“Gus, you’ll have to ignore my daughter.”
My stomach turned at the sound of his name on my mom’s lips and I thought I might throw up.
Chapter 7
Jake, age fourteen—May 1999
ALMOST AS if Iwoke from a dream, the heft of the gun in my hand startled me. I wondered how the weapon ended up in my grasp and I dropped it; the thud echoed in the silence of the barn.What the hell just happened?The hay beneath my mom’s head had turned a deep brown as it absorbed her blood. Lifeless, she stared up into the rafters.He killed her. Wait—she’s … dead?
“No!” My legs gave out and I dropped to my knees beside her. Her head was as heavy as a bowling ball, but I gathered her in my lap anyway. Expecting her eyes to flutter as she regained consciousness, I shook her and called her name.
She didn’t respond. “Mom?” The word dripped off my lips while tears ran down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Mom.” Then, I remembered what had happened and I turned to find my dad in a crumpled pile only a few feet away.
On autopilot, my body seemed to move withoutinstruction. I floated across the floor; my movements so smooth it was as if I had walked on air. I found myself standing beside the pile of flesh that used to be my dad.
His face had been frozen forever in an expression of surprise. He no longer gave off the air of anger or intimidation. For the first time, I saw him as a person. Just a man. I almost regretted my action; the man lying on the ground looked like someone I could have loved.
Thoughts of the past few years twisted through my mind. Mom taught me everything I needed to know about caring for our animals and the land. Also how to live off it; how to allow it to provide substance.Was there a reason for that?I wondered if she had a premonition of this day.
My dad would stand on the porch with a drink in his hand—usually whiskey—and watch us work. The only thing he helped with was clearing trees with the tractor. I learned early how to use a chainsaw so I could clean up after him; he never did anything with his hands.
I could still hear him call me lazy because I had gained weight over the winter. First thing in the spring, he forced Mom to work me harder so I wouldn’t embarrass him. He even restricted our food; both of us. Mom didn’t need to lose any weight, but she lost a lot anyway. More than me.
Lost in my thoughts, it took some time to wrap my head around the fact that my dad had killed my mom.Maybe my mind had tried to protect me. Complacency turned to anger, and I leaned my head back. The scream started low and grew in strength and passion. I paused, took a breath, studied the bodies on the ground, and released all my emotion.
My body shook and heat rose from my chest to the crown of my head. I paced the short distance between my mom and dad.Who would do that? What kind of sick person kills someone?
Realization hit me and I stopped. “Oh,” I mumbled. I had just killed someone, too. “Shit.”
I squatted beside my dad, covered my face with my hands, and sobbed. “Why did you make me do that? What did I ever do to you? Now I’m no better than you. I’ve turned into my father.”
I had no way of knowing what would come next. My stomach lurched and if I had eaten anything for lunch, it would have come back up. The recognition of how my life had just changed took over.I’m fourteen. What am I supposed to do, now?
Sun shined through the cracks of the ceiling and walls. How did the worst day of my life have to be such a beautiful day? “I guess I’m supposed to call 9-1-1. But why? They’re both dead. No one can help them. Or me. I’m screwed. If I call the cops, I’ll go straight to jail.”
I tilted my head back and stared at the roof. Surely, I would be damned for what I had done. Withoutstretched arms, I called to the Gods. “If you’re going to take me, do it now.” I prayed for lightning to strike me dead, so I wouldn’t have to endure whatever the universe had in store for me.
Prison didn’t sound like an ideal way to spend the rest of my life. I enjoyed spending time outdoors, on the tractor, and with the animals. It’s the killing of those animals that got to me. And the bruises from my dad. I shrugged, “Don’t need to worry about that anymore.” God probably would have answered my prayers if it wasn’t such a nice day.
My heart rate increased, and I found it difficult to think. I took off my glasses, rubbed my eyes, and placed my glasses back on my face. A glimpse of my mom took my breath away. She looked so peaceful. Her head rested in the hay; blood highlighted her hair like a halo. Even though I closed my eyes, the vision of her didn’t disappear. I shook my head and turned away.
Sobs escaped my throat as I remembered my dad pulling the trigger. My mom crumpled to the ground as if she fell asleep where she stood. “What the hell just happened? This can’t be real.”
A breeze brushed the hair away from my face and I turned to find the source.None of the doors are open, so how did the wind reach me?
“I can’t do this alone. I need help. Who can help me? Where can I go?” Talking to myself, I paced thelength of the barn. Clearly, I couldn’t help Mom, but I knew I couldn’t stay put. I had to tell someone what happened. If I didn’t, someone from Dad’s work would miss him and come looking for him—or would they?
My eyes danced around the barn at miscellaneous inanimate objects. “Mom doesn’t have any friends, neither do I, really. School’s out for the summer, so no one will miss me.
Maybe Icando this by myself. Maybe I don’t need any help.” Shovels and rakes hung on the side of the tack room. Beside them, hatchets and tools used to process the chickens shined. We made sure all our equipment stayed clean.
Visions of raising and processing pigs and chickens, tending vegetables and mending fences raced through my mind. “Icando this; I have already done it—I’ve been practicing for this moment over the past year. I just didn’t know it.”
Dad raised me to be mindful and smart about the land. He taught me how to fix most everything on the ranch. Lucky for me, I took advantage of his desire to be lazy. His plan was for me to do all the maintenance so he could fluff off and party all day. He told me so.
Mom taught me how to raise the animals and examine them to make sure they stayed healthy. We built a fully functional vegetable garden two summers ago. Mom wrote down all the best dates to plant andharvest. She kept a notebook in the junk drawer with all kinds of tips and proof of success from previous years.
Four cookbooks stacked in a small cupboard held all our recipes for creating healthy meals. Dad made sure Mom made him only the meals he had previously agreed were not only tasty but would also keep his current physique. His appearance was very important to him; only poor people were fat and dressed in clothes from low-end stores.
