sound in the room was the steady clap-land, clap- land rhythm. Those strong and deadly muscles in his arms rippled and flexed with the movements and his back was perfectly straight and stiff beneath the fabric of his black wife-beater.
Looking around, she didn’t see any sign of her mom. The house was too dark for her to be there, since her dad was the one who like to sulk around in the shadows. She wondered if she should interrupt him. If she made him lose his momentum, he’d get angry. Cautiously, she asked, “Where’s Mom?”
“She left,” he said, without missing a beat of his exercise.
Of course, she thought bitterly. She probably bailed because she didn’t believe Kay would keep her mouth shut about the affair, and didn’t want to be around for the fallout. Trying to fight off the feeling of immense, consuming disappointment, she mumbled, “I’m just going to take a shower.”
Turning, she walked over to the staircase. Not so fast he’d think she was trying to run away from him, but fast enough so hopefully she’d be upstairs by the time her tears fell.
He waited until her hand was on the banister, and her foot on the first step, before he said, “Kay.”
At the sound of his stern, demanding voice, she froze, every muscle going stiff with alertness and tension. Swallowing hard, she tried to seem calm and unafraid as she turned to face him. “Yes?”
Standing from his push-ups, he stretched his arms above his head as he turned to her. “Come here.”
She took a few steps forward, until she was standing by the edge of the couch.
He walked toward her, each step loud in the quiet house. Reaching forward, he picked an envelope up off the table.
“Your bank statement came today.” He held it out to her. “I circled a couple… suspicious charges. Why don’t you take a look?”
She didn’t bother to comment on the fact he’d opened her mail, or looked through personal financial information. He’d only claim he was her father and it was his right. So, remaining silent, she did as he said and pulled out the bank statement. Feeling all the blood drain from her face when she saw the circled charge.
“Forty bucks a week to Southport Self-Defense. Tell me, Kay, what have you learned?” He spoke in a tone that made her feel like the dumbest girl alive. And his dark brown eyes peered into hers, studying, analyzing, mocking. “Learned how to protect yourself from scary men?”
“Apparently not,” she whispered, and let the paper fall back to the table.
He gave a smug chuckle as he walked over to get a drink of his beer. “I have wondered where that attitude’s been coming from. The talking back, fighting back. Seeing that boy after I specifically told you not to.”
“Dad, he’d just been hit by a—”
“I’m not finished,” he snapped. He downed the beer, cracked open another and started walking toward her again. “You know the first thing they taught me when I enlisted? Go ahead. Guess.”
“Brutality?”
He laughed. “There’s that attitude again.” All humor vanished from his face, leaving only that stone-cold soldier. “Obedience.”
She looked away, knowing where this was going, but he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. It was everything she could do not to squirm, or flinch or pull away.
“You followed orders or people died. Or you could die. You had to trust that your superiors knew what they were talking about.” His hold on her chin tightened. “So, when I tell you not to see somebody, I expect you to listen. When I tell you to do something, you do it. End. Of. Story. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice shaking.
“Where’s your respect? Yes what ?”
Her face immobilized by his grip, she tried to keep from shaking, but didn’t bother to hide her bitterness and disdain as she said, “Yes, sir .”
He let go with a shove and she backed up, but he held his hand up, motioning for her to stop. “Now, about these