Читать книгу This Child Of Mine - Darlene Graham - Страница 12

MARK ARRIVED at his apartment wondering why he’d done it. Taken the devil’s—okay, her word—the devil’s advocate stance once again. Defended his father’s viewpoint. Spouted his father’s rhetoric. Everyone already assumed he was some kind of clone of the old man. So why was he always doing dumb things that reinforced that notion?

He used his keys quietly, unlocking first the inter-grip rim lock, then the dead bolt, then the knob latch. Urban life in D.C., he thought morosely, inviting further self-doubts about why he had dragged his family up to this hellhole.

He slid the door shut, fastened all the locks and crammed his suit jacket and tie into the tiny closet off the narrow entry hall. His clothes were wedged in there like overstuffed files, but his daughter and his sister needed the larger bedroom closet.

He sighed. Small as it was, this walk-up was costing his father a fortune every month. But at least it was in a decent area—Alexandria—and being near the enormous First Baptist Church made Carly happy. She trooped over there every week, sometimes twice, taking Tanni with her.

He slipped his shoes off to keep from making noise on the parquet floor and immediately stepped on something sharp.

He stooped to pick it up. One of Tanni’s fashion dolls, half-dressed, the bleached-blond hair matted like a Brillo pad. The neglected condition of the doll bothered him but, he reasoned, isn’t this the way most four-year-olds treat their toys? Still, he made a mental note to speak to Carly about teaching Tanni to take care of her things.

He glanced at the plastic mounds of the doll’s bosom in the semidarkness and remembered Kitt Stevens’s remark about the village destroying the child. Maybe the woman had a point when a thing like this was considered appropriate for a little girl. What could Tanni possibly be learning by toting this creature around? That to be a woman she needed pencil-thin legs, an eighteen-inch waist and a giant bust?

He tossed the doll on the hall table and went into the living room. Carly was asleep on the couch, her fair skin and long dark hair contrasting eerily in the glare of the TV. He frowned. Perhaps he was expecting too much of a nineteen-year-old, even an enormously self-assured one like Carly. He’d let her take on the responsibility of being a mother to her niece—his daughter. How long could this whole setup last? What about Carly’s plans for her life? Her education? He would simply have to double his classload after he finished this internship. Then he’d find a job and get his sister back on track.