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

pinball machine. He lifts Haley up onto the counter and dabs her lip.

“Ow, ow, ow.” She winces.

“It’s not bad, cupcake, but she got you pretty good.” Once Doug has the bleeding under control, he takes her cell phone out of her hands, “Hand them over,” he says.

“Ugh,” Haley grunts.

“You girls better get yourselves under control and not embarrass this family, stop acting so stupid,” he says. “Show them to me.”

“Dad!” Haley begs.

“My father would have taken a belt to me had he heard me speaking the way you and your sister just spoke to each other. Pull up the photos.”

Haley opens up her photo app while Doug holds the phone.

“Jesus Christ,” Doug says as he swipes through several photos of Mackenzie spooning naked with Marty, then a close-up of her face, midblink, boobs out, arms reaching for the camera, and another one of Marty midroll off the Ping-Pong table, his butt in the air, his flaccid penis dangling as he tries to pull up his pants.

“Who is this boy?” Doug asks Haley with concern in his voice.

“I don’t know. She says he’s her boyfriend.”

“Well, I’ll talk to her upstairs.” Doug performs an artificial smile as he plops Haley down off of the counter. “Hold that towel there until the bleeding has stopped, there’s Neosporin under the sink in my bathroom.”

“Where’s Mom?” Haley asks.

“She’s still sleeping.” Betsy would have tried to assert some power and control over the fight between her daughters if she hadn’t been fast asleep from the Chardonnay and Ambien, decorated with earplugs, an eye mask, and a night guard, wrapped in a heated blanket like a modern mummy.

Doug stands in front of Mackenzie’s bedroom door wearing a monogrammed navy bathrobe. He knocks. “Mackenzie, cupcake, I’m coming in.” Frightened of her womanhood, Doug wants to be sure she’s clothed.

Mackenzie is snuggled in her St. Peter’s Academy sweatshirt and leggings under her coral-colored covers. She wears her Apple AirPods, listening to music, and has her iPad in her lap. She refuses to look up when the door opens.

Doug sits on the edge of her bed like he’s aiming for father of the year.

“Can you take your AirPods out please?” he asks. Mackenzie rolls her eyes but does as she is asked. Then she quickly, and very carefully, slides her cell phone under her comforter and presses the Record button in her voice-notes app.

“Listen, cupcake, I saw the photos your sister took—”

Mackenzie cuts him off. “I love him,” she says in protest.

Doug nods as if to refrain from disgust and outright disapproval. “Mackenzie,” he says, trying to remain calm and not overtly racist, “you had a young man over here without mine or your mother’s permission. You acted out of faith with your religion, out of faith with what your parents think is best for you, and you disrespected our rules… right after General Montgomery’s son was sent to the hospital for a drug overdose. You understand how this looks for our family? To have some idiot running down the street this morning for every neighbor to see?”

“He’s not an idiot, he’s going to Harvard,” Mackenzie says.

“Sweetheart—” Doug scoots closer. “You had a young African American boy in our home who gave you drugs. Is that right?” he asks.

“What? What are you getting at?”

“Answer the question—yes or no.”

“NO! He did not give me drugs!”

“I’m not mad, cupcake. I’m not mad.…” Doug’s calculating brain knows getting upset will escalate the situation, which won’t help; he’s got to think strategy, psychology, the best politicians he knows are psychologically (pathologically) savvy—each trying to outdo the other, a disease that needs its host.

“I’m not mad at all, your dad had some fun as a teenager too, you know.…”

Mackenzie softens at her father’s touch, his hand moving upon her knee.

“Love… is complicated, cupcake. We know he’s not the one, right? The one you would want to introduce to Nanny and Grampy? Love doesn’t feel complicated. And… with this one… it feels complicated, Mackenzie. You wouldn’t want to put yourself in any challenging position, would you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Real love feels like—like home, sweetheart. Does this African American boy feel like home to you? Or does he feel different from home?”

“Different, he feels different, but good different. Dad, he’s—”

“If he doesn’t feel like home, then he’s not the one, sweet pea. And he never will be.”

“But I love him, Dad—”

“NAH—no, you don’t. No, you don’t.” Doug shakes his head. “I’m sorry to tell you this—he’s just not good enough for you, princess. Do you know what I mean?”

“I mean, not really, but—”

“Can you keep a secret?” Doug asks, interrupting her yet again.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Dad’s thinking about running for president.” Doug’s eyes light up as if he’s just given his baby girl everything on her Christmas wish list.

“Whoa, really?”

“You want a man who’s as good as Daddy, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you love Mommy and me?” Doug asks.

“Of course I do! I would do anything for you, you know that.”

“Good, cupcake. I would do anything for you too.…” Doug leans in and tickles her. “… like shoot one of your boyfriends!” He pushes her into her pillow.

Mackenzie giggles, not because she wants to but because she’s supposed to.

Doug leans back and sighs. Proud of his sensibility! “We good? I deleted the photos out of your sister’s phone, so no one has to know what happened. It can stay between us.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“You’re my little American princess! We’ll find you your prince, don’t you worry.” Doug kisses Mackenzie’s forehead, gets up, and closes the door behind him.

Mackenzie sits up in bed, pulls back the covers, hits the Stop button on her phone app, and sends the recording off to Bunny. She texts, This just happened. For the record, I’m NOT breaking up with him!

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Betsy and Doug have decided to stay in Washington for Christmas. The positive national attention he’s received for the amendments to the Violence against Women Act have kept them circling the Beltway in an effort