Читать книгу Right Where We Started - Pamela Hearon - Страница 12

CHAPTER THREE

Labor Day

“I STILL CAN’T get over how much Tess looks like you, Audrey. Every time I see her, I’m back in grade school again.” Bree Barlow shifted the toddler in her arms to her other hip. “She getting along okay? She seems to have adjusted well to the move.”

Audrey craned her neck to check on her daughter’s whereabouts, finding her at the picnic table with a group of children whose faces were shiny and wet—and no doubt sticky—with watermelon. “Yeah, she’s doing great. And I can’t deny she’s a mini-me although I see a lot of her dad’s personality in her.” She reached out and stroked a finger down the tiny face resting on Bree’s shoulder. “Isaiah’s precious, too, and what a big boy!”

Bree nuzzled her nose into his hair and kissed the top of his head. “He’s a handful—literally. I may have to grow another set of arms when the other one gets here.” She patted the bump on her tummy.

“Two children under the age of two.” Audrey shook her head in mock sympathy. “What were you thinking?”

Her friend laughed and leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Thinking had no part in it.”

Audrey laughed, too, and fanned her face, which flushed at the innuendo and the heat of the late-afternoon sun. It was nice to have time with Bree again. Although a couple of years older, she’d taken Audrey under her wing when they’d been cheerleaders together in high school. And she’d been a godsend when Win died. Having lost her dad two years earlier, she knew exactly the right things to say.

But today wasn’t the time to dwell on sad events. Days like this, full of celebration and mingling with old friends at the park in the center of town, confirmed to Audrey that she’d made the right decision moving back. The resort where they’d lived in Florida had been a small community, but it wasn’t the same as being home. Everyone there had relocated from somewhere else—an eclectic blend of accents from around the world, which was great. But people from Taylor’s Grove sounded mostly alike—Southern drawls with a heaping side of western Kentucky twang for flavor. Today, it tasted especially delicious.

She checked to make sure her mom was still doing okay and spotted her sitting on the bench under the gazebo, surrounded by women whose faces were probably familiar though most of the names forgotten. They’d all been so wonderful the past couple of weeks, volunteering to keep an eye on her mom while Audrey moved in and got things set up. She’d even been able to get a little work done—but not much.

When she’d started keeping the books for the RV resort owned by her then-husband Alex’s family, she hadn’t meant for it to become a vocation, but picking up a few other businesses as clients had turned it into a part-time job. Since everything was done on the computer anyway, all her clients had chosen to stay with her when she told them about the move to Kentucky. The business-from-home setup was working out perfectly so far, even if much of it was done during late-night hours when Mom and Tess were asleep.

“I think I’m ready for some ribs.” Bree sniffed the air. “You hungry yet?”

Audrey nodded, suddenly aware of the smoky flavor that was making her mouth water. “I’m always ready for barbecued ribs.”

The rib competition had grown to fourteen competitors this year, with barbecue grills set up along the outside edge of the park, all in a row, and each one manned by someone who boasted that his were the best.

Tank Wallis had won the competition for the past seven years with his secret recipe of dry rub that made you want to lick your fingers, yet burned your tongue when you did. But that he claimed domination didn’t stop the others from trying. Word was Bree’s father-in-law, Cyrus Barlow, might just topple the crown from Tank’s head this year.

“Are you hungry, Mom?” Audrey made a stop on the way to the grills.

Her mom tilted her head in question. “Must I order now?”

“Only if you’re hungry.”

“I’ll have spaghetti with two meatballs then, please.” Her mom folded her hands demurely into her lap.

“I think we may be all out of spaghetti and meatballs today, Helen.” Patti Stroud, owner of the Grove Diner, spoke up. “We’ve got some really good ribs and potato salad, though. How does that sound?”

“I’ll have two racks of ribs, a pint of potato salad and a pint of slaw. To go, please.” Her mom’s hand rested at the base of her throat. “My family has such big eaters.”

Audrey met the surrounding sad looks with a shrug. Nobody had said this would be easy.

Patti stood up and laid a hand on Audrey’s arm. “You go eat. I’ll fix her a plate.” She turned Audrey around and gave her a gentle push. “Go on. Helen’s fine with us. She’s enjoying herself.”

Her mom did seem okay today. Audrey had been afraid the crowd would be too much for her, but the familiar setting seemed to have the opposite effect. It was like she associated this place with good memories.

Audrey caught up with Bree at Cyrus’s grill. Her friend’s father-in-law had stepped to the side and was holding his grandson, who patted his cheeks with pudgy hands, while Ollie Perkins doled out ribs in pairs. “Whooee, Audrey.” Ollie made a smacking sound as he held out the tongs full of juicy meat. “These are gonna be the finest ribs you ever put in your mouth.”

“Can’t wait to try them.” Her stomach growled in anticipation.

Tank, whose grill was set up right next to Cyrus’s, motioned toward his own pile of racks. “And when you decide you got to get the taste of those off your tongue, you come right back over here, and I’ll give you a sample of how real ribs should taste.”

“Dry rub can’t hold a candle to ribs dripping with sticky honey hickory sauce.” Cyrus made a raspberry sound against Isaiah’s palm, eliciting a delighted squeal that bubbled out of the little boy and could be heard by everyone within hearing range.

Bree gave her father-in-law a peck on the cheek. “Can you watch him while I eat?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cyrus pumped Isaiah into the air. “Who’s your favorite?” He brought the child down to touch noses. “Pawpaw!”

He repeated the action several times as Bree and Audrey finished filling their plates from the table of side dishes provided by the women of the town.

Bree giggled as she and Audrey found a spot at the picnic table nearby. “We refer to my stepdad as Grandpa, and Cyrus is terrified Isaiah will say Grandpa or, heaven forbid, Ollie, before he says Pawpaw.”

The easy way Bree referred to what Audrey considered major changes in their tiny village—namely Bree’s mother’s, Stella’s, marriage last year to a man in Paducah and her subsequent move there, and, even more shocking, Cyrus and Ollie’s gay partnership—served as a constant reminder time was moving on and Taylor’s Grove was evolving with it.

She was only three bites into Cyrus’s every-bit-as-fabulous-as-he-boasted ribs, when Bree’s squeal caught her attention.

“Kale!”

The love in the sound of that word coming off Bree’s tongue warmed Audrey’s heart. She looked up to find Bree’s husband coming toward them with a brilliant smile.

Mark Dublin was at his side, and, totally out-of-the-blue, another flash of heat zinged in her heart with unexpected force.

She snuffed it out as quickly as it hit.

“My favorite!” Kale made like he was going to grab one of the ribs from Bree’s plate, but instead he swooped in to plant a full kiss on her lips, which were greasy from the meat and the sauce. He made a point of smearing the sauce all around her mouth with his lips, and Bree didn’t seem to mind in the least. “Mmm-mmm!” he said as he straightened. “I’ve been craving that taste for hours.”

Audrey suddenly fully understood Bree’s comment about thinking not having a part in her pregnancy. Kale Barlow was most definitely hot, and his hotness level was multiplied by his unapologetic adoration of his wife.

Audrey’s heart stilled as she remembered there was a time her and Mark’s love could’ve rivaled these two.

“Hey, Bree.” Mark grinned at his friend’s high jinks, then added a nod her way. “Audrey.”

Her heart started beating again—much too fast. She threw out a quick “Hi y’all,” and dove back into her ribs.

“Da, Da, Da.”

Cyrus came over to them, reluctantly relinquishing possession of Isaiah, whose arms stretched out toward his daddy.

“Hey, squirt!” Kale took his son, snuggling him in his arms and planting noisy slurberts on the exposed part of his belly.

“How was fishing?” Bree asked, but Kale and Isaiah were making too much noise for him to hear.

“Not bad.” Mark sat down, straddling the bench directly across from Audrey.

The bite of slaw she’d just taken burned her throat—probably the vinegar dressing—and she took a drink of her sweet tea to soothe it. Glancing around, she picked up on a few of the elbow nudges and knowing grins directed their way.

Despite the fact she’d made it abundantly clear she and Mark were not an item and were hardly even friends to everyone she’d encountered since she’d returned, Taylor’s Grove seemed determined to match them up.

“I caught two nice bass and a couple of bream.” Mark held out his hands to indicate the length of the fish. “Kale caught four. All bass. All pretty nice.”

“Sounds like enough for a fish fry to me. Which, of course, translates as a fish grill if we have it at our place.”

“You insist on grilled fish, yet you’re eating barbecued ribs with both hands,” Mark pointed out.

“Fish is a staple when you own a marina.” Bree licked her fingertips noisily. “Ribs are a once-a-year indulgence.”

Audrey had been quietly getting down as much food as she could while the conversation was going on, and she took advantage of the lull to excuse herself. “Hey.” She touched Bree’s arm, studiously ignoring Mark. “It’s been fun, but I’m sure Mom’s tired. I need to get her home.”

“Call me and we’ll run down to the marina one day soon. You still haven’t been there.”

“I will,” Audrey promised. “I’m anxious to see what you’ve done.” She didn’t add she was anxious to find out if there was any truth to the latest rumor she’d heard today—that Kale and his dad had approached Sol Beecher about buying the marina at the edge of town.

A couple of years back, the Barlow men had bought a marina on Jonathan Creek, about ten miles away. They’d since added moorings and covered docks, and a campground was in the five-year plan. That kind of new business for Taylor’s Grove could sure be a boon.

She gave Bree a quick hug and managed a nod to Mark, who nodded back with a tight-lipped smile, then made her way toward the gazebo, going around the long way so she didn’t have to get into a discussion with Tank about Cyrus’s ribs, which had, as promised, been the best she’d ever eaten.

“Mom? Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, dear. I am.” A plate of food sat on her lap. It looked untouched.

“I think she forgot it was there,” Patti whispered as she slipped the plate and all into an oversized plastic food bag. “She can eat it later if she gets hungry.”

“Thanks, Patti.” Audrey took the bag in one hand and her mom’s arm with the other. “We’ll see y’all.”

She looked for Tess, but the child wasn’t at the table where she’d been eating watermelon a little bit ago. Audrey scanned the crowd, not in the least panicked like she would’ve been in Florida. Taylor’s Grove had zero crime, which made it one of the most idyllic places in the world to raise children.

Oh, crap! Tess and her friend Bailey had found Mark and were talking his ear off.

“Let’s go, punkin,” she called as she approached them. “Grandma’s tired, and we need to get her home.”

Bailey’s eyes went wide. “You can’t go home yet. We haven’t done the greased pig contest. Please don’t go.”

Tess’s eyes turned pleading. “Can we stay, Mama? Please? I don’t want to miss the greased pig contest.”

Although Bailey brought it up, Audrey knew she had no one but herself to blame. For years, she’d told Tess hilarious stories about kids trying to catch the greased pigs—standard entertainment fare at Taylor’s Grove picnics.

“I want to go home.” Audrey’s mom’s voice had an agitated edge. “Take me home. I want to go home, now. Take me home.”

“Please, Mama? Can we stay?” Tess whined.

“Home! Take me home!” Her mom jerked on her arm, and Audrey felt herself coming apart, pulled in two directions.

“I’ll bring Tess home.” Mark was suddenly beside her. He kept his voice low, in case she wanted to turn him down.

“Thanks, but no. I don’t want to put you ou—” Her mom broke away and started back to the gazebo.

“It won’t put me out. We’re neighbors.” A lump lodged in her throat at the kindness in his words.

She turned around to check on her mom, thankful that some of the ladies had stopped her and were calming her in hushed tones.

“Please, can I stay, Mama?” Tess bounced up and down in her eagerness.

The whole town was holding its breath, waiting for her answer.

Or maybe it was only Mark.

Either way, she so didn’t want to be the center of attention.

She looked around and found Bree headed back to the table, too busy with Isaiah to be cognizant of the drama brewing around her.

Audrey caught up with her. “Hey, Mom’s ready to leave, but Tess wants to stay for the kids’ activities. Could y’all bring her home when you leave?”

“Of course. No problem.” Bree grinned and nodded at Tess, who’d followed her mom.

Audrey was rewarded with a hug to her leg and then Tess bounded off, perhaps before she could change her mind. “You sure you don’t mind?” She kept her eyes on Bree and away from Mark.

“Not at all.” Bree waved her away as she started toward the table again. “Go take care of Helen.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Turning back toward her mom, Audrey couldn’t continue to ignore Mark’s looming presence. She glanced up at him. “Bree’s taking care of it. Thanks anyway.”

The look shadowing his face spurred her away, barbecued ribs and his alienation congealing in a heavy mass in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

“ISAIAH THREW UP on Bree and Kale both.” Mark answered the question on Audrey’s distressed face as she held open her front door.

She recovered quickly, her face twisting into a look of feigned horror as she took in her daughter’s appearance. “Did they decide to grease you in place of one of the pigs?”

Mark wasn’t sure he was being invited in, but he wasn’t going to lose the opportunity. He grabbed the door and followed the child’s giggle inside.

“I had one, and I tried to hold on real tight.” Tess made a circle with her arms, pantomiming the tale. “But he squirted out like toothpaste does when I smush it, and then he ran ’round and ’round and ’round.” She scrambled around the two adults in a tight circle.

Audrey watched Tess, shooting him a look during the third orbit that asked where he’d picked up this alien life form.

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Too much sugar, probably. I let her have a snow cone with extra syrup.”

“Two!” Tess said, correcting him, still making laps around them.

Audrey scrubbed her hand down her tired face, squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. She grabbed her daughter on the next pass and brought the pig chase to a stop. “Hey. You know the rules. Tomorrow’s a school day. Shower, teeth, then bed. Lights out at eight. No exceptions.”

“I’m not sleepy.” Tess gave a petulant thrust to her bottom lip—exactly the way Audrey used to do when she was peeved. The expression twanged a poignant chord across Mark’s heartstrings.

“No exceptions,” Audrey vowed. “Now tell Mr. Dublin thank you for bringing you home and good night.”

He noted the slight emphasis she placed on the last word but chose to ignore it.

Tess shot him a look of reluctant surrender. “Thank you for bringing me home. Good night.”

“Good night, Tess.” His wink flattened her protruded bottom lip into a slight smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Audrey’s words dripped with dismissal. “Good night.”

He made no move toward the door. “I thought I might stay a while if you’re not too busy.” He saw the protest on her lips and added, “To talk about how things are going.”

Her eyes cut to her daughter and back before she drew a deep, resigned breath. “All right. Let me get her tucked in. Please have a seat.”

He did as she instructed, but the formality in her tone made him want to throw something. It wasn’t like he was a first-time visitor. He’d practically lived in this house, spending more hours here some days than he did in his own home.

He scanned the dining area of the kitchen—the part he could see. Countless meals he’d shared at the Paschals’ table—even had his own designated seat. The piano still sat where he’d last heard Helen playing the Chopin she so dearly loved. The couch he sat on was different from the maroon-and-green plaid of their teenage years, and the recliner where Audrey’s dad had snored in front of the television had been replaced. That observation brought on a pang of regret he hadn’t been home for Owen’s funeral. The guy had been like a second father to him... Would surely have been his father-in-law but for the events of that tragic night eleven years ago.

The night that threw his life on a totally different trajectory from what he’d always imagined it would be.

And yet...here he was.

He forced himself to turn and look at the arrangement of pictures on the sofa table in front of the window, ready to confront Callie’s memory. But not ready to confront what was there. Not the one picture of Callie he remembered—her junior year school picture, her last one. Instead, the table was filled with photos of her, all the other family photos replaced by Callie from birth to her last days.

The sight punched him in the gut so hard, he felt bile rise in his throat. Burning guilt left a trail as he swallowed and it singed his soul, exposing the tender, raw wound that never completely healed.

His heart flew into a beat that pumped blood into his legs and encouraged him to run from this place and never return.

But he had returned—to this town, this house—for precisely this reason. He’d run from his demons for far too long. Tonight he would face them, and every day from here on.

He stood and walked to the shrine on legs that were stiff and heavy. His fingers clenched, drawing tighter into fists with every step. By the time he stood by the table, they refused him the right to touch even the frames. But he forced his eyes to linger on each picture, met her gaze in every one and spoke his heart. “I’m sorry, Callie. Sorry for the part I played in your death. You were a good friend. I loved you, and I miss you every day. I know I can’t take back the words, can’t bring you back.” Tears stung his eyes, and he stopped. His vision had to be clear for this. “And yet, you’ll always be here.” He touched his heart with the end of his fist. “I’ve dedicated my life to keeping children safe. You didn’t get to be the teacher you dreamed of being, but I became one in your stead. I strive to personify the love you would’ve given them. I ask your forgiveness. And I hope someday, I’ll have earned it.”

He waited, half expecting her to answer him.

A sound drew him around.

Audrey paused on the top step, her hand gripping the banister, frozen to the spot.

Had she heard?

He couldn’t tell. The tension in her face never seemed to leave, making it hard to read now when it had never been difficult before.

He watched her neck muscles ripple as she swallowed and came to life again and finished her descent. “I should’ve offered you something to drink.”

“Beer’s fine if you’ve got one.”

She nodded and disappeared around the door of the kitchen.

He started to follow, thinking perhaps they could sit at the table like old times, or on the swing in the backyard. He heard the refrigerator and then the freezer open and close and his better judgment advised him to settle down back onto the unfamiliar couch, which he did.

Audrey returned with two frosted mugs. She handed him one and moved toward the recliner across the room, but then changed her mind and chose the occasional chair closer to him, causing his heart to skip a beat. “Tess is still awake, so we should keep our voices low,” she explained. “How’s she doing? Is there a problem?”

“No, no problems. She caught up quickly and has made friends. She talks about her dad and his family and Florida, but she seems to be handling the move well. The episode about Bobcat is the only time I’ve seen her upset.” He stopped, waiting for a response.

She didn’t say anything, and they looked at each other for the better part of thirty awkward seconds. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Well thank you for the report. Now, if we’re finished...” She stood.

“We’re not finished.” He took a gulp from the cold mug.

“I have work—” She pointed to the door where her dad’s office had been.

“We have to talk, and I’m ready to get it over with. You might as well sit down and be comfortable.”

Her chin rose defiantly. “If you want to talk about Win’s death, I’m not ready to talk with you about it.”

“That’s too bad because I am.” He stood. “But if you want to do it standing up, I’ll make a concession.”

Her eyes tightened around the edges, and she pursed her lips in a look he remembered: displeasure. Finally she blew out an exasperated breath. “Bring your beer.” She led him to the front porch. “If this gets—” She paused. “I don’t want Tess to overhear.” She took a gulp that drained her glass halfway and then sat on the top step.

“The last time we talked about that night, you did all the talking.” He sat, using a pillar as a backrest so he could face her comfortably. “It’s time I had my say.”

“Look, Mark. I know you’re sorry. We’re all sorry. You’re sorry you dared her to go upstairs. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to stop her.” She swiped the air with her mug, causing some of the brew to slosh onto her hand, which she wiped on her shorts. “Being sorry doesn’t change a damn thing.”

“Yes, it does. If I wasn’t sorry, you’d have every right to never forgive me.” He watched her mouth open like she was going to say something, but she closed it without making a sound. “But I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Audrey. Not again...at least, not right now. I’m asking for your friendship. I miss you.” He was thankful they’d moved outside to the darkness. Under the lamplight inside, she surely would’ve been able to pick up on the heavy thudding of his heart under the thin material of his T-shirt, or see the skin on his wrists rippling with strong pulse beats.

“You ask too much.” She ran her hand through the top of her hair, loosening the silky strands, which fell softly back into place. “We can’t be friends.”

“Yes, we can.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, gripping his beer with both hands. “We can be whatever you allow us to be. Don’t you see? We didn’t just lose Callie that night. We lost us, too... And I’m talking about the friends us, not the lovers us. I understand that’s probably gone forever, but I don’t understand why we have to go through the rest of our lives grieving for a loss that doesn’t have to be a loss.”

She shivered and crossed her arms even though the temperature had to be in the high 80s. “I can’t forget.”

“Me, neither, but I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to remember. Remember the two kids who were best friends from the age of four. Who played together every recess. Who rode their bikes together every day after school. Who spent every day of summer vacation together from morning until dark. Those years weren’t wasted, Audrey. They have to count for something.”

Moonlight glinted on the tears in her eyes, so he’d touched a nerve. He pressed on in hope. “If I learned anything during those years in Africa, it was that you can do whatever you put your mind to, but first you have to be brave enough to face it. I’ve witnessed the indomitable human spirit firsthand in Ebola victims. I’ve seen children dying of starvation from years of famine. The brave ones don’t give in without a fight. They fight to hang on because they see good in the world. Friendship is good, Audrey. People need each other. It’s what keeps us going...makes life worth living.” Her face turned away from him, eyes staring out into the front yard at nothing in particular, but an ear was toward him, and he would continue talking as long as he had her ear. “We could be friends again, starting tonight. We could talk to each other in a civil manner and exchange genuine smiles and maybe even occasionally laugh at some inside joke that comes back to us from years ago. We may not be what we used to be, but let’s at least be part of that good in the world.”

He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving closer to her. He scooted his bottom across the concrete until he was only an arm’s length away—close enough to touch if she should be so inclined.

She wasn’t, but she chewed her bottom lip, which meant she was at least thinking about what he’d said. When she shook her head at last, his heart stalled. “I don’t know, Mark. I can’t guarantee anything.” She stood and tilted her head toward the door. “But I wasn’t lying about needing to work. I have stuff I have to finish tonight.”

It wasn’t a no and his heart did a double beat to catch up. He stood and finished off the remainder of his beer before he handed her the mug. “You’ll think about what I said.”

He didn’t pose it as a question, but she nodded as if he had, her face somber in the moonlight. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

He smiled...but it wasn’t returned.

At least, not yet.

* * *

TREY COOPER SAT on the couch where he’d slept most of his twenty-seven years. He was waiting for sunrise, for that first slant of sunlight to break through the dirty blinds, through the rectangle where he’d broken the end off the fourth slat from the bottom. He snaked his tongue out, feeling the scar that cut through the right corner of his upper lip and edged out onto his cheek a couple of inches. That beating had been one of the worst ones because Daddy hadn’t been drunk enough to pass out for a long time.

He gave a shrug even though there was nobody to see it. For years he’d lain awake in the wee hours of the morning, watching for the sun to break through that rectangle and shine some light into his dingy existence.

Every new day brought with it a promise Willie would find his way back home. Would come back from wherever it was he’d run off to. Would come back and rescue his little brother from the beatings that came during the dark. But Willie never came.

And now Daddy had been dead almost two years, having drunk so much he choked to death on his own vomit in the bed at the end of the hall.

And Mama had died last week of the cancer that ate its way from her insides to her outside. Trey’s nostrils still picked up the stench of decaying flesh from the worn corduroy recliner, where she’d spent most of her hours these past two months, watching TV, smoking her hand-rolled cigarettes and yelling at him to change the channel.

Go on, Daddy’s voice whispered.

Trey put his hands over his ears, knowing it wouldn’t keep out Daddy’s voice.

Go on, damn you. You know you want to, so be a man for once. Do it.

Just a few more minutes. He was anxious to leave this hellhole and leave Daddy’s voice with it, but not until the time was perfect.

Restless, he stood and stretched and then remembered something he’d forgotten to do.

He walked down the narrow hall to the place where the piece of plywood covered the hole in the floor. It didn’t take much—only one hard stomp—to splinter the rotten wood and leave the gaping opening that would allow the snakes and vermin to take over the place. It seemed fitting to let them have it since the same sort of creatures who’d been his parents had held dominion over the place so long.

The action calmed him, and he was consciously able to unclench his fist.

He closed his eyes and ran his fingertips along the wall as he made his way back to the living room, holding his breath and counting slowly to one hundred.

His heart beat wildly as he made himself wait. Daddy’s belt wasn’t there to lash his back when he let out the air, but still he made himself hold it simply because he could. Because he was in control this time.

He opened his eyes, knowing instinctively it was time.

Sure enough, the rectangle glowed with the light of dawn—the time in the movies when prisoners were released or shot. No firing squad awaited him. He was alive and free and leaving Appalachia for the first time in his life.

He ran to the door, jerked it open and stepped onto the wobbly pile of concrete blocks serving as steps. A leap and three long strides took him to the beat-up pickup he’d bought with the money he’d hidden from Daddy over the years, five-dollar bills slipped undetected out of his paychecks from the Quick-n-Eezee convenience store. Daddy’s old fishing boat was hooked up and waiting. As long as he could fish, he wouldn’t starve. He gave the truck—his first honest-to-goodness possession—a loving pat before climbing in and starting the engine. He didn’t know how far she’d go, but wherever it was, that’s where he was headed.

He backed out onto the narrow gravel lane, flipping off the dilapidated trailer in a final salute.

A quarter mile down the road, a raccoon wandered out from a wooded area where sunlight had barely started to filter through the thick growth of trees. The creature, oblivious to the approaching vehicle, got almost to the middle of the road before instincts caused it to pause and stand on its hind legs to sniff the air.

Trey’s headlights caught the eyes, turning them to small orbs that glowed a sinister red.

Hit it.

“No, Daddy. It hasn’t done anything.”

It’s standing in your way, damn it. Hit it!

“I don’t want to.”

Do what I say, or you know what you’ll get.

Trey’s foot pushed harder on the accelerator, bearing down on the animal while it just stood and watched.

“I’ll get it anyway,” Trey whispered, swerving to the right at the last minute.

Gravel flew in all directions, pelting the truck’s windshield as Trey fought to bring the steering under control. The back tires slid into the grass, damp and slick with dew. Just when he thought the sharp drop-off would pitch him into a roll, the truck skidded to a stop.

You’re an ignorant fool. Nearly killed yourself over a raccoon. The stupid animal’s smarter than you are.

“Get out, Daddy.”

The laugh grew louder, and Trey beat his head against the steering wheel, trying to dislodge the voice from where it was housed.

I’m going with you, boy. Gonna stay with you ’til you prove you’re man enough to make it on your own. Now, go on. Do what you know you deserve.

Trey grabbed the leather belt that had been thrown from the passenger seat onto the floorboard. Doubling it in his hand, he reached across his shoulder to slash it across his back three times.

He didn’t make a sound the whole time—that would’ve meant an extra two. Throwing the belt back on the seat, he stomped on the accelerator, breaking the truck free from the mire holding it, and pulled back onto the road.