Chapter 4

© Copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Delayne



. . . the day had already been dark and gloomy for Jo. Even the mid afternoon sun refused to show its shinning face. Softball practice had been canceled because of the drizzle, but everyone was expected to be at school before seven the next morning.

Jo sighed, weak from exhaustion. Until the wee morning hours her parents had been up shouting, their voices full of rage.

The little sleep Jo had received hardly lasted into the day. She fell asleep in both her biology and calculus classes and had received a detention from both teachers. Those detections had both been futile discussion sessions where her teachers had said calmly, “I'm worried about you, Joanna. You usually aren’t like this. You know you can talk to me ...” The images of their concern plagued Jo, but she didn’t want to talk about her problems and she wondered if they really cared. So many people close to her did not.

Then Rod had teased her when she arrived to the Student Congress meeting late and was frustrated with her for not having the information ready on banner prices. She hated disappointing him . . . but she seemed to disappoint everyone lately.

The straight A's report card hardly helped her through her day, for she doubted anymore if anyone cared. The late fall day had turned cool under the drizzle and she had not taken her jacket to school. By the time she turned onto her street she was shivering from the wet-cold that soaked her shirt.

And when home came into sight, Jo felt herself slink back, splashing a little in a puddle as she tried to decide what to do, not wanting to enter the front door. Her father's beat-up sedan was in the driveway, and after the past night, Jo had no desire to see either of her parents. She was angry at them both for being so selfish.

Compromising against her emotions, Jo headed for the kitchen door and slowly stepped in. Ann Berkley was sitting at the kitchen table, staring, just staring into space. Nothing sat on the table for her to work on. Nothing was in the stove cooking. She just sat at the table. Her eyes seemed vacant and repressed.

When Ann said nothing to her daughter, Jo breathed a sigh of relief and tried to slip on by.

“Did you get you report card?”

“Yes mam,” Jo responded, pulling the carbon copy out of her book bag. She handed the sheet to her mother hopefully, knowing if she received any support that it would come from her mother.

A smile spread across Ann's face. “Congratulations, Joanna Lynn,” she said. “Thomas, come look at Joanna's report card—”

No! Jo barely stopped the word from coming out her mouth. Please don't bring dad into this . . . please! I don't want to be fought over . . . again. Her eyes pleaded, but her mother was so bent on justification with her husband that Jo was completely ignored.

Thomas Berkley walked into the kitchen in ragged shorts and a crumpled white tee shirt. He looked as if he had just woken up and Jo knew he had not gone to work. Oh, dad. Jo nearly began to cry. She knew he was in trouble at work for his lack of productivity.

Thomas looked at the report card and said nothing.

“Well,” Ann prodded with self-gratification, “don't you have something to say to your daughter?”

“Congratulations.”

“Thomas, Joanna just made straight A's! She's been making them all year! She's been making them for a long time.”

“Do you want me to applaud?” He turned his eyes to Jo in mockery. Her raised his hands and began to clap. “Good job. Braaaavo!” he snapped. “Show your old man proud. Show us all, Joanna, how good you are! Show us all how you can make a precious A when your old man couldn't even graduate high school!”

“Thomas stop it!” Ann yelled.

By then tears had begun to fall from Jo's green eyes. She hated to cry. “Please, dad. It's okay. I'll go—”

“No, I want you to hear all about how proud I am of you,” Thomas's voice dripped in sarcasm.

“Thomas! Just because you couldn't make anything of yourself doesn't mean you can't support a daughter who does!”

Thomas turned back to his wife, but Jo knew she was not forgotten yet. “Oh, I see. So this is between you and me now—”

“You're the one who can't find the decency to be proud of your daughter,” Ann spat. “I believe it's you who walked out of high school! You have no right to drive your failure over her—”

“And I suppose you have a right to call me a failure. Who was the one who had to get married. Who was the one who had to be shown love? Who couldn't wait—”

“Please stop!” Jo cried out. “Please stop! I don't need any of your—”

Jo reached up and touched her cheek, not even sure of what had happened. Her father had never hit her before—not on the face and not in anger. Sure she had been spanked . . . the tears fell down her cheeks as realization dawned. Her dad . . . the one who was supposed to love her no matter what . . . had slapped her.

Ann's brisk and angry words slowly came into Joanna's weakened mind as if through a funnel. “ . . . and you call yourself a father!”

“I don't want to here her sass. She should be old enough to know better. I'm her father.”

“Some father,” Ann retorted back. “She'd—”



“Please!” Jo heard herself say. “Please stop fighting. Please stop arguing. I promise to be good. I promise not to sass. Please . . . just please stop!”

“Please!”


HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!




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