Credence

by Penelope Douglas

  It takes a moment to get my limbs moving.

  It’s a feeling.

  A feeling. Not a place.

  I close my eyes a moment, feeling the sun on the peak on my face. And my arms around my uncle as I sit behind him on the horse.

  I step out of the car, barely registering the cameras and the chatter from the reporters as I blindly follow Mirai up the steps of the church. People are talking to me, taking my hand and giving it a little hug with both of theirs, but I can’t think.

  I don’t feel good.

  Why did I come back? I thought I needed to do this. Be here. It’s only right, right?

  I swallow the sickness rising up my throat.

  People crowd us, all hungry for something, and even though I couldn’t stomach opening up my social media when I got into town, it’s clear my parents’ suicide is still top news.

  Hell, some director is probably already pitching the story to a production company, so my parents’ death can be lamented in some TV movie where they’ll be portrayed as perfect and in love from the moment they met. And me, their loving daughter—the product of their Shakespearean tragedy—will only be a significant character at the end… as I stand at their headstone and smile that they’re finally safely together for all eternity.

  I take a seat in the front pew with Mirai, the only good part of all this is no one expects much from the grieving daughter, so I can sit quietly without looking weird for once.

  I close my eyes behind my glasses again. Two days ago, I was making toys for the horses—milk jugs stuck with carrots and apples they could play with to get their treats. Were the jugs empty by now? Kaleb doesn’t care, and Noah probably wouldn’t notice.

  I don’t know when the funeral begins, but when Mirai nudges me and whispers in my ear, “Glasses,” to remind me to remove my eyewear, I open my eyes and see the caskets in front of me.

  I take off my glasses, folding them gently and slipping them into my pocket.

  The speakers go up, one by one over the next hour, telling stories I’d never heard and painting a picture of people I didn’t know. I sit there, listening to Mirai talk about what a pleasure it was to be a part of their lives and support their work, while Cassidy (no double e) and Mr. Palmer tell stories of their youth and early careers, their charitable work a large part of the narrative the publicist probably asked them to push to remind people that how they left this world wasn’t the most important thing.

  As Delmont, my father’s closest friend, stands up there and talks about their college football days and summers backpacking in Turkey or Chile or wherever, Mirai puts her hand on mine to alert me it’s almost time.

  My stomach churns. I could talk about their work, I guess. How they were an inspiration to me, and I could lie about all the cards and presents they surprised me with at school, even though it was Mirai, and I always knew it was her, even though she gave them the credit.

  I could talk about what I’ve learned from my uncle and cousins. And then say I learned it from my parents instead.

  I don’t want to be quiet anymore. I want to prove to them that they didn’t break me. That I won’t let them affect my voice and my ability to be brave.

  But as I try to steady my feet under me to get ready to stand up, I can’t.

  I don’t want to lie.

  “Things change, life moves on, and the world with it,” Delmont says. “But death? Death is as sure as night.”

  I look up at him, listening to his words.

  “It’s a part of us all.” He looks around at the audience as he starts to wrap up his speech. “The only thing we really leave behind is the work that we do and the people who love us.”

  The people who love us…

  “Amelia and Hannes didn’t leave anything on the table,” he concludes. “They always knew the answer to the most important question in one’s life—where do I want to be today?”

  I stare at my parents’ caskets, closed, so we all would remember them the way they were.

  And the tears start falling down my cheeks, now after days.

  I hate them.

  I hate them, and I’ve wasted too much time hating them.

  This isn’t where I want to be.

  You loved each other. I wipe my tears, looking over at them and the words I couldn’t muster before finally coming. You were luckier than most.

  At least they had each other.

  You were capable of so much when it came to love. I drop my eyes, staring at my lap, my fists clenching around my coat. And you considered what it would be like to live without love, because you decided not to live without each other. Did you consider what it was like for me—all these years—living without you?

  Tears fall silently, and everything is blurry. I close my eyes, all the years of anger rising up as I grit my teeth.

  I hate your house, I tell them in my head. I hate the stench of your perfume and your candles and your hairspray. I hate the feel of your clothes and the white walls, the white carpets, and the white furniture. I try to calm my breathing. The library full of books that have never been opened and how nothing was ever warm.

  I hated you.

  I can’t catch my breath. The air just feels too thick. I’m cold.

  I hate how I never told you any of this. How I never fought or said anything or called you out. How I never walked out to look in the world for what I needed. How I let you win.

  How I never let you know that you devastated me.

  That’s where I wanted to be when they died. Standing.

  That’s all I want.

  But I was too much of a coward to talk to you, I mouth to myself, my tears now gone as I draw in a deep breath. Cowards always live to regret, because it’s only too late that they realize the journey is filled with people who are afraid.

  They didn’t have to walk alone.

  Noah

  The chainsaw whirs outside, and I sit up in bed, swinging my legs over the side. I run a hand through my hair. Will he fight me if I don’t want to leave this fucking room today?

  Kaleb ditched us and went hunting again yesterday, and Dad’s barely said three words to me in the last forty-eight hours. Fun, fun. It’s like old times again.

  I shake my head and stand up, throwing on some jeans before leaving the room. I’m getting out of this house. Out of this town. In the middle of the night like a coward, because I can’t handle confrontation, but I’m leaving. Maybe he’ll realize how fantastic I was once he doesn’t have me to push around anymore. Because he certainly won’t get in Kaleb’s face.

  And maybe Kaleb will finally utter a word when I’m not here to do all his talking for him.

  I can’t do another winter with them. I’ll go crazy.

  Heading downstairs, I walk into the kitchen and go straight for the coffee machine, seeing my dad step in from the shop. I grab a mug and then the pot, seeing it’s empty just as he stops to refill his, too.

  I sigh, my headache swelling more.

  “Just…” He shoves his cup and stalks away. “Make another pot.”

  I cock an eyebrow but do as I’m told. How long has he been up?

  He throws a loaf of bread, some bacon he fried up, and a couple boxes of cereal on the table with the milk and butter, and I dump out the used coffee filter, replacing it with a clean one.

  Once the coffee grounds are loaded, I fill up the water container and start brewing, grabbing an Oreo from the package sitting on the counter.

  What am I doing today? More of the same, but there’s always beer. I’ve got that to look forward to, at least, now that I missed my window for the sponsorship with DeltaCorps.

  And now that the house is fucking silent again, because…

  He sits down, making himself a sandwich, and I plop down across from him, taking a bite of the cookie.

  But at the taste, my stomach immediately rolls. I force the bite down but toss the rest of the cookie onto the table.

  I feel like shit.

  “This fuckin�
�� sucks,” I grumble.

  I miss her. We all miss her. Even Kaleb, too, I think. He came home twenty-four hours ago with some waterfowl, found her gone, and left again soon after, disappearing into the woods again for another whole damn day.

  I miss coming downstairs and seeing lights on. Girls like it cozy and warm. I liked that touch she added to the house. And seeing her outside or in the barn or padding around barefoot in our kitchen… The house felt good. Even her pissy moods amused me.

  The front door opens and Kaleb walks in, tearing off his shirt, bloody from whatever he’s stocking our freezer with for the winter. I can almost see Tiernan holding the back of her hand to her mouth, looking like she was about to throw up every time she saw him like that.

  My heart aches a little.

  “Just go get her,” I tell my father, but I don’t look at him.

  Kaleb fills up a glass with water, and I wait for the argument from my dad, because there’s no merit in anything I think or say. He never listens, just responds in the exact opposite of whatever I want.

  “She’s dealing with the death of her parents,” he says, swallowing his food. “She’s an adult. I can’t tell her what to do.”

  “She’s not an adult,” I retort. “Her place is here. It’s your say. Not hers.”

  He sits back in his chair, dropping his sandwich to his plate. I know what he’s thinking. I sound fucking crazy. Would I really want him to drag her back here kicking and screaming?

  No.

  Maybe.

  “The funeral was only yesterday,” he tells me. “She might still come back.”

  Yeah, right. We fought with her like assholes, and she took no time to decide to leave. Why would she come back? I wouldn’t.

  I reach over and pick up the juice, uncapping the container and lifting it to my mouth.

  But then a door slams upstairs, and I hear a creak of the floorboards.

  I freeze, locking eyes with my dad.

  His eyes narrow.

  “Did you have someone over last night?” he asks me.

  “No.”

  I lower the juice, both of us training our ears.

  Maybe Kaleb had someone…

  But before I can finish the thought, we hear footfalls on the stairs and all turn our heads, seeing Tiernan swing around the bannister, dressed in baggy jean shorts, my T-shirt, hair a mess, and sunglasses shielding her from the morning light as she hugs herself against the chill in the air.

  What the fuck?

  “Morning,” she says through a yawn.

  I shoot up out of my chair, gaping at her as she brushes past the table to the coffee machine.

  “Morning?” I burst out. “Where did you come from?”

  She just strolls in, like she never left. Is this a dream?

  “When did you get in?” my dad asks before she can answer me.

  She pushes her sunglasses back on her head, yawning again. Kaleb stares down at her as she stands next to him, pouring a cup of coffee.

  “Last night,” she replies.

  “How did you get here from the airport?”

  “Uber,” she tells him.

  “You came back,” I say, still stunned as my heart pounds.

  She’s really here? Like she was in her room this whole fucking time I was pouting down here?

  She turns her head over her shoulder, looking at both of us like we’re idiots.

  She definitely won’t handle a hug right now.

  “Can someone look at the shift on the tractor?” she asks, changing the subject. “It’s sticking. And the vacuum? It’s way, way too loud.” She pours a little cream in her coffee and stirs. “Just because y’all build motorcycles does not mean everything on this property needs to be rewired to sound like a muscle car.”

  She picks up her cup and starts to walk out of the room.

  “I’ll handle Bernadette, feed the horses and dogs, and pick all the tomatoes before I get started on breakfast,” she tells us. “Would someone mind bringing a load of wood up to my room sometime today? It’s getting too cold at night.”

  She leaves the room, heading back upstairs, and I stare at my dad, my mouth hanging open a little.

  “I’m not feeding you until the stalls are done and Shawnee’s had her work-out!” she yells as she climbs the stairs. “Let’s go!”

  My dad’s eyes go wide and he pops out of his chair, stuffing the last piece of bacon in his mouth as I laugh, downing a huge gulp of orange juice before rushing out of the kitchen.

  Yes, ma’am.

  I finish putting a blanket over the mare and run my hand down her head, between the eyes before closing the gate and scurrying out of the barn.

  I shiver. Shit, it got chilly. The sun dipped behind the peak an hour ago, and while it’s not quite dark, I’m missing its warmth. Grabbing my sweatshirt draped over the logs, I pull it over my head, fixing my hat again.

  “Tiernan!” I shout, watching her step out of the greenhouse and yank the hose back over to the side. “Let’s get drunk!”

  She flashes me a small smile, and I inhale, smelling the steaks on the grill.

  She jogs up the steps of the house, her rain boots covered in dried mud from the last time she wore them, and I run after her, both of us heading around the deck to the back of the house.

  I grab two beers out of the tub, swiping off the ice and untwisting the tops. I hand one to her as we stop next to my dad.

  “It’s chilly.” She bounces up and down.

  I pull off my sweatshirt and hand it to her. She’s already wearing my old blue and white flannel, but she doesn’t argue. Taking the navy-colored pullover, she slips it on and takes the extra beer I offer.

  “Never too cold to grill,” my dad points out.

  She smiles. “It smells good. I’m starving.”

  He loads the steaks on a plate, I take the grilled corn, and Tiernan runs inside to grab the macaroni salad and potato chips.

  We set everything down on the picnic table in the shop, the doors open, and the music playing as the evening air grows crisper. The beer lulls my veins, and I polish off the bottle as I reach behind me and grab the bottle of Patrón off the worktable.

  I pour us each a shot, handing one to Tiernan.

  “Uh, no,” she says, setting the condiments on the table.

  “Yes.” I nod, placing it next to her plate. “We’re getting fucked up.”

  Kaleb walks over, taking a seat, and I throw back my shot, blowing a breath at the burn. I slam the glass down and let out a yelp as it hits my stomach, leaping around the table, scooping Tiernan up, and flipping her over my shoulder.

  “Because she’s ours all winter!” I spin around, hearing her squeal.

  “Noah!” she barks.

  But I laugh anyway. Thank fuck this day is ending better than it started. I might’ve actually had to stand up for myself and walk out of here for good.

  Having her around will make this house bearable. She makes my dad bearable.

  “For Christ’s sake, sit down,” Dad orders. “Eat like a family.”

  I put her back on her feet, chuckling and pushing her down in her chair.

  Popping another beer, I watch as her eyes lock in on the tequila and she cocks an eyebrow.

  Come on. My father never drinks enough to get drunk, and Kaleb could drink my weight in Jack, Jim, and Jose together and still not feel anything.

  She takes a deep breath and picks up the glass as my dad doles out the steak, and she tips it back, swallowing the entire shot in one gulp.

  And without training wheels. Good girl.

  I refill my glass and then hers.

  “Stop.” She holds out her hand. “I don’t need to be puking.”

  “Tell you what,” I say as she scoops out salad onto our plates. “I’ll make you a bet. If I clean my plate of all my food before you, you have to do two more shots.”

  She looks at the T-bone on her plate that’s bigger than her face.

  “And if I clean mine first?�
� she asks.

  “Then I’ll do the two shots.”

  “You were going to do the two shots anyway.”

  I snort. Yes, true.

  “I’ll do your laundry this week,” I offer.

  “No one else touches my underwear, thank you.”

  “Yeah, that’s clear as day.”

  Her eyes bug out, and my father breaks into a quiet laugh, he and her sharing a quick glance right before he shuts up.

  She purses her lips and glares at me.

  “Okay, okay,” I say, getting serious. “If you clean your plate first, I have breakfast duty for the rest of the week.”

  She ponders it for a moment and then nods once. “Deal.”

  I pick up my steak knife and fork, seeing we both have the same cut of meat and the same scoop of macaroni salad.

  Her hands remain in her lap.

  “Ready?” she asks.

  “You don’t need utensils?”

  She shakes her head, an unsettling smirk on her face. “Nope.”

  Okayyy. You’re so doing these two shots.

  “Go!” I yell.

  I shovel in a mouthful and look over, seeing her take her plate and set it on the ground.

  Huh?

  I freeze, watching Danny and Johnny scarf up everything on her plate, one taking the steak and the other tearing off half as they both escape to a corner to savor their spoils.

  What the fuck?

  “That wasn’t the deal!” I blurt out, food nearly falling out of my mouth.

  “You said I had to clean my plate.”

  “You!” I reiterate. “YOU had to clean the plate!”

  “Semantics.” She takes a swig of her beer, a look of self-satisfaction on her face.

  “That was your dinner, honey,” Dad warns her.

  She shrugs. “Saving calories for breakfast in the morning.” And then she looks at me. “Pancakes, please. With sausage and toast.”

  She laughs, and I growl under my breath.

  At least I can still do her two shots.

  We sit and eat, Tiernan picking a sweet pickle out of the little bowl and biting into it.

  “Snow’s coming soon,” Dad tells us, lifting his beer as he looks at Tiernan. “We’ll hit town a couple more times, maybe get you some low-key attire of your own that fits.”