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

  Chapter 18

  Carrie's alarm went off at 7:00. She stretched and yawned and started to get ready for school.

  “What are you doing up so early?” Her mom stood in the hallway, still dressed in her night shirt and slippers with a hand on the door frame.

  “It's already 7:30. We're going to be late.” Carrie brushed past her mom.

  “Today's Thanksgiving. There is no school. Go back to bed.”

  With that, her mom left her there in the hall. Thanksgiving? She wanted to talk to her mom, but since she'd gotten back her mom was angry, really angry. She'd cleaned the whole house that night, and not just because of Thanksgiving guests. She didn't even ask Carrie how she felt. She didn't care.

  Carrie felt a lump in her throat as she puttered back to her room and shut the door silently. Her heart hurt. Didn't anyone care that she had been gone a whole week? Her dad left with hardly a word. Her mom could care less that she returned. Throwing herself on the bed, Carrie wept silently, burying the sound of her crying in the pillow. Things couldn't be worse. Her family was a mess and now she didn't even have Sparky. And it didn't even matter that she existed. Nobody cared.

  She could have stayed forever with the underground people and lived like a princess. After she'd cried herself out, Carrie felt a strange awe, not quite peace, more like a shocked exhaustion because she had run out of tears. Not long after that, she fell back to sleep.

  The next time she awoke, it was to the smell of warm turkey and the sound of her mother screaming at her father.

  “You weren't here. Why is this suddenly my fault.” Something crashed on the door. That signaled a bad fight. Her mom was throwing breakables. Carrie put the pillow over her head.

  “Well, maybe Carrie should live with me. You obviously can't cope taking care of her.”

  And then her grandmother chimed in, “Now a daughter belongs with her mother. That's the way things are.”

  Now it was her dad's turn to yell. His voice boomed with anger and even if he wasn't throwing things, Carrie imagined the whole house rattled to the sound of his voice.

  “Go ahead and take her. She'll run away from you, too. See if she doesn't.” Mom doesn't want me. Carrie couldn't get the words out of her head. Go ahead and take her. Go ahead and take her. As if she was a dog or a piece of furniture to be moved around. Maybe she didn't want to go.

  Carrie threw back the covers and pushed out of bed. This was the last time she would cower in her room while her parents threw accusations at each other and made everyone's life miserable. This was it. The end. No more hiding under the covers.

  Storming down the stairs, Carrie stalked into the kitchen where her father stood by the pantry with his crimson face scowling. Her mom stood by the dishwasher with another plate in shaking hands. The floor in front of the counter near the refrigerator was covered in broken glass. Her mom had thrown it across the room in the general direction of her father, although not close enough to actually hit him.

  “She won't run away from me because I won't spend my life in bed.” That was pretty low. Carrie cringed when she heard it.

  “You left us.”

  “I left you.”

  Carrie decided this was as good a time as any to enter the argument. “Actually Dad, you left both of us. I don't recall seeing you much lately, and the times I do you're always in a hurry to be some place else.”

  “Do you blame me? With treatment like this.” He looked ready to storm out again.

  “It's Thanksgiving. Aren't either of you thankful for anything?” Carrie would have loved it if they would say Yes, I'm so glad to have you home again or Honey, we love you so much. It's just been a tough year.

  Instead her Mom opened the cupboard and put the plate she was holding away, “Go up to your room. This is between your father and me.”

  Carrie decided that she was already in so much trouble, one more heaping wouldn't hurt, so she stayed put. “Do you know how many hours I've spent hiding under my covers while you fight? A lot. Send me to Dad's or keep me here. I don't really care. You don't even notice me. You're too busy hating each other.”

  This was the point where Carrie would normally have fled the room with tears running down her face, her soul too tender to withstand the same space as her parents after a statement like that. But she didn't leave. She stood her ground. There was a whole new world out there, a place where she was wanted, where princesses acted like they belonged wherever they went.

  Her mom frowned, “We don't hate each other.”

  “It feels a lot like hate to me.” Her dad said, “This needs to stop.”

  “You both need to kiss and make up.” Carrie crossed her arms and waited and waited...and waited. The kitchen was silent for a long time, only the sounds of the refrigerator kicking on and the tap tap tap of her mom's fingernails on the counter.

  “I'm sorry.” Her dad said it. He never apologized, ever.

  Her mom cleared her throat and even managed to seem genuine when she asked, “Would you like to stay for Thanksgiving?”

  “I wouldn't want to spoil it for you.” He bowed his head and took a step into the hall as if he would leave.

  “Dad?”

  He looked up.

  “You won't spoil it for us. Mom's going to be nice today. And you're going to be happy. It will be like a king's court with rules of etiquette and proper conduct. You will speak gently and smile and talk about things like the weather and if the crops will be good this year and how to sew seed pearls and sparkles onto fancy dresses.” Carrie lifted her chin the way Minerva did. Please let this work.

  Her dad moved his cap up and down on his head the way he did sometimes when he was out working on his truck and thinking of a problem. It drove her mom crazy that he wore it in the house. Carrie held her breath.

  “Do you want me here?” He was looking at her mom. He didn't ask Carrie. She wanted him. Shouldn't that count for something?

  “Yes. If we can just talk about the unimportant things.” Her mom attempted a smile. It was pretty lame, but on the whole better than the near-tears anger that she'd had a minute ago.

  “I can help with the turkey.”

  Dad always made the turkey. It was the thing dads did at Thanksgiving. Carrie pleaded with her eyes. But her mom wasn't even looking at her. She was looking at Dad. She still loved him. Carrie knew she did. “That would be nice.”

  It was the best Thanksgiving Carrie had ever had. Her dad made a joke and her mom laughed and laughed. They were happy, really truly happy. No one asked about where she'd been. It was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, except her parents were getting along.

  That night, for the first time in weeks, Carrie fell asleep with a smile on her face.