Pretty Ugly: A Novel (27 page)
Courtney shifted in her seat, putting her belly out of Miranda’s reach. “Yeah. The other day he took me to Dairy Queen, but he’s so retar—I mean, he’s so stupid. He’s kind of still in love with his ex. Well, soon-to-be ex. But he’ll come around. I’m not worried.”
Miranda smiled knowingly and patted the girl’s knee. “Well … it’s good to stay positive. I’m sure it’ll all work out.” Adding in her most maternal voice, “You’re a great girl, Courtney, and you deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks.” Courtney blushed. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“But,” Miranda said cautiously, “have you thought about what you’re going to do if the father doesn’t … come through?”
“I’m not worried about that,” Courtney said curtly, picking at the unraveling hem of her jeans. “He will.”
“No, I know he will. Of course he will. But have you thought about the possibility of what if he doesn’t?”
With those words, Courtney finally understood why Ray cheated on his wife. Miranda didn’t understand men. If you gave them too much freedom, they would eventually go off and get themselves in trouble.
It was like her grandma Zola used to say, “Men are like dogs. They need to be trained well, fed often, and kept on a short leash.”
Even at eighteen, Courtney already knew that despite what they said, men wanted to be told what to do. They needed it. It was a mother thing. And Ray was no different.
“Trust me,” Courtney said calmly as she turned toward the window, “he’s not going to have a choice.”
“You want me to … kill her?” Joan asked in a choked whisper-laugh, assuming Jesus was teasing her. He
did
have a wicked sense of humor.
Unfortunately, yes.
He sighed heavily.
As much as it pains me to say it, Courtney is a poison. And what do you do with poison?
“Leave it alone?” she answered hopefully.
You extract it. Look, this is hard for me, too. She’s one of my children, but every parent with multiple children understands that there’s always one you want to get rid of—one that makes life miserable for the others. Unfortunately, Courtney is that child to me. You wouldn’t understand, Joan, having had only Miranda.
From her kitchen, Joan heard the boys in the other room laughing at a VeggieTales video. She lowered her voice. “I mean, the girl is obviously guided by demons. I can tell that just by looking at her, but…”
But what?
“Well”—Joan chose her words carefully—“she’s so young.”
She is. And that’s what scares me. If she’s willing to destroy your family at eighteen, who knows what kind of treachery is in her future?
“Well … I reckon when you put it like that there really is no other logical choice, is there?”
No. I wish there was, but I’m afraid there’s not.
Jesus paused.
Do you have any questions?
“A couple, yes.” She struggled with questioning her Lord, but the gravity of the situation kind of demanded it.
I think I know what you’re going to ask. I know you’re squeamish about blood, and believe me, I get that. I’m no stranger to blood myself. So I’ll let you choose how you do it.
“Thank you.”
Anything else?
“Yes. Is there, and this might be asking too much, but … is there a way to keep this off my permanent record? I mean, I don’t want to get to heaven and have to explain to St. Peter what happened.”
Absolutely. This is between you and me, totally off the books. No one else will know. But I am going to have to ask that you choose the time and location. Going into that kind of detail wouldn’t be Christ-like.
Joan nodded. That made sense. Location was key. She couldn’t do it at Miranda’s house because Miranda would be considered a suspect, as would Ray, the children, and probably Joan herself.
“I could do it at the girl’s house, but those stairs leading up to her porch would destroy my knees before I even got inside.” Joan continued to think out loud. “You know, one of the lunch ladies out at the high school is in my Bible study. We’re friendly. Maybe she could slip something in the girl’s food—” She stopped herself. “But that’s no good, either. The little demon dropped out last month to get closer to my family.”
A cloud passed in front of the sun, dimming the room, making it feel smaller, quieter, more intimate.
Okay … I know I said I wouldn’t plan it, but you seem to be having a really difficult time with this. To stand by and watch you struggle seems cruel. So I was thinking … have you considered the Chattanooga Christmas Angels Pageant and Winter Spectacular?
She hadn’t.
You’ll be in a hotel, with literally hundreds of suspects. If Courtney is babysitting the kids, you’ll have access to her room, and hotel pillows are usually full and soft, if you wanted to, say, smother her. That’s just one option.
Joan smiled. “That’s why you’re You, and I’m just me.”
The room brightened again as Joan inhaled deeply and ambled over to the counter. She dumped half a can of Maxwell House into her Mr. Coffee and switched it on. There was a lot of planning to do, and Jesus liked His coffee strong.
After many sleepless nights and wrenching internal debate, Miranda had finally settled on a Harajuku theme for Brixton’s pageant debut. While not consciously playing up the Asianness of Brixton’s eyes, there was no real reason to run away from it, either. It was a controversial choice, to be sure. Some attendees had family who’d fought in World War II, and anything Japanese could be seen as disrespectful. But the Chattanooga Christmas Angels Pageant and Winter Spectacular was not the place to play it safe, and Miranda was more than willing to offend a few octogenarians if that’s what it took to get Brixton noticed.
“It’ll be fine,” Courtney reassured her. “That war was a long time ago. Plus, isn’t Japan our friend now?”
Ray was surly. Miranda had insisted he take the weekend off and go to Chattanooga with the family. Unbeknownst to her, he had already taken the weekend off and was looking forward to having no human contact whatsoever.
“I have to work,” he insisted, sweating through his shirt. His plan was to drink beer and masturbate for three days, emerging bleary-eyed and raw on Sunday night wearing nothing but one sock and a half shirt, recharged and ready to reenter his fucked-up life. But after listening to Miranda cry for half an hour about how hard she’d worked to get Brixton ready, and reminding him of his “responsibility as the parent of a special needs child,” he gave up.
“Fine! Fuck it. I’ll go.”
“Thank you,” she said, wiping away a tear, then adding so casually it was barely noticeable she’d spent two days rehearsing it, “You know … this feels like such a huge event. I think we should rent one of those big passenger vans so everyone can ride together.”
“What? Why? Who’s going besides us?”
“Everyone’s going. You, me, Bailey, Junior, J.J., Brixton, Mom, and Courtney.”
Ray exhaled instead of screaming. “Why … is Courtney going?”
“Because she’s my friend and she’s been a big help getting Brixton ready and we’re going to need someone to look after the kids. Mom can’t do it all. What do you have against that girl, anyway? She’s so nice. I think if you spent some alone time with her, you’d actually like her.”
“I like her … fine. I just don’t…” He rubbed his eyes and felt a sudden headache he hoped was a large, inoperable tumor. “I just … fuck. Fine. I’ll rent a goddamn passenger van.”
“Thanks, baby,” Miranda said, kissing Ray on the forehead and flitting out of the room.
* * *
The Chattanooga Christmas Angels Pageant and Winter Spectacular was only the
second
-most important thing happening to Courtney that weekend. Despite her best efforts, she was still short $7,842.97 on her tax bill, and the county had scheduled the auction of her house. Hoping to sway the tax board on granting another extension, Mr. Waxflower submitted an out-of-focus videotaped request on Courtney’s behalf further explaining her situation and requesting another extension: However, the lawyer’s naturally off-putting personality combined with the blurry image of him sitting behind his desk adorned with tissue boxes and porcelain dolls made him look like he was transmitting invasion orders from an old lady’s alien spacecraft.
Courtney realized that if she was going to get her house back she’d have to do it herself, so she penned an honest, heartfelt plea.
Dear County Tax Board,
My name is Courtney Daye and this letter is about you’re upcoming eviction of me from the house I’ve lived in for
most of my whole life
!
My grandfather (Marvin Sylvester Daye) was a veteran of the United States of America’s Army and raised me after my parents died in a terrible car crash. He left that house to me when he died so I would have a place to live and now your taking it away from me! It’s not my fault that he couldn’t pay his taxes and for you to take my house away is
bullshit
!!
Excuse my language, but I’m very angry about this. What kind of people would put another person (especially an unmarried, pregnant, teenage girl who
you
forced to drop out of high school and get a job to help pay my tax bill!!) out of her house? Greedy bastards is who. But I don’t think that deep down you are. Please prove it to me by giving me an extention to pay off my lean. The ball is in your court. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Courtney Ellen Daye
One week later, Courtney received a response from the tax board.
Dear Miss Daye,
We received your spirited letter regarding your delinquent tax bill and your late grandfather’s house located at 4518 Griffith Station Road. Your emotions are understandable; however, the vulgarity was unnecessary. I regret to inform you that despite your efforts, the County Tax Board has decided to move forward with the sale of your grandfather’s home. An auction has been scheduled for the morning of Friday, November 19th. You are invited to attend this auction and bid on the house if you so desire. We are sorry for your situation and wish you the best of luck in all future pursuits.
Sincerely,
Margaret Klemmons-Winger
Daviess County Deputy Tax Commissioner
The P.S. was handwritten.
P.S. Congratulations on your baby. I have five children and they are my life. FYI, children understand swear words.
☺
Standing in the middle of the living room, in the very spot where her grandfather died, Courtney squeezed the letter in her fist, trying to choke Margaret Klemmons-Winger to death. The house was nearly empty, and Courtney suddenly felt like an unwelcome guest. Considering how things had worked out, she wished she’d kept more of her grandparents’ stuff. Memories were all she had left, and she’d sold most of them to the highest bidder. Bursting into tears, she ripped the letter into confetti and cursed Ray’s name. This was his fault. He promised he would leave Miranda, and save her house, and take care of her, but now Courtney was starting to think that maybe Ray was full of shit.
The room suddenly felt very small: the faded wallpaper, the well-worn rag rug, the sagging shelves of books Courtney would never read. Her life was wide open and she was suffocating inside of it. Everything started to close in on her, cover her like an avalanche. The thought crossed her mind to run, just walk out, leave everything behind, move on. But where would she go? Florida? Maybe. And what would she do when she got there? After everything that had happened, all of her planning, Courtney found herself with nothing. But that wasn’t entirely true. She did still have one very valuable thing: the truth. Perhaps the time had come to use it. A decision was made, and a new plan was conceived: at the Chattanooga Christmas Angels Pageant and Winter Spectacular, Courtney would tell Miranda everything—after Brixton competed, of course. Why ruin everyone’s weekend?
* * *
Ray had stopped drinking cough syrup with codeine, letting his colon return to its standard regularity and his outlook to its standard despondency. Being able to shit comfortably was the one genuine bright spot in Ray’s life.
“Jesus, are we
moving
to Chattanooga?” Ray asked, exiting the bathroom and seeing the chest-high pile of battered luggage waiting by the front door. “I thought this was just a weekend.”
“This is what it takes, baby,” Miranda said, and smiled at his baffled look. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted everyone to go.” She clapped her hands and screamed to the back of the house, “Let’s go, everyone, we leave in ten!”
Ray closed his eyes and rubbed the soft spots of his temples, wondering how hard he would have to push to puncture his brain. “I need to finish packing.”
In anticipation of the trip, Ray had been hoarding pills. Pink, blue, hexagonal, round, capsules, tablets, whatever. Everything he found went into a red plastic biohazard bag he hid under the seat of his Jeep. Now, standing in his closet, Ray stuffed the bag into the side pocket of his gray suit (the dry cleaners had miraculously been able to get out most of the blood), shoved his dressiest snowman tie into the other pocket, and considered himself packed.
Joan was ready, too. There had been many dramatic firsts in her life, but killing someone was right up there with losing her virginity and getting saved. Her whole body hummed with excitement. She took a seat in the back row of the van to keep a watchful eye over her family and monitor any sudden movements from the harlot Courtney. Just as she settled in, the girl turned to her and smiled like an idiot.
“You okay back there?”
Joan remained stoic. “I am glorious.”
“Cool.” Courtney thrust a handful of red licorice in Joan’s face. “You want a Twizzler?”
“I do not. Thank you.”
Courtney shrugged. “Okay, just let me know if you do. I brought a buttload of them.”
