The Cave Dwellers Christina McDowell (top 10 inspirational books .TXT) 📖

hotshot Fox newscaster Chris Williams, last moderator of the presidential debates before the GOP took the Senate and the House. Betsy jams the steering wheel all the way to the left so she can cut in line and get closer to Linda.

“Li—Lin—Linda!” Betsy waves from where she is parked, but Linda doesn’t hear her or notice her frantic waving as she climbs into her Audi station wagon. Betsy looks around, frustrated, as children run to their designated cars, then resorts to tapping on her horn. Beep. Beep. Betsy waves again. Finally Linda looks in her direction—but she isn’t looking at Betsy. Linda’s daughter, Becca, mousy brown hair, a plaid skirt over her riding pants, is passing Betsy’s car. “Goddamn it,” Betsy mutters.

Haley, blond, blue-eyed, not quite old enough at eleven to develop an eating disorder yet, but soon, follows behind Becca, pulls open the front passenger-side door.

“Ah, ah, ah, in the back, we’re picking up your sister, she’s driving us home.”

Haley groans and pulls open the back door. She’s wearing a red party dress and carrying a Saks Fifth Avenue vinyl garment bag in one hand and dragging her cello case with the other.

“Oh good, you’re wearing the dress I bought you.”

Betsy crosses Massachusetts Avenue and heads for Cathedral Heights, speeding through stop signs and flashing crosswalks.

“Why don’t you have a playdate with Becca Williams, honey? She seems nice.”

“Ew, no.” Haley sneers. “She’s weird and doesn’t talk.”

“Well, sweetheart, maybe she’s shy and needs a friend!”

Haley stares out the window.

“I could take the two of you shopping in Georgetown, wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Maybe.”

They speed past the abandoned Iranian Embassy and the Naval Observatory. The sun is fading into the bright headlights of cars. Betsy reaches the white picket fence surrounding the upper school to find Mackenzie standing curbside under a streetlamp illuminating the color of bile. She holds her violin case and lugs her Kate Spade monogrammed backpack (copied from the popular girls) in the other. Her hair is brown and abnormally thin. There are faint bald spots toward the back of her head, a few hairs matted across her forehead. Mackenzie began pulling out strands of her hair three months ago when they moved to Washington. A nervous tic Betsy’s determined to get “under control.”

“Oh, honey, honey, honey, why are you not dressed for our dinner tonight? I repeatedly told you.”

“I didn’t have time, Mom! I have SO MUCH HOMEWORK.”

Betsy tries to keep her cool as she hands Mackenzie the keys to the car, then climbs into the passenger seat, careful not to scrape her Manolos.

“Ew, you smell,” Haley says, pinching her nose.

“Shut up, you little bitch,” Mackenzie snaps.

“Girls!” Betsy yells. “Enough.”

As Mackenzie eases out onto Chain Bridge Road, Betsy decides to bring up the fact (again) that she is not dressed for dinner.

“The photographer from Washington Life Magazine is taking our family photograph this evening. I told you this a thousand times. How could you forget?”

Mackenzie taps on the brakes a little too hard, jerking Betsy’s head forward.

“You’re the worst driver,” Haley says, slowly and with perfect diction.

“Shut up, you cunt!” Mackenzie cries.

Betsy whips around to point at Haley, tightens her lips. “No more talking until you’re home, got it?” She whips back and looks down at her diamond Cartier watch. “I want you dressed and ready for guests by seven fifteen with your violin ready, you hear me?”

“No! I’m tired, I don’t wanna play, Mom,” Mackenzie whines.

“Mom, noooo,” Haley cries.

“Girls, we have guests coming! It’s very important to your fa—”

Mackenzie hits the brakes. “NO!” The car slams to a stop.

“That’s it, pull over, you’ve lost your driving privileges.”

“NO!”

“You pull over right this minute or you’re grounded.”

“MAKE ME.”

There’s a red blinking light up ahead at the crossing of Georgetown Pike.

“Pull over.” Betsy tries to grab the steering wheel as Mackenzie jerks the car, her front wheels skidding over the double yellow lines, when out of nowhere a black town car appears—

BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Mackenzie jerks the car back into her lane as the town car blows past them. She screeches to a halt. Betsy throws open the passenger-side door, hysterical. Haley, now silent, remains buckled in the backseat, terrified at the potentially fatal consequences of the moments past and the moments that lie ahead.

Beads of sweat begin forming on Doug’s upper lip as he listens to the story of a man who can’t stop compulsively masturbating in the bathroom at work. Doug’s cell phone lights up: Babe Calling (Betsy). He knows it will take him at least thirty minutes to get over the bridge and into Virginia. Doug hits the Decline button on the side of his phone and places it in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Thank you for sharing,” the men say in unison, mirroring compassion despite such a shameful act. Doug gets up and mouths Betsy to Tim and points to his phone in his pocket, tripping over the tufted ottoman as he stumbles quickly out the door.

Guests are arriving in an hour. Teresa greets Betsy in a panic. Mackenzie and Haley drag their instrument cases up the front steps of the house. Betsy turns around and waits for them at the entrance and glares at Mackenzie. “Upstairs. Now,” she says through clenched teeth.

As guests begin trickling in, they stand among tufted ottomans, Chippendale chairs, balloon curtains, and Kellogg Collection credenzas, lamps, and pillows with fringe, plus a brand-new grand piano topped with photographs of the family in Nantucket, the Hamptons, various European castles. Eating crudités and holding flute glasses filled with Kir Royales, they’re talking about tax reform and Medicaid.

Doug sneaks in through the garage door, tiptoeing for the back stairs, and makes his way up to the master bathroom where he splashes water on his face. His phone lights up on the edge of the sink: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU.

Doug looks at his reflection to psych himself up for his friends (donors) downstairs. He’s not a sex addict, no-ho-ho, he’s just a regular man with needs like his father was and