The Bad Daughter(105)
“Kenny!” Cassidy gasped. “You can’t talk to Robin that way.”
“Why can’t I? You think that just because she’s a therapist, she’s the only one who gets to ask questions?”
“You want to ask me something?” Robin stole another glance at her watch. “Go ahead.”
Kenny paused for a moment, as if considering his options. “Why do you want to take Cassidy back to L.A. with you? What’s in it for you?”
“There’s nothing in it for me. I just think it’s for the best.”
“How do you know what’s best for Cassidy? You hardly know her.”
“I knew her mother. I think it’s what she would want.”
“Her mother was a fucking bitch. Who cares what she wanted?”
“Kenny!” Cassidy cried.
“Okay,” Robin said, feeling the situation beginning to slip from her control. “I think that’s quite enough.”
“Oh, you think it’s quite enough?”
“Stop it, Kenny,” Cassidy said. “Why are you being so mean?”
“I’m being mean?”
“You shouldn’t talk about my mother like that.”
“Like what? You hated the bitch!”
“Did not.”
“How many times did you tell me she was ruining your life?”
“Maybe, when I was mad at her. I didn’t mean it!”
“The hell you didn’t.”
“Okay. Let’s drop this, shall we?” Robin said.
“Shall we?” Kenny repeated.
“You’re obviously very angry.” She had to calm things down before they went totally sideways.
“Fuckin’ right I’m angry,” Kenny said. “Cassidy belongs here. This is her home.”
“It was my home,” Cassidy said.
“It still is.”
“Melanie doesn’t want me here.”
“So, you’ll come live with me. I’ll take care of you.”
“That’s impossible,” Robin said.
“Why? Because you think I’m a drug dealer?”
“No. Well, yes, that’s certainly part of it, but…” The conversation was becoming surreal.
“What’s the rest?”
“You’re what, Kenny…eighteen?”
“Nineteen,” he said, correcting her.
“Cassidy’s twelve.” Robin glanced at her watch again, praying that Blake and the sheriff were on their way.
“So? She’ll be thirteen in July,” Kenny said. “Six years isn’t such a big difference.”
“It is when you’re thirteen.”
“My dad used to talk about this country singer who married his cousin when she was thirteen.”
Robin felt her knees wobble and she leaned back against the wall for support. “Are you saying that you want to marry Cassidy?”
“Well, not now, of course,” Kenny said. “But in a few years, maybe, when the State says she’s legal.”
“That’s not going to happen, Kenny.”
“Not if you take her to L.A. with you, it isn’t.” He looked at Cassidy, the agitation returning to his voice. “It’s because of him, isn’t it? That’s why you want to go to L.A. so bad all of a sudden.”
“You’re talking crazy again, Kenny,” Cassidy said.
“You’re not going anywhere without me, Cassidy. We had plans.”
“Plans?” Robin asked. What kind of plans?
“Plans change.”
“This is so fucked up,” Kenny said, shaking his head. “You said you loved me. You said you wanted us to be together. ‘Oh, Kenny, that feels so good. I love it when you touch me like that,’?” he said, mimicking Cassidy’s girlish voice. “?‘I want us to be together for always and forever.’?”
“He’s lying. I never said that.”
“You told me there was only one way that was ever gonna happen.”
Cassidy pushed herself slowly out of her chair, her eyes wide with horror. “What are you saying? That you shot Daddy Greg? That you murdered Mommy?”
Kenny’s eyes darted around the room, like splinters of plastic in a child’s kaleidoscope. He shook his head, as if desperately trying to get the pieces to fall into place, to form a cohesive pattern. “Wait,” he said. “What’s happening? What are you doing?”
“How could you?”
“You throwing me under the bus?” He looked from Cassidy to Robin, then back to Cassidy. “No. No way. If I go down, you go down.”
“You’re crazy,” Cassidy said. “He’s crazy,” she said to Robin.
“I’m crazy?” Kenny shouted, jumping up and slamming his beer bottle against the table with such force that it broke in his hand. Beer and blood dripped from his open palm. “I’m not the one who shot her mother’s face off!”
“Oh, God!” Robin cried.
“He’s lying,” Cassidy cried. “You’re a damn liar, Kenny Stapleton!”
“The whole thing was her idea.”
“No!”