you? You dare talk to us like this?"

"If we didn't pin you down with those IOUs, you good-for-nothing, you'd have spent even more!"

My eyes stung, but I forced it down.

"Other than medical bills, what have I ever wasted?"

"My whole life I've worn Renata's hand-me-downs. At the table I never dared take an extra bite of meat, always afraid I'd owe you more. Compare me to my brother and my sister, tell me where I ever wasted a thing!"

"Getting sick is your own fault!"

My father jabbed a finger at me, his whole face flushed.

"Nobody told you to be born cursed with bad luck!"

Bad luck. Born with it.

I understood him.

Something you're born with. There was no argument to win.

I tried to hold it back, but in the end the tears came anyway.

Toby and Renata just stared at us, neither one saying a word.

It seemed to be the first time they'd ever seen me fight back, and both of their eyes were wide with shock.

My mother knew my father's temper. She grabbed his arm fast.

"Enough, enough. Don't drag up all these old accounts."

She turned to me.

"Apologize to your father, now. You trying to give him a heart attack?"

I said nothing. I turned and walked away.

As I passed Renata, she watched me with a wounded, resentful look.

"Sis, you've changed."

I glanced at her.

She didn't say much more, but the blame was all there in her eyes.

Toby stood a little way off, watching me, his fists clenched tight.

"Maya, this time you really went too far."

I looked at him.

These people who'd fed off me were all bound together now, tight as a coiled rope.

I didn't say a single word. I pushed open my door and locked it behind me.

Inside the suitcase, I'd already packed the few clothes I still had that fit to wear.

I read through the Naval Academy check-in instructions one more time.

The day after tomorrow, I could leave.

This home. I never had to stay in it again.