In that moment, all my dreams came true—in an instant, my social status changed for the better. I could visualize graduation, getting married, moving to Florida, and having four kids as if it were written in the stars.
“Okay.”
Chapter 3
Jake, age twelve—May 1997
KITTENS cuddledwith their mother, kneading her stomach as they nursed. Mews and purrs brought a smile to my lips; simple, natural love. Leather and hay mixed with my mom’s shampoo scented the stagnant air in the main barn until she opened the double doors facing the pond. A light breeze brought freshness and a calm energy as it flowed past our horse and out the opposite doors.
The barn was the one area of our property where I could hide from my dad when he drank. He hardly ever bothered to wander very far from the house when he had a bottle in his hand. My happy place was in the middle stall; it was also the closest area to the house where I could close both the exterior and interior stall doors to escape the sounds of arguing, breaking dishes, and slamming doors.
The mother cat kept her new babies in a box I put inthe stall just for her. Mom and I played with them for a few minutes each day while we did our chores. White fur covered my favorite new kitten; I named her Peanut because she was the smallest of the litter.
Mom let me name all the critters as they found their way to our property. She said I had the most creative mind of any twelve-year-old she knew. Sometimes I wondered if she even knew any other kids my age.
Soloman, our black gelded Morgan, sensed trouble before other creatures in the barn. From his spot in the first stall, he knickered, stomped, then turned, and ran out the outer door into the pasture. The goats and donkeys followed, throwing dust behind their short bodies. A tall, slow-moving shadow stalled as my dad stood in the middle of the aisle between the tack and feed rooms.
“Susan.” His deep voice vibrated through the air and chills ran up my spine.
We stilled, and I stared at Mom through the thick lenses of my new glasses. I questioned with my eyes if I should speak. One quick shake of her head kept me quiet. Her eyes were wide, and she held her breath as he neared. I was sick of being scared.
I promised myself that one day I would be strong enough to be a man and stick up for my mom. She always told me to just do what he said, but she always did, and where did that get her? Hit, bruised, in thehospital time and time again. I was so sick of this being our normal.
“I know you’re in here. The doors are open.”
Knowing she had no choice but to reveal our location, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Somehow, she found the strength to put a sweet tone in her voice. “We’re in here.” She stood and when I joined her, she pointed to the corner; I sank into the hay, thankful I couldn’t see him. Maybe that meant he couldn’t see me, either.
With my back against the wall, I pulled my knees to my chest and waited. Whiskey on his breath wafted from the middle of the barn all the way into my stall and stung my nose. I tucked my face between my knees to ward off the smell and pushed back tears. If he knew I was crying, I’d get it, too.
At the same time his hand connected with her face, Mom cried out. Through the partially open stall door, she glanced at me from the floor. Dirt covered her hands and dusted her tear-stained face.
“Don’t tell me that rat of a cat had more kittens.” His giant hand wrapped around her hair and Mom disappeared from my vision.
“She only had four this time. I’ll find homes for them, I promise.” Pleading with him, her voice raised an octave.
“What you’ll do is what I tell you to do. You’resupposed to be processing chickens for dinner, and what do I find? You wasting time with useless animals.”
This time his contact was forceful enough that she landed on her knees in the stall beside me, her eyes sad and wet. Blood trickled from her split lip, down her chin, and dripped into the hay. Every time this happened, she promised she would make it stop, but never could. No matter how many times she tried to be sweet, it ended up in another bloody nose, split lip, or bruised eye.
“You’re also supposed to be raising our kid to be a man, not a fat-ass wimp.”
I held my breath; I had hoped he would forget about me.
Deep-set eyes the color of coal focused on Mom. Dad’s gaze darted from her to me to the box of kittens, then back to Mom. In one swift motion, he raised his hand, closed his fist, and connected with the soft spot on Mom’s side. One eye swollen shut, she looked away before she cried out in pain.
“The way you’re raising him, locals will think he’s a cheechako. Is that what you want? For our neighbors to think your precious Jakey has just arrived in the Great Land? Like he doesn’t know how to act or make a life in the Pass?” Flannel covered my dad’s enormous frame; his muscles flexed under the material as he picked up my mom and wrapped his hand in her long dark blond hair.
“No, I swear. Everyone knows he’s blood.” Shewhimpered and kicked her feet, trying to reach the ground. “Please let me go.”
He carried her to the neighboring stall, which we hadn’t cleaned yet and, when he shoved her to the ground, a pile of horse poop softened her fall. “That’s not what I’m told.”
Riding equipment lined the outside of the stalls; my dad pulled a whip from the wall and swung it. Hard. Hard enough for him to grunt, and for her to scream.
“No, no, Robbie. Please, don’t.” Her voice was weak and thick with emotion.
There was nothing I could do. If I tried to fight him, he’d beat her worse. And me; he’d do the same thing to me as he did to her. It killed me how she took the full brunt of his fists to save my face and body from breaks and bruises. My mom loves me so much that she’s willing to put her life in danger to save me.
One day, I swear, I’ll make him stop.
