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Show Woodworth/173 voice, grown younger in her fear. The sight of the tail lights of the taxi, disappearing back towards Boston. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," she says in a litany, sitting cross-legged, holding herself, rocking back and forth. Until finally, the water wears a soft spot in the foundation, the wave chews loose a crumbling cement chunk, and she moans, "Fuck you, Jake. Fuck you fuck you fuck you, Jake Browning. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you a thousand million trillion times more than you ever fucked us." When she stands, she feels dead, quiet inside. She walks slowly back to the house, wondering how she ever could have seen well enough to run through the weeds. The living room light is off, the house still except for the buzz of the window fan. For a moment, she wonders if she might have to sleep in the car. But no. Her parents still haven't changed their ways, and she lets herself in through the glass doors. Closes the door quietly, and listens. The deep grunt of her father snoring. Once. Again. And then another whistling snore. Ruth is snoring, too. She feels her way into the living room and calls Megan. Megan's voice is groggy, sleepy. "Hi. It's Marty," she says. "Oh, Marty. Is everything all right?" Megan snaps awake immediately. "Yes. They're both asleep." "Are you at home?" "Uh huh." |
