Broken Wings (Broken Wings 1) - Page 5

“Thought you could wait until the precious exit,” I said to the closed stall on my way out. She didn’t reply.

I went to the shop. As I stood there looking at newspapers, magazines, candy, and other things, I remember feeling like I was floating in space. I didn’t think I’d miss Grandpa and Grandma, but at least I had a home with them. Where were we really going? Did Mother darling really believe I would be better off in Nashville, or was I just like some old suit of clothes, stuffed in a bag and dragged along? She had made it crystal clear to me that she didn’t want me to call her Mother. How much easier would it be if she could just drop me off on her way to a new life.

Back in the car, after we drove off and were on the highway again, I pulled the entertainment magazine out from between the sections of newspaper. She watched me do it and nearly turned off the highway again, jerking the car and hitting the brakes.

“Did you steal that? Did you? Did you put that magazine in the newspaper first and then just pay for the newspaper? I know your tricks.”

“No,” I said, but she fixed her eyes on me like two small spotlights and scrunched her nose.

“You’re lyin‘, Robin. I can always tell when you do. Are you ever goin’ to stop stealin‘? Don’t you know you could have gotten me in trouble, too, back there? And me on the way to Nashville. How do you think I would be able to explain that? Sorry, I couldn’t make the audition because my daughter shoplifted a magazine and we were arrested on the way.”

She continued to drive.

“Why do you do these things?” she asked, but mostly of herself. “Maybe my father is right. Maybe people do inherit evil.”

“Who did you inherit it from then?” I fired at her.

She glared at me for a moment.

“I don’t think of what I did as so evil, at least not as evil as my father does. I was young and into stupid things like drugs and alcohol and I was very frustrated livin‘ in that house and bein’ told that everythin‘ I liked and everythin’ I wanted to do was bein‘ inspired by Satan.”

She turned back to me, glancing at the magazine again.

“I’m warnin‘ you, Robin. If you get into trouble in Nashville the way you did back home, I’m not goin’ to come your rescue. I won’t want anyone, especially people in the business, to know I gave birth to a petty thief. Do you understand me?”

“You already told me you’re going to pretend you’re my older sister, didn’t you? No one will blame you for giving birth to anything.”

“Don’t be so smart. Oh damn,” she said, grimacing. “I was hopin‘ we would have a nice trip and you would be as excited about all this as I am. We’re startin’ a new life!”

“You’re starting a new life,” I corrected.

She sighed and shook her head again.

After a moment I took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. She spun around even faster than before.

“Where did you get those?”

I shrugged.

“You stole them, too, probably. My God, the trouble we just missed. Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you smokin‘ around me? Didn’t I tell you how bad it was for my throat, my voice? I can’t chance strainin’ it, not now. Stop makin‘ me shout!”

“I’m not making you,” I said.

“Throw that cigarette out the window!”

I took one more defiant puff, rolled down the window, and flipped the cigarette out.

“Throw out the whole pack,” she ordered.

“The whole pack? But—”

“Throw it out, Robin. Now,” she said, and I did.

Then I sat back with my arms folded and pouted, until we both heard the police siren and she looked in the rearview mirror and exclaimed, “Oh no!”

As she slowed down to pull over, my heart began to pound. Had I been seen back at the store?

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” she wailed. “I’m ruined before I even begin.”

Tags: V.C. Andrews Broken Wings Horror
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