Fierce Winds and Fiery Dragons (Dusky Hollows: Book 1)

Chapter 2

  Dinner at Carrie's house was spent in front of the television. Her mom had cooked a large frozen pizza and cut it in fourths. That's how she knew Dad wasn't going to be home for dinner again. Because if he were going to eat dinner, they'd have something like meatloaf or roast or steak or something good. Her mother didn't cook for just the two of them.

  Carrie didn't ask where her father might be. Because it wasn't an answer that her mother knew, and she'd just start crying or angrily retreat to her room. Carrie learned not to ask some questions. They curled up together at opposite ends of the couch and acted like a normal family, but Carrie knew this wasn't normal. Dads didn't get angry and stay out until late and ignore their children for whole days at a time.

  When her mother told her to brush her teeth and get ready for bed, Carrie saw a tear slide down her mother's cheek. She felt horrible. She didn't know what to say. So she went and changed into her nightgown, wishing she could make her dad stay home for dinner.

  Carrie was in bed with the door closed all the way except for that little sliver that let the light from the hallway in. The front door opened and closed downstairs.

  Her mother's voice carried up the stairs. “Where have you been? And don't say work.”

  Carrie cringed and drew her pillow over her head. The arguing would start now. She hated that part. Her stomach lurched, and she pulled herself down deep into the blankets as the screaming started. Of course, her father never said exactly where he was, just that he sure wasn't welcome in his own home.

  She hated listening to the fighting. Hated it worse when the doors to the house started slamming. Cupboard doors and bedroom doors, bathroom doors as if somehow by throwing a door closed, her parents could get their point across.

  Carrie started to cry when her dad went on about how much money her mom had spent on nail polish. She wasn't allowed to paint her fingernails yet, but her mom let her paint her toe nails for practice. While they were school shopping, she got to buy three colors with the sparkles and stickers.

  Her mom bought her pink, purplish-pink, and blue. If she hadn't begged for the blue, maybe her dad wouldn't be so angry.

  The yelling turned to muffled sobs and she heard her father storm up the stairs into the bedroom and then it sounded like he was throwing things around, opening drawers and emptying them.

  She heard her mom say, “What are you doing?”

  “We're done. Over. I want a divorce.”

  “We're just having an argument. You can't walk out like this,” her mom said. Carrie hated hearing her mom sound like that or her dad for that matter. They were both so angry.

  “How long? We haven't been happy for years. One more night and one more night and pretty soon, it's a life sentence.”

  Carrie knew he was packing the suitcase then. All of the drawers opening, the closet doors, her mom's frantic pleas. All of it meant that he was packing to go. He'd done it before, staying in a hotel for a night to cool off, but the way he was talking now scared Carrie, as if he really meant to leave and not come back. Wiping the tears from her face, she wanted to go to her parent's room and ask him to stay, tell him that she was sorry about the nail polish.

  She started to crawl up from the nest of covers she'd buried herself in. Her mother said, “You promised forever, until death do us part.”

  “And you promised to love me, but I don't see a lot of love in this house, do you?” Her dad was storming by her door then, as if he knew she was awake and desperately wanted to talk to him. He stopped, just outside the door. Carrie wanted so badly to call to him, to ask him to stay, to find those words that would make everything better, but before she could call out, he was walking along the hall and down the stairs and out the door.

  She spent long hours staring at the ceiling wondering if her dad would be home tomorrow night. She didn't think so.

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