Page 3 of Charity's Torment

My father was a simple but honorable man. He taught me that if I gave my word, I should do everything in my power to keep it. It’s just what you did. I wished Josh would have listened to his life lessons. Maybe he wouldn’t have ruined his life if he did.

I slammed on the brakes, pulling up to my parents’ perfect little home with the white picket fence, minus the two point five kids. I climbed off my motorcycle, hung my helmet on my handle, and spun my keys around my finger. I whistled an annoying tune as I walked inside. The one that never ends.

“I’m here. Mom? Dad?” I called out as I rounded the corner to find my parents sitting at the dinner table. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Did you go to work dressed like that?” Mother asked.

I glance down at my purposely holey pants and gray V-neck shirt.

“Yes, I did. And I even rode my motorcycle in the dark. Can you believe that?” I placed my hand to my mouth to cover my fake shock.

My mother has generalized anxiety minus the diagnosis. She constantly worried that her dear innocent daughter would die without her plans for my life coming to fruition. She fussed over me, more so now than when I was an infant, I think. She calls it anxiety, but I call it controlling and abusive. Now that I’m old enough to understand that her behaviors towards me are not typical parental behavior, it’s easy for me to call it what it is.

“It’s not okay to joke about these things. Tell her, Steven,” she said, looking to my father.

He looked tired. Dark circles formed under his eyes from lack of sleep and stress from work.

“She’s a big girl now, Lyn.” At least there was rationality on one side of the family. There was hope for me yet.

I took my seat. “I take it Josh isn’t joining us again?” I asked.

“I guess not,” Mom said. “You know how he is.”

I shrugged my shoulders and filled my plate with mashed potatoes and gravy. Yeah, I know how my brother is. The “recovering” drug addict that can’t keep his life together. The reason I’m living my life the way I do now—ungrateful prick.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” I asked.

“Um… about a week or so.” She fixed her plate. “Maybe you could check up on him. He isn’t responding to your father or me lately.” I rolled my eyes. I’msure he was fine.

“Sure, but I don’t know why you are worried. It’s not like he hasn’t ignored you for weeks at a time before.”

I buttered a roll and opened my mouth to shove it in. “Charity Faith Gibbons!” Mom announced, halting my movement. “Are you eating before we say grace?”

I set my roll down, clasped my hands together, and rested my chin on top while letting out a breathy sigh. “No, ma’am.” I closed my lids andprayedfor the prayer to be over.

My father blessed the food, and we said “amen” in unison. I forked my potatoes, about to take a bite when my phone pinged. My eyes flicked to Mom and then to Dad. Her glare of death seared my skin to an uncomfortable level. I filled my mouth in haste with mash and muted my phone, noticing the message from Luca.

Shit.

I neglected to tell him I wasn’t coming, and Max probably took the brunt of that message.

“You know we don’t allow the phones at the dinner table, Charity.”

“Sorry, Dad. I forgot to silence it.”

I forked another mouthful of potatoes and followed it with the entire half roll. If I stuffed my mouth, I couldn’t speak, which meant they couldn’t ask me questions. That was the rules… don’t talk with your mouth full.

I washed it down with a glass of milk, and my mother jumped at the opportunity to tell me of her latest plan for a blind date. Lord, help me, please. Why did she do this to me?

“I met this wonderful man. His name is Christopher. He owns a coffee shop downtown, and he’s interested in meeting you. I think you would get along swell.” She took a dime-sized nibble, then placed her fork back on her plate.

I winced at the wordswell. This wasn’t the fifties, Mother.

“Come on, Mom. I really don’t want to go on another one of your blind dates. The last man got scared and left.” Plus, he was studying art at the local college… gag me.

“That was because you showed him a hunting knife in your boot. That isn’t very ladylike, Charity. We raised you better than that.”

“I was showing him I came with protection.” I shrugged and looked at my father for support. “Tell her it’s not normal for her to be this involved in her twenty-four-year-old daughter’s love life.”

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