Melody Crumbley's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Melody pushed through the last of the scrub and saw the store. The convenience store sat where she had left it, faded sign and striped awning shimmering in the heat. The lime green station wagon was parked crooked by the pump. And her mother was outside it. Marge stood in the dust with her arms crossed over her flowered dress. Pink curlers bounced when she turned her head. Her slippers were already gray with grit. She spotted Melody at the edge of the lot and her face went the color of a stovetop coil. "Melody Ann Crumbley. Get over here." Melody's stomach dropped. She knew that voice. It was the voice that came before a slap on the back of the thighs, right there in the parking lot, in front of anyone driving by. Dexter slowed down behind her. He was suddenly not in a hurry to catch up. Marge marched three steps and grabbed Melody's arm. "Where have you been. Where. Do you know how long we've sat here. Your father honked six times. Six." "Mama—" "Don't Mama me." Marge spun her around. Her free hand lifted. Melody shoved her closed fist up between them. She opened her fingers. The glass eye sat in her sweaty palm. Dull. Scratched. Real. Marge stopped. Her hand hung in the air. "What is that." "Mr. Boots's eye. The coyote ate it and I found it. In a hairball. Dexter said they puke stuff up and he was right and I found it." Her mother stared at the eye. Her mouth worked. Melody could see her deciding. "A hairball," Marge said. "Yes." "You went into the desert. For a hairball." "Yes." Marge's hand came down slowly, but it did not land on Melody. It landed on her own hip. She breathed out through her nose. "Get in the car. Both of you. Now. Your father has been sitting there like a lump and your grandma needs her pill and I am not spending one more minute in this parking lot." Melody scrambled for the back door. Through the window she saw her father in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, staring straight ahead like he had not moved in an hour. In the far back, Edith sat with her thick glasses tipped forward, mumbling at the ceiling. Dexter climbed in behind Melody and slammed the door. Melody sat down and squeezed Mr. Boots to her chest. The eye was in her fist. The spanking hadn't come. Then she looked at the rabbit's face. The empty socket was a small ragged hole. The stitching around it had pulled loose over the years. She pressed the glass disc against it. It slid in a little. It slid back out. There was nothing holding it in place. No glue. No thread. Nothing. Marge started the engine. The station wagon lurched forward. Melody's fist tightened around the loose eye as the store shrank behind them.