Why He Did It

WHY HE DID ??/Donald Hays TWO HOURS AFTER he exposed himself to her, the girl made a scene at supper. It was just what Wilder had hoped she'd do. Why did they always have to have fish or chicken? she groused. Why couldn't they just eat like other people? And if they had to have fish or chicken, why couldn't they at least fry it? And why did she have to sit there and eat every night no matter what when Justin could eat or not eat or just come in and make himself a sandwich whenever he wanted to and nobody said anything about that? She went on and on. Wilder pretended to ignore her. She was his stepdaughter, so he needed to be careful. "Susan!" Jackie said each time the girl paused for breath, but that was all. They were having grilled chicken breasts and rice and a mixed-green salad. A good meal. And this was a Monday evening. All their meals were good now. Jackie had always been a fine cook, and now that she had started planning their meals, they were eating better than ever. Jackie had been doing all this planning and cooking because if you gave her the chance Susy would live off Cokes and Twinkies. Then her face would break out and she'd gain weight and she'd start whining about that. "Susan!" "I know. I know. You're doing it all for me. Sure." Wilder laid his knife and fork across his plate, folded his hands in his lap, leaned back in his chair and watched her calmly. She went on, imitating her mother's cajoling, conciliatory, wheedling tone of voice: "Gavin and I are middle-aged now, and we have to watch our calories and cholesterol. But you're such a pretty girl. And you know how mean kids can be about your complexion or if you're a little bit overweight . You just don't want to give them the chance." "Stop it!" Jackie snapped. But then she lowered her head. Wilder watched her hands squeeze and twist the napkin. Susy kept on, her voice a consistent, mocking whine. Wilder looked ather. Her whole face was a sneer. "Susan," he said, calmly and authoritatively. "Thafs enough." She gave Wilder a look that struck him as conspiratorial. Tension seemed to drain out of her face, moving downward, muscle to muscle, forehead to jaw. But Wilder was sure that she was completely in control of herself. This had all been an act. She knew what he knew. This 48 · The Missouri Review would be the best way out for everyone. The girl was smart—no denying that. "Enough?" she said. Her voice was perfectly calm. "Who're you to tell me what's enough? Pig!" She threw her napkin onto her plate. "You're sick. Sick! And I'm sick of you. I'm leaving. I'm not living here anymore." She jerked herself away from the table and to her feet. "Susan. Please. Don't." "Go to your room," Wilder said. "I'll be glad to," she said. "I need to pack." And that's just what she did. She went to her room and packed. Jackie, of course, used everything from reason to tears to try to persuade her to stay. Wilder stayed out of it. He had cleaned off the table and done the dishes and was sitting in his recliner reading the paper when Jackie came into the den and said he needed to go back with her and talk to Susan. "She's saying some awful things." That was Wilder's cue. He followed Jackie back to Susan's room. When he entered the room, Susan turned to him and said, "Do you know where the computer box is? It would be nice if I had that." Everything in the room except the calm, hard girl herself was a cliché, Wilder thought. The Macintosh SE with stickum butterflies all around the monitor, the flowery wallpaper, the frilly white bedcover, the poster of Michael Jackson. The goddamn little gewgaws on the shelves. From the middle of the top shelf, a framed photograph of...