The days since then had been tense and uncomfortable. The two of them made fun of Michelle, ridiculed the way she dressed, the way she thought. And Roberta was full of petty comments about Michelle’s father and the illness that had killed him. Roberta had never even gone to the hospital. It had been Michelle who’d sat with him until he slipped away, peacefully, in his sleep.

She lay on her back and looked at the ceiling. It was only a few months until graduation. She made very good grades. She hoped Marist College in San Antonio would take her. She’d already applied. She was sweating out the admissions, because she’d have to have a scholarship or she couldn’t afford to go. Not only that, she’d have to have a job.

She’d worked part-time at a mechanic’s shop while her father was alive. He’d drop her off after school and pick her up when she finished work. But his illness had come on quickly and she’d lost the job. Roberta wasn’t about to provide transportation.

She rolled over restlessly. Maybe there would be something she could get in San Antonio, perhaps in a convenience store if all else failed. She didn’t mind hard work. She was used to it. Since her father had married Roberta, Michelle had done all the cooking and cleaning and laundry. She even mowed the lawn.

Her father had seemed to realize his mistake toward the end. He’d apologized for bringing Roberta into their lives. He’d been lonely since her mother died, and Roberta had flattered him and made him feel good. She’d been fun to be around during the courtship—even Michelle had thought so. Roberta went shopping with the girl, praised her cooking, acted like a really nice person. It wasn’t until after the wedding that she’d shown her true colors.

Michelle had always thought it was the alcohol that had made her change so suddenly for the worse. It wasn’t discussed in front of her, but Michelle knew that Roberta had been missing for a few weeks, just before her father was diagnosed with cancer. And there was gossip that the doctor had sent his young wife off to a rehabilitation center because of a drinking problem. Afterward, Roberta hadn’t been quite so hard to live with. Until they’d moved to Comanche Wells, at least.

Dr. Godfrey had patted Michelle on the shoulder only days before the cancer had taken a sudden turn for the worse and he was bedridden. He’d smiled ruefully.

“I’m very sorry, sweetheart,” he’d told her. “If I could go back and change things...”

“I know, Daddy. It’s all right.”