Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series) (4 page)

“Are you going to plug it in or do I have to do everything?” Patrice complained, making her way to the outlet.

When the tree began to glow George’s blue eyes shined with astonishment
.

“Ohhhh!” he exclaimed with a clap. “B
OOO
-tiful!” George pulled off his diaper and danced around in circles, singing indecipherable words.

“
I swear that kid’s retarded,” Brandon said, then ordered Glory around as if she was his keeper. “Shut him up before he wakes Dad.
”

“
He's never seen a Father Winter’s tree before; whaddaya expect?"

Brandon slugged Glory in the bicep.

“
Ow!”

“What’d ya do that for?”

“I just felt like it.”

Brandon slugged her again in the same place.

“You better knock it off!” Glory said angrily, pushing h
im
away
with an elbow and
holding her throbbing arm
with her hand.

“
And what are you going to do about it?”

“
Maybe I'll tell Dad about the funny cigarettes you've been smoking in the barn.”

Brandon pushed her against the door, towering over her, pressing a forearm into her neck.

“
If you do that, it'll be the last thing you do.
”

Brandon liked to threaten, and usually meant it when it came to Randy and Danny, but he seldom followed th
r
ough with his sisters. He probably wouldn’t do anything more than pin her arm behind her back or deliver a painful noogie.

“
Ooh, I'm shaking," she mocked.

“
You will be after I tell Dad that you’re still going up to Queen's Mesa
—y
eah, that's right
,
I saw your stash up in the loft, and after I’m through giving you a pounding, Dad will finish you off. So you better think twice
.
”

“
What the blazes is going on!” A slurred voice came from the doorway.

The siblings froze at the sight of Mean Dad. Light brown stubble mixed with patches of gray covered his chin, contrasting with the uncombed blond hair
.
Blood-shot eyes, white parched lips, with a voice like gravel
,
Glory knew to expect the worst.

“
Brandon!
”
he snarled,
“
What have I told you about bullying your sisters. I'm the only one that passes out poundings around here.
”

Glory’s throat tightened as she watched Mean Dad stare down big brother.

“
Try me, tough guy,” Dad said, showing Brandon a closed fist, while he grabbed him by the shirt collar with the other.

Glory cringed inside, expecting Dad’s right hook against Brandon’s face at any second.

While Patrice was saddled with the responsibility of running the house, Brandon was in the unfortunate position of
being
Dad’s personal punching bag, taking the heat off the rest of them. Glory suddenly regretted antagonizing him the way she did.

Brandon tried to back away, but Dad pulled him uncomfortably close.

“
You picking on little girls again, eh?”

Brandon silently pleaded with her not to say anything.

Glory stepped forward, shaking her head from side to side.
“
No, Sir. We were just playing. Honest.”

Glory and her brother exchanged dubious glances as temporary allies.

Dad was about to say something until his gaze fell on the tree. He seemed to forget about the squabble and let go of Brandon, wandering closer to the tree, feeling the soft needles between his fingers. His face softened as he touched the bulbs, then the homemade ornaments. The Alley children braced themselves knowing anything could happen.

A smile formed on Dad’s lips. Wanting to smile too, the corner of Glory’s mouth twitched, but Dad’s joy passed like the morning dew and quickly evaporated into rage.

Patrice flinched when he pulled off the tin foil star, wadded it into a ball and bounced it off
of
Brandon’s head.

“
Who wasted this foil?”

No one answered.

He yanked the string of lights out of the wall and fought it like a jungle man wrestling a giant snake. Cursing wildly, with the cord wrapped around him,
he yelled some more. “
A plug is
a
gul dang
credit-sucker, but you little
ingrates
don’t give a flying f
ig
!
”

Mean Dad knocked the tree over then stomped the branches into kindling.

“I said
no
fli
ppin’
holiday decorations!”

He marched to the refrigerator,
fists clenched at his sides
,
cussing up a storm.
The door made a sticky sound when it opened. Dad
tilted his head to the side to survey the contents
within
.
The fridge
was unusually full, stocked with the Harvest Day dishes Patrice and Nana had slaved over
for the last two day
s
.

“
You like to waste
—
I'll show ya waste.
”
He threw the casserole dish at the wall where the bowl shattered. A shower of corn rained down. The children cringed, covering their faces, but did not dare step away.

“
What's this slop?” He took one look at the carefully prepared stuffing.
“
Bird food.”

Glory would never believe the bowl slipped from his grasp by accident. When it hit the floor
,
stuffing
slid over George's feet. Little brother knelt down picking up handfuls
to shove them into his eager mouth.

“
You think that's good, Little Pig
?
Well, have some more!” Dad kicked a mound at him.

The bread stuck to George’s face and hair in wet clumps. He backed away, sucking his thumb, grasping fo
r Glory's hand with the other. “Me n
o like that.”

Glory enveloped him in her flannel shirt and pulled him protectively against her waist.

She didn’t like it either. Though the fact was never spoken aloud
,
everyone knew that Dad resented George more than all the rest.

George’s birth didn’t kill Mom, but a staph infection contracted a
f
t
er
the
delivery
did, though Dad sometimes blamed the government instead.
As a kid
,
Glory didn’t understand exactly what a staph infection was, or why the government would want to kill her mother
.
The only thin
g
she knew for certain was that Dad
had
brought Mom to the hospital, but came back with only George. He’d been in a bad mood ever since.

Dad crouched low to yell in George’s face.
“
Put some clothes on, boy, I’m tired of looking at ya!
”

Little brother buried
his head
in her leg and whimpered
.

“Shouldn’t the kid be out of diapers by now?”
Dad
looked to Patrice, who held up her palms, looking scared and helpless.

Dad returned
his attention to the contents of the
fridge
, leaning his weight on a shelf,
hardly noticing when it tipped
. Three
pies
,
homemade
ones, the kind
that took hours of peeling fruit and rolling out crust
s
,
landed upside down on the floor.
Glory’s stomach sunk for Patrice, who looked as if she’d just seen a puppy run over by a
hay mower
.

Dad
found what he was looking for and pressed the bottle of cold vodka to his cheek
.
After a long swig, he scanned the room like a boxer waiting to be challenged.

“
This kitchen better be clean when I come back or I'll whip the lot of you!
”

She listened to
him stumble to the family room.
Good. He’d fall asleep soon and the terror would end. At least until he woke up again.

The television clicked on and the ball game blared. Nobody spoke for a couple of minutes.

“
He'll be passed out in an hour,
”
Brandon said, sending a disgusted sneer toward the living room.
“
We can have the Harvest Day feast without him.”

Glory nodded in agreement, but Patrice
started to
cry
. Not
sad
tears, but angry ones, the kind
that sent fiery red lines down pale cheeks.

“
I hate him!
” she screamed. “
And as soon as I’m eighteen, I’m going to move away and never come back!
”

“Don’t say that!” Glory pleaded. “Please, Patrice, you don’t even have a job, and nobody’s gonna hire you without a diploma.”

“
Last night Nana spent hours
—
arthritic hands and all
—
helping me make all of this
—
a
nd now look at it
!
And Grandpa
used his pension check to pay for everything. Dad had no right. N
o
right
!”

Brandon looked toward the family room, his face a sneer.
“
Don't worry about Ditzy Nana and Grandpa Pee, they obviously aren't worried about us
—
going to Aunt Martha’s where we aren't invited, leaving us with dear ole Pappy. Since there’s no feast here, I think I'll follow their example and split.”