by Heather Levy
Arrow had caught a small cold from splitting firewood after school during the prior week, his nose running and his hands so numb from the icy weather that pain exploded up into his arms every time the axe pierced through to the chopping block. Every job he did for neighbors brought him closer to being able to buy the bus tickets for Dallas and getting away from his father. Sam told him her friend Chrissy agreed to drive them to Oklahoma City. There was no bus service in Blanchard and Chrissy said she’d make the trip so long as they covered gas. He hoped Chrissy wouldn’t change her mind because he couldn’t think of anyone else to drive them.
Sam, he noticed, had been retreating to her room more. She was always listening to music and rarely came to Arrow’s room to talk much less anything else. Not that he wanted to do anything but hold her since her hospital stay. She seemed to avoid that as well. Now since the weather turned colder and Jeri was still working longer hours, Sam usually got rides home with Chrissy, which meant Arrow had to walk home alone. It wasn’t far, so he didn’t mind, but he missed walking with Sam, talking and laughing with her over dumb stuff that had nothing to do with home or his father. It made him want to hurt his dad even more, to make him give back the old Sam who smiled easily and didn’t mope around the house.
Soon it wouldn’t matter. They’d be gone, far from Blanchard, and that was more important than hurting his dad.
Arrow counted the days before Sam’s birthday. He could maybe get in four more wood splitting jobs before then without his dad getting suspicious of him working so much. That’d be another twenty or thirty dollars plus whatever Sam would get for her birthday, assuming her family gave her money. Tickets to Dallas ran about sixty dollars with tax each plus money for food and money to Chrissy for driving them. Then they’d probably need money for a taxi to get to Sam’s aunt’s apartment. He counted the money again in his head. They would have to make it enough.
Sam’s dog yelped outside. Arrow went to his window. The moon was high, illuminating the fields below. Two glowing red eyes receded into pinpoints as they pulled farther from the house. His father’s truck. Probably going to drink and gamble a little in town. Good.
Arrow went to Sam’s room, opened her door without knocking first, something he never did. She had her headphones on, eyes closed as she lay on her back, her bedspread covering only her legs. She had her nightshirt pushed up and was rubbing circles over her stomach.
His heart somehow moved up into his head, thud-thudding in his ears.
Sam’s eyes fluttered open and she saw him. She quickly pulled her shirt back down over the fullness of her belly, but it was too late. He had seen it and he knew what the bump meant.
Sam sat up, her eyes wide and anxious. She yanked off her headphones.
“I was going to tell you when we got to Dallas. I promise I was.”
A horrible thought crossed his mind, making his stomach lurch.
“Is it mine?”
Sam jutted her chin at him. “Of course.”
She stood up and walked over to him, hands covering her stomach like she was hiding a present. She took his hand and placed it under her nightshirt, over the warm bump. He didn’t feel anything, no movement, but he wasn’t sure when that was supposed to happen. Her skin was hot, and he pictured a little ball of fire inside her.
“How many—I dunno—months or whatever?”
She smiled. “About twelve weeks or so.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t know yet. Not until like twenty weeks.”
He sat on her bed, feeling like someone had just handed him a hundred pounds of split wood to carry.
“She has eyes and ears and little fingers and toes. She can hear us.”
“Thought you didn’t know what it is.”
Sam sat next to him.
“I don’t, but I don’t like saying ‘it.’ Feels like a girl, though.”
Why hadn’t she told him? He thought about Meredith, seeing the small bump so strange on her tiny, slender body.
“Are you going to keep it?”
She held his hand. “Is that what you want?”
He didn’t know what he wanted. He was sixteen with no job or car. He knew babies cost a lot of money.
“What do you want?” he said.
“I don’t know yet.”
Arrow knew if his father found out Sam wouldn’t have any choice.
“You need to leave now,” he said.
“What?”
He couldn’t believe he was saying this to her, but he knew it was right as he thought of it.
“I want you to go to Dallas now, not after your birthday. Take the money I have and get Chrissy to take you this weekend when my dad’s doing work at the Hunt farm.”
Sam stared at him in disbelief.
“Without you?”
“You’ll need the money, and I can come later.” But he knew that wouldn’t happen. As soon as his dad found out, he’d likely try to beat the information out of him, and he’d watch Arrow’s every move after that. He would never lead his father back to Sam.
Tears formed in Sam’s eyes.
He touched her belly, moving his hand in a slow circle like Sam had done. She did such a good job hiding the bump from him, from everyone, but then it wasn’t that big yet.
“If you don’t go now, he’ll find out,” he said.
A hardness entered Sam’s face and she placed her hand over Arrow’s.
“I’ll go this weekend.”
She squeezed his hand hard.
“But not without you.”
Chapter 33: Sam, 2009
Sam sat at her desk staring at her computer screen, trying to make sense of the numbers flashing back as hieroglyphics. Katelyn, one of the lazier tellers, stood at Sam’s desk, her fingers tap-tapping on the glossy faux Cherrywood until Sam wanted to rip off each one of the young woman’s acrylic nails.
She avoided looking at Katelyn so the teller wouldn’t see the puffiness of her eyes. After Eric had left her place that morning, there was nothing distracting her from the detective’s questions the night before. What happened to the baby? She had cried in her bed until she fell asleep. She couldn’t talk about it, least of all with that asshole detective, and she knew asking for a lawyer would be the quickest way to stop the questions.
“You have a customer waiting,” Katelyn said as if it would push Sam to hurry and approve the large cashier’s check.
“Are they here for a loan?”
Sam was no longer a loan assistant after taking the management position, but she was still qualified to handle them when the bank was too backed up, which hadn’t happened in a long time.
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
“Well, did you ask them what they need?”
“No.”
Sam took a slow, deep breath. She hated how inept her younger staff could be sometimes, but she was reluctant to fire anyone. The recession had killed enough jobs.
“She looks like a meth-head,” Katelyn said, “and she asked for you—doesn’t want to see anyone else.”
Sam shot up from her desk and peeked down the short hallway at the lobby’s sitting area. She saw the back of Meredith Lang’s head, the jagged burgundy bob.
Fucking hell.
Katelyn gawked as Sam sped through approving the cashier’s check, the fog in her head lifted and the blood in her body boiling with her rapid thoughts. She didn’t know why the hell Meredith was at her work, but she knew it wasn’t to open a checking account.
The teller took the cashier’s check and a minute later Meredith was at Sam’s office door.
“Come in and shut the door,” Sam said, no smile.
Meredith shut the door and sat across from her. She kept her large messenger bag on her lap, her hands gripping it as if someone planned to snatch it from her. Sam noticed Meredith’s legs bounced constantly, the same habit Eric had when he was nervous about something.
“How do you know
where I work?”
Meredith wasn’t wearing make-up and her face appeared much younger without the heavy eyeliner and lipstick. She almost looked innocent, childlike.
“What did Eric tell you about me and Isaac?” Meredith said.
“Oh, so now you admit you knew him?” Sam leaned back into her chair, arms crossed. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here because some detectives were all over my ass asking questions about Isaac, and I know one of you brought me into this shit.”
“What did they ask you?”
Meredith leaned forward, her small chest pressed against her messenger bag.
“I bet you’d like to know.”
There was so much twitchy energy coming from Meredith, Sam wasn’t sure what the woman was capable of doing. It made her want to call the bank’s security officer.
“What did Eric tell you?” Meredith asked again.
“He said he lived with you and your mom, Vickie.” Sam used the same gentle tone she used with erratic bank customers. “He told me about what Isaac did to you, but he didn’t know about Caleb. Why did people say you lost your baby? What happened in Anadarko?”
Meredith looked down at the nameplate on Sam’s desk, a haunted expression on her face as she said nothing.
“Is he Isaac’s child?”
Meredith’s small mouth remained shut tight.
“If Caleb’s Isaac’s son, Eric deserves to know.”
Meredith glared up at Sam. “Eric didn’t tell you what happened then.”
A sickening dread ran down Sam’s back.
“What do you mean?”
Meredith gave a half-grin. “What happened in Anadarko—there were two stories people liked to tell. One where Eric’s the hero who saved me, and one where he raped me and tried to kill his father.”
Sam thought about Eric’s weight on her the night before, how he easily overpowered her, how he could easily overpower her when they were younger too. He didn’t want her to see Meredith, but she still didn’t know if it was because he had lied about having sex with her and knew Caleb could be his, or if it was because he raped her.
“Which story is true?” Sam asked.
Meredith smiled but that same heavy, haunted look was in her eyes. “I know which one you hope is true. It’s all over your face.”
“This isn’t a fucking game. The police are looking at Eric as a suspect.”
“I know.”
“Better him than you?”
Anxiety flashed in Meredith’s eyes, so quick Sam almost didn’t see it.
“If Eric did something to help you, you need to tell the police.”
“Why?” Meredith asked. “So he’ll look good?”
“Yes.” Sam didn’t mean to yell the word, and she hoped her boss hadn’t heard her from his office next door.
“Wow.” Meredith smiled again. “You really love him, don’t you? How fucking sad.”
“Not as sad as you risking your child’s life to protect Isaac.” Sam remembered the articles she had read fifteen years ago and all the rumors. “Why did you tell the police you were gang raped at a high school party, yet you didn’t name a single person or press charges?”
Meredith stood up, slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Are you really going to lecture me about protecting my kid? You?”
Meredith opened the office door, paused, and turned back around. She shook her head, disgust in her eyes.
“Fucking baby killer.”
Meredith left, and Katelyn floated over to Sam’s office, her long fake nails clacking against the doorframe.
“What did she just call you?”
Sam couldn’t speak, couldn’t feel her body. She could only hear Meredith’s words playing on repeat: baby killer, baby killer, baby…
Chapter 34: Eric, 2009
Eric had started early at his Edmond job, tearing out the old kitchen backsplash and prepping the space for the new tile, his mind constantly slipping back to thoughts of Sam, of the night before in her bed. He surprised himself with how much he enjoyed hearing her pleasure in the pain he inflicted, but he still had trouble not associating what he did with his father. Sam had told him it was different because she consented, she controlled what she wanted, so he tried to see it from her perspective.
He was about to mix the thinset when the homeowners called to say they wanted different tile from what they’d taken two weeks to pick out. The new tile wouldn’t arrive until the next day, so he found the late afternoon free to start on his next job. As he left Edmond, he drove north to Guthrie instead of south, knowing it was a bad decision to put off work, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Meredith’s apartment complex was a small, rundown place near the highway. Eric checked the address he had pulled up on his phone before exiting his truck. He climbed the narrow stairs, past a dirty toddler playing with her even dirtier baby doll. He saw what looked like a bullet hole in one of the windows, another window with taped up plastic tarp in place of glass. If anything, he thought the place was worse than where Vickie lived.
He found Meredith’s apartment number but didn’t find a doorbell, so he knocked. His heart climbed into his throat and stayed there. He paused a minute and knocked again. No one answered, so he tried to find a gap in the cheap window blinds to get a glimpse inside.
“You looking for Meredith?”
Eric turned to see a woman, rail thin and wearing a strappy tank top, no bra.
The woman scooped up the dirty toddler with one arm, the little girl reaching for her doll that fell to the concrete. Eric picked it up for her. The girl smiled at him and he smiled back.
“Yeah, I am. This is her apartment, right?”
“She left,” the woman said.
Eric’s stomach was an immediate painful knot.
“Probably went to work early or something. She’s always at work.”
“But this is her apartment?”
The toddler squirmed in the woman’s arms and she let the child slide back down to the concrete. “Yeah, but not for long. She’s moving in with her boyfriend, next month I think.”
She looked Eric up and down and smirked.
“You her boyfriend too?”
“No.”
He stepped around the toddler and made his way down the stairs toward his truck. He glanced at a teenage boy hovering near the back of the parking lot, his thumbs clack-clacking on the cellphone in his hands.
Eric slowed to a stop.
He blinked hard and the teenager was still there, his unruly dark-blond hair curling around his ears, his eyes—Eric’s eyes—shifting up from the cellphone to Eric’s stunned face.
It was him. Caleb.
“Hey, man, you gotta light? Mine’s out.” Caleb dug a pack of cigarettes from his baggy jeans.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
Eric’s hands shook as he reached in his back pocket for the Zippo lighter he only owned because a fellow contractor buddy gave it to him, saying, “You never know when some pretty lady might need one.” It had worked too. His last girlfriend smoked American Spirits, same as the pack Caleb withdrew from his jeans. Caleb had to have stolen them from Meredith, or maybe her boyfriend.
Eric handed the lighter to the boy. For the briefest second, his hand touched Caleb’s in the exchange and he stopped himself from pulling the kid into an embrace.
Caleb held up the silver lighter. “Thanks.”
The boy was tall, almost as tall as Eric. He was too thin, though, and his sagging jeans only accentuated this.
Caleb moved over to the side of the apartment building, trying to get out of the wind. He lit the cigarette and flipped the Zippo over and over in his long-fingered hand.
Caleb sucked hard on the cigarette, and Eric thought of Vickie. Did Caleb ever see his grandmother? The thought settled in Eric’s stomach, an ice cube chilling him.
The boy coughed, a wet rattling deep from within his chest, and
Eric wanted to yank the cigarette from his mouth.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be smoking.”
Caleb rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh. “What the fuck is it to you?”
The boy glared at the ground like he was suddenly mad at the parched grass. He coughed again, harsher this time, and spit out phlegm that thudded near Eric’s boots.
“Your mom know you smoke?”
Caleb’s glare turned on Eric. He took another long drag and blew it in Eric’s direction.
“What do you think?”
“You should quit before you get too old to stop. Harder when you’re older.” That’s what Eric had heard, anyway.
The boy continued to burn his way through the cigarette before throwing it on a dry patch of grass. Caleb watched it smoke where it landed, the grass starting to catch. Eric pressed the cherry out with his boot.
Caleb stood there, avoided looking at Eric, almost like he knew this man who looked so much like him wasn’t a coincidence. He didn’t want to scare Caleb but something too powerful to ignore stirred in him as he watched the boy fiddle with the lighter.
“Do you know who I am?”
Caleb grinned at him, his brown eyes weighted with a loathing Eric felt, a punch to his ribs.
“Sure, I know you. You’re the asshole who gave me a light and then preached at me to quit.”
He walked past Eric, handing him the lighter.
“Thanks a lot.”
Eric held onto Caleb’s hand, the lighter hugged between their palms.
The sarcasm on Caleb’s face melted into fear and confusion.
“Hey, man…I’m not into gay shit.”
He jerked his hand from Eric’s.
“What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to come straight home, boy.”
Eric and Caleb both turned to see Meredith rushing toward them from the parking lot. Her eyes barely registered Eric’s presence but he knew she recognized him when she stiffened.
