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Chuck was cleaning out his ears when Kimmie stepped back into the living room.
“You wanted to see me?”
He didn’t turn to look at her. “Got these for you.” He tossed a manila envelope by her feet. “Need them filled out by tomorrow when the mail comes.”
She picked up the envelope as well as a few of Chuck’s used Q-tips. “What’s this?” She bent back the fastener.
“Disability application. You’ll need that now you aren’t working no more.”
Kimmie’s mom had never been one to gamble. She thought cards and dice were wicked, and she never took any risks. Kimmie wasn’t like that, so she searched Chuck’s face to try to detect how serious he was. This might all be some bluff. She could put up a tiny fight and be back at the daycare by tomorrow.
Or Chuck might be so set on keeping Kimmie at home that he’d do anything, even hurt Pip, if she defied his order.
Just how far should she push? And was she feeling lucky?
Like earlier, she decided to appeal to his greed and selfishness first. “You know, I think the state’s really backed up right now on applications.” She wouldn’t mention her own firsthand experience applying for Pip’s medical coverage. “It’d probably take a while for the money to start coming through.” She also wouldn’t mention the fact that no reasonable administration would label her unfit for work. Because Chuck had managed to eke money out of the system for years for no other disability than being a lazy alcoholic who preferred his drink over gainful employment, that didn’t mean that anyone who filled out this packet could count on receiving a regular check.
Filling out his stupid application would get him off her back, but it wouldn’t put breakfast in Pip’s mouth.
“Another thing I started to wonder just now,” she began, trying like usual to downplay her ability to actively think and reason for herself, “is if maybe we’d be better off in the long run keeping things the way they are.” She didn’t say the word daycare, didn’t want to trigger him and set him off for a half-hour tirade. She could tell by the tightness in his face that she was walking on thin ice, but she’d have to venture out just a little further and hope it wouldn’t crack.
“The nice thing about the current setup is it has Pip eating most of his meals outside of the home. It’d take quite a bit more grocery money to make up that difference.” She watched Chuck warily, knew that he was still unconvinced. “He’s usually really hungry by bedtime,” she added hopefully.
It was this last comment that tipped the scale against her.
“You think I’m not doing my job as the man of this house in providing for my family?” His diction for once was impeccable, which only increased Kimmie’s fear. Her stepfather was mean, violent, and sadistic whenever he was drunk, but he tired easily and soon lost interest.
When he was sober, on the other hand ...
“I didn’t mean that at all.” She opened the envelope and pretended to look through the first few pages. “I’m sorry. It’s just, things have been a little difficult for us all ...”
“Difficult?” her stepdad roared. “You want to talk to me about difficult? Your mom had the nerve to hang herself in my garage, leaving me an idiot of a son who can’t even say his own name and an ungrateful brat who stands in my house and tells me how to run my family!”
Kimmie shook her head vehemently. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
He was out of his chair now, and Kimmie didn’t know whether the first object to meet her body would be his fists, his boots, or some projectile. He grabbed her by the ponytail, snapping her neck back and twisting her head up to face him.
“Let’s get one thing right, you spoiled little princess,” he hissed into her face. For once, she wished for the familiar scent of beer on his breath. “This is my home, and as long as you live here, you better expect we’re going to do things my way. If I say go on disability, you go on disability. If I say punch your brother for being a stupid, speechless idiot, you punch your brother for being a stupid, speechless idiot.”
All day, Kimmie had been testing this thought in her head, this nagging suspicion Taylor had fueled with his speculations and questions back at the daycare. Was this the kind of outrage Mom witnessed before her husband killed her? Kimmie was smart enough to know that she was stupid not to feel scared. Stupid not to cower, to get on her knees, to beg for forgiveness.
But she wasn’t ever going to grovel again. For the first time in her life, she saw her stepfather for what he really was — a pathetic, lonely man with no power except what people like her mom gave him. Mom fed his ego, bolstered his twisted sadism. If Chuck didn’t have someone weaker to manipulate and terrify, he was absolutely nothing more than a potbellied man, a pathetic creature unable to wield any power whatsoever.
For the first time since she met Chuck, Kimmie wasn’t scared of him. He could do what he wanted to her, then when he was done, he’d fall down exhausted and have to sleep until morning. She was younger, stronger, and more stubborn than he could ever hope to be. She was smarter too, which meant that she’d find a way to save both herself and Pip.
The torment would end, and Chuck would be left alone in a drafty, cold trailer, surrounded by beer cans and chip wrappers, with nobody left to terrorize, berate, or clean up after his pitiful messes.
Kimmie grinned.
And then realized from the glowing hatred in her stepfather’s eyes that this single gesture of defiance might cost her very life.