He has run-ins with other people in town all the time. Last week he pissed off the owner of the hardware store because he didn’t like their prices. Another time, he yelled at the waitress at the diner and Daisy told him not to come back. Mr. Huntington, who’d lost his wife, accused Daddy of burying her in the same pine box as someone else. He even went to the law and had her body exhumed and it turned out he was right. Course Daddy claimed it was a mistake, but Mr. Huntington insisted Daddy did it to save money and he was probably right.
Daddy’s still mad at the man cause he had to pay a fine, and I’m scared he’ll do something to the old man to get revenge.
I want so bad to tell somebody that he’s hurting Hetty, but I’m afraid of him and if I do, he’ll probably make things worse for Hetty. Everyone in town thinks we’re white trash anyway and whisper about us behind our backs. Mean old gossipy biddies.
This happened earlier tonight right when it got dark:
The back door slammed shut and I ran to the window in my bedroom and peered through the curtains. Daddy had on his old brown coat, a ski cap on his head and he was walking into his shed. He went inside for a minute and when he came out, he was carrying a shovel.
Hetty dragged on her pajamas. “What are you doing, Ida?”
“Daddy’s up to something,” I told Hetty. “He took his shovel from the shed.” He usually dug graves or didmaintenance work during the day. At night… well, I don’t know exactly what he does. But at least he didn’t make Hetty go with him.
Curiosity made my skin itch, and I changed into my clothes, then pulled on my thick coat, socks and boots and my hat. “What are you doing?” Hetty whispered as she clutched the bed quilt between her hands.
“To see what he’s doing.”
Hetty pulled the covers over her mouth and face so all I could see in the dark were the whites of her eyes. “Don’t go out there,” Hetty begged.
I walked back to the window. “Stay here. I won’t let him see me.”
My legs trembled though as I crawled through the window and dropped to the frosty ground. Gray snow clouds hid the moonlight and the starless night made it so dark I could hardly see as I darted from tree to tree following him. Twice he turned back as if he heard me, but I jumped behind a boulder, holding my breath until he moved on again.
Like a cat, I slithered a few feet behind until finally he stopped beneath a thin pine tree where brush and limbs were piled waist high. My nails dug into tree bark, and I hunched down and watched.
Seconds later, he dragged something heavy wrapped in a blanket from the pile. Tattered plastic stuck out from beneath the corner of the blanket. My pulse jumped and I shoved my fist to my mouth to keep from screaming.
The shovel hit rock as Daddy began to dig. I slunk a little closer then gasped as I saw a pair of red shoes peeking from the end of the blanket.
Daddy pulled one of them off, kissed it and laid it to the side, then rolled the lump into the hole.
My God. Daddy was burying a body. A girl’s. But this one hadn’t come from the morgue or a funeral.
NINETY-ONE
Finch Gardens, Sweetgum Lane
Tilly and Hayden made a joint decision not to call and tell their parents they were coming. Unlike fifteen years ago when they were kids, subjected to being treated as less than Ruth and divided by their own teenage pain, they formed a bond this evening as Tilly parked in front of the two-story Georgian home her parents had built after leaving Brambletown.
“You think Mom and Dad will tell us the truth?” Tilly asked.
Hayden tapped his fingers on his thigh. “Who knows. But it’s time we get everything out in the open. We aren’t kids anymore and this black cloud has hovered over our family for too long. It’s the reason I joined the military.”
Tilly gave him an understanding look. “I’m so sorry for what happened in Afghanistan,” she said softly. “That must have been so awful.”
“It was.” Regret and pain deepened his voice. “But I saw a counselor and eventually decided not to go down the rabbit hole of addiction and vowed to atone for my mistakes by helping others.”
“And you’ve been doing that,” Tilly said, grateful to have earned his confidence. She’d been alone for so long she couldn’t remember even having a close friend, not one who understood her family situation. It felt good to be comrades.
Hayden squeezed her hand. “As much as I can.”
“Good for you,” she said and squeezed his hand in return. “Now let’s talk to the folks. No matter what they say, at least we have each other now.”
“Yeah, we do.”
She fought tears at his sincerity and reached for the door handle.
Like strangers, they rang the doorbell, the silence thickening with apprehension as they waited for someone to answer. The garage door was closed, but if they were home, it probably held a Mercedes or Beamer or some other expensive car her father drove. He had his standards.
