Credence

by Penelope Douglas

  Petting the animals.

  Making treats for the animals.

  Playing with the animals.

  I glance at Jake as he doles out oatmeal into my bowl. Tucked away somewhere quiet with one animal in particular.

  He must sense me watching, because he shoots his eyes over, meeting mine as he pours heaping scoops into the boys’ bowls. I spot the slight curl of a smile, because he knows exactly what I’m thinking, but he quickly hides it again as he drops the ladle back into the pot.

  I tuck my grin between my teeth, picking up my spoon.

  Both boys walk in, Noah shivering as he slips off his coat and sits down at the table, while Kaleb heads to the sink, washing his hands. I look out the window.

  There’s no glow of the sun that’s usually hitting the deck by now, and I can’t smell the barn on their clothes—the hay and the animals—that’s usually so pungent. It’s too cold.

  “How many inches are we expecting tonight?” I ask, knowing without looking at the weather that it’s going to snow.

  Noah lets out a chuckle as if I just told a joke, and Jake stops dead, cocking his head, and throwing him a look.

  And then it occurs to me. Inches. I roll my eyes and sprinkle some brown sugar on my oatmeal. Idiot.

  He looks at his father, holding up his hands in defense. “I would’ve made that joke no matter what.”

  Kaleb pulls out the chair across from me and starts to eat, and I watch him for a moment, almost hoping he meets my eyes. My forehead still stings from all the scrubbing it took to get that Sharpie off.

  But he doesn’t look. Again, I’m not even here.

  I drop my gaze and stick a spoonful in my mouth. I should tell Jake what happened last night after I left his room, but that wouldn’t hurt Kaleb. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and Jake can’t control him. The most annoying thing I can do to Kaleb is to keep doing exactly what I’ve been doing.

  I stick another bite in my mouth and look back down at my copy of Beloved, turning the page.

  “Have you ever seen snow before?” I hear Noah ask. “Oh, never mind. My mistake. You’re totally a Swiss Alps girl.”

  “French, thank you,” I say without looking up from my book.

  I take a bite, remembering the last time I skied. Another activity I could do alone, so I loved it. Winter and snow don’t suck if you’re having fun in it.

  I look up again. “Yes, I’ve seen it,” I tell Noah, joking aside. “I haven’t played in it much, though. Or driven in it or lived in it. But I have seen The Shining, and I do know what happens to people cooped up at a remote location through a long winter in Colorado. It can be quite deadly.”

  He chuckles, and I look back down at my food, but catch Kaleb’s eyes and stop for a moment. He watches me, his body still and his hot, green eyes hard on me.

  I clear my throat.

  “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” Noah jabs me in the ribs, teasing.

  I squirm away in my seat. “Stop it.”

  “All play and no work means I got a new toy,” he sing-songs and slides his chair over to mine, tickling me harder.

  “Noah, stop!” I protest, but I giggle anyway as I squirm in his arms.

  I’ve never been tickled before coming here, and I don’t like it.

  But I can’t stop laughing.

  I shake my head and kick him under the table, the silverware clanking. I’m dying to hit him, but I’m too busy trying to twist away from his fingers as I tear up through the laughter.

  “Hands off,” I hear Jake chide. “Now.”

  But Noah doesn’t listen.

  He brings his hand up under my neck, and I go to bite it, but he pulls it away. I jab him back, tickling him, too, and we push back our chairs, the legs scaping against the tile as I start to fight back.

  When I was little, my parents’ friends had a daughter who invited me to her birthday sleepover—because of who my parents were and not because we were friends—

  but I remember seeing the dad wrestling with his toddler on the floor that night. They laughed and played, rolled around and he let the little boy tickle him back. It was such a weird thing to see. Families who played together.

  I dart out for his glass, ready to threaten him with a little shower, but before I can take it, Kaleb shoves his bowl, hitting the pot in the middle of the table.

  It slams into my cup of milk, making my drink topple over, hit the table, and spill across the top. I can’t make it out of the way before it spills over the side and right into my lap.

  I shove my chair back, my bare thighs and sleep shorts already soaked as I dart my eyes up to Kaleb.

  “Shit,” Noah mumbles, and I see him get up, hopefully to grab a dish towel as Jake shoots his eyes over to Kaleb.

  I clench my jaw.

  Spoke too soon. Not everyone in this family plays together, I guess, and someone certainly isn’t in the mood. I look up, meeting Kaleb’s eyes.

  He stares at me across the table, the kitchen now silent, and if there was any doubt about whether or not that was deliberate, there isn’t now. The cold milk streams down my thighs and drips to the floor, and Jake stares down at him, breathing hard.

  Noah tosses a towel into my lap and takes another, quickly wiping up the mess. Kaleb and I are still locked in a stare.

  He’s all over me one minute. Can’t stand me the next. Pulls me into his lap, so I don’t get soda all over my clothes, and then turns around and douses me.

  Sliding my fingers under my sweater, I hold Kaleb’s eyes as I pull down my shorts and slip them off my legs. My top hangs just below my ass, and I cock my head, watching his gaze falter as he drops it to my legs for a moment. I’m staying here. He’s not making me run. Or cry. He might not like someone new in the house—or a girl in the house—but I didn’t ask for this, either.

  I sit there, showing him that he won’t make me run and hide anymore, and when he relaxes back into his chair, the tension in his muscles underneath his shirt easing, I think I finally have.

  But then I watch as he slides his spoon into his bowl of oatmeal and lifts it up, facing me instead of putting it into his mouth.

  “Kaleb, no.” Jake moves for him.

  But he flings the tip of the utensil, the glob of oatmeal on the end launching across the table. I jerk my face to the side, squeezing my eyes shut just in time for it to land across my jaw, the warm goo splattering across my face.

  “Goddammit!” Jake barks and rises, reaching for Kaleb.

  But I interject, swallowing the ache in my chest. “It’s okay.”

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Jake yells at him, fisting his shirt.

  “It’s okay,” I say louder, letting the mess stick to my skin and not making any move to clean it.

  But Noah scolds him. “Kaleb…”

  Jake pulls Kaleb to his feet.

  Stop!” I blurt out. “It’s okay.”

  Jake darts his eyes over his shoulder to me. “It’s not okay.”

  “It’s how babies communicate,” I explain.

  He narrows his eyes, and I look to Kaleb, lifting my chin an inch.

  “Right?” I taunt him. “They throw things, because they can’t use their words.” I pick a glob off my face and whip it into my bowl. “Did you want more? Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Kaleb?”

  I pinch the fingers of each hand together and bob the tips of my right hand and left hand together. “Like this,” I instruct him. “More.”

  Like babies who learn sign language to communicate before they can talk. Except Kaleb can talk. And write and sign. I used to think he just didn’t want to communicate, but no. He has no trouble communicating.

  “Can you do that?” I ask him, making my voice light and sugary like I’m talking to a child. “Mooooore.”

  He growls, throws his father off, and grabs the table, flipping it over. I gasp, watching the table crash to the floor on its side, everything on top spilling to the tile. Dishes break, the oa
tmeal in the pot splatters across the refrigerator, and Noah’s juice hits Jake’s jeans before shattering on the floor.

  I can’t tell what’s happening on Jake’s or Noah’s faces, but I don’t move as I try to hide how my heart hammers in my chest.

  I look up at Kaleb and almost smile, despite the fear. He’s losing his mind.

  And he’s mean.

  Did I just win and now he’ll stop?

  Or did I make it worse and now I have to wait for him to strike again?

  Before anyone moves, he’s gone. Spinning around, he walks out of the kitchen, and I hear the door open and slam shut as he leaves the house.

  Unfortunately, he can’t go far, though.

  Jake starts to follow him, but I call out. “Stop.”

  It’s between Kaleb and me.

  Jake turns, regarding me for a minute. “What the hell is going on? He’s never acted like that.”

  I kind of feel a pang of pride at hearing that.

  But I just shrug my shoulders and stand up, my long sweatshirt covering my underwear as I reach for the paper towels to clean myself up. “Just playing.”

  Poor Noah got stuck cleaning up the kitchen, because Jake went out looking for his son only to find that Kaleb had taken the snowmobile out hunting. Good. I hope he is gone all day.

  Hell, hunting can take multiple days. And since we just bagged a buck yesterday, we don’t need the meat, which means he wants to be gone as much as I want him gone.

  I don’t understand him. I wanted to, but he’s like an animal. He eats. He mates. He fights. That’s it.

  He can’t be jealous. He didn’t seem angry when Noah was on top of me the other night.

  Noah. I drop my eyes.

  And Jake.

  My cheeks warm, and the guilt I’ve been pushing away creeps in again.

  I’ll never not understand why it happened with Jake. Or why it could’ve happened with Noah. Something about this house—these people—lend credence every day to what I always knew I needed. Not sex. Not a guy.

  Just a place. Somewhere or someone to feel like home.

  And yesterday, Jake Van der Berg needed that just as much as me. I guess I feel guilty, because others won’t understand it. They’ll have opinions, but the great thing is they’ll probably never find out. Mirai’s not here. Strangers with smartphones aren’t here. TMZ’s not here.

  We’re free.

  I spend the rest of the morning catching up on school work and finally getting it submitted online when I can catch a signal, and then I bundle up in my coat, boots, gloves, and hat and step outside. A sprinkle of snow falls, little wet flakes hitting my face as I close the door, and I stop, tipping my face up to the cloudy sky.

  I love this. The air seeps into my pores and caresses my face, making the loose hairs peeking out of my hat float and flit in the breeze. For a moment, everything is quiet, except for the sound of the snowflakes hitting the twelve inches of beautiful, untouched blanket on the deck.

  Snowfall isn’t like rainfall. Rain is passion. It’s a scream. It’s my hair sticking to my face as I wrap my arms around him. It’s spontaneous, and it’s loud.

  Snowfall is like a secret. It’s whispers and firelight and searching for his warmth between the sheets at two a.m. when the rest of the house is asleep.

  It’s holding him tightly and loving him slowly.

  I open my eyes, breathing out a puff of steam into the air and watching it dissipate.

  The cordless screwdriver whirs in the shop, and I take a step, the snow packing under my feet as I head down the stairs. Noah and Jake work away behind the closed doors, and I walk past the shop, kind of wishing they’d let me go for a hike by myself.

  But I get it. The wilderness is dangerous enough, and I’m a rookie in the snow.

  Stepping into the stable, I walk for Shawnee, such a beautiful bay mare with a red-brown body and black legs, eyes, and a mane. Even the tips of her ear ears are black. She looks like a fox, and I can tell she’s plotting her next escape.

  “Hey.” I grin and reach into my pocket, pulling out the plastic tube filled with her favorite treat. Tearing it open with my teeth, I push the frozen fruit juice up and out of the wrapping and break it off, feeding it to her with my hand. Her muzzle digs into my palm, grabbing hold of the flavored ice, and I come in closer as her head hangs over the door to her stall. I break off another piece and then another, feeding her the rest. As she chews and chews, I take off my glove and rub my hand up and down her snout and then up to her forehead.

  “You keeping warm?” I ask, rubbing her all over the head and nuzzling my own into her. It’s amazing how warm she actually is. Jake blankets the older horses at night, but he doesn’t want to baby Shawnee. She gets more than enough hay, and he assures me she’s acclimated to the frigid winter temps as long as she doesn’t get her winter coat wet. And so far, so good. I guess it’s all relative. A forty-degree day feels better than a nineteen-degree day, but a nineteen-degree day feels a hell of a lot warmer than ten below, too.

  I give her a half-smile. “Reality is fickle, isn’t it?” I ask. “We can get used to almost anything.”

  We all acclimate. We learn, we resolve, we come around—it’s not that anything really gets easier or harder. We just get better at rolling with it. I’m not sure these men will be different because of me, but I’ll be different because of them. I like that.

  And I don’t.

  I pull out another juice pop, and Shawnee immediately stomps her hooves and bobs her head. I smile, tearing open the tube. There’s so much I love about my days now.

  I finish feeding and tending to everyone, making sure the three horses have plenty of hay and water, and then I put my glove back on and roam into the barn from the stable. Noah left the buckets I need in here.

  I check every corner, behind bales of hay, and all the hooks on the walls, but I don’t see anything. Stopping, I absently shake my head. How does he lose stuff so easily?

  But as I start to head out, a loud thud hits my ears, and I jump. I thought they were in the shop.

  Three more pounding sounds hit, and I peer around the stalls, not seeing anything or anyone. What…

  Forgetting the buckets, I veer left and head down the row of stalls, the sound getting louder the closer I get to the door. Another thud hits, and I blink, slowly reaching out and laying my palm against the door. It doesn’t latch, and even though I see movement behind the cracks and I know who it is, I push the door wide anyway, the hinges whining as the room beyond comes into view.

  A large stove burns in the corner of the dark room, fire spitting from its vents as Kaleb stands at a table with his back to me. He raises his ax, coming down hard. Blood splatters, he removes the leg, and then he grabs his hunting knife. A lump rises in my throat, and I can’t breathe.

  Oh, God.

  I rear back, but I don’t escape in time. The sounds as he tears into the hide of whatever animal he bagged, the serrated edge carving through the skin, muscle, and rib cage, hits my ears as blood immediately spills at his feet.

  I swallow the bile down.

  He turns, seeing me, and his green eyes hold me frozen as he raises his fingers. Sweat covers his chest and arms, his hair sticking to his temples, and I watch as a small grin curls his lips, and he sticks a finger into his mouth, licking the blood off.

  He grips the knife in his other hand, lowering his chin and looking at me as if nothing else exists in the world, and there’s no way they’d hear me out here beyond the machines they’re running in the shop if I screamed.

  Yeah, no.

  I grab the door and pull it closed as I scurry back out of the room. His light chuckle carries as I quickly disappear from his sight. Asshole.

  But then I stop, noticing. He laughed. Out loud.

  It wasn’t much, but I heard his deep voice. He’s growled or grunted a few times, but he let me hear him laugh. I narrow my eyes, lost in thought. I wonder if he even realizes.

  He let me hear him.


  I shrug, shaking it off, and take a step toward the exit. But then something catches my eye, and I look to my right, noticing a ladder. I’m not in the barn much, especially since this is where Kaleb likes to lurk.

  Glancing at the door again, behind which he still works, I approach the ladder, placing my boot on the bottom rung and gripping the one level with my head.

  I climb, coming up through a door in the floor and stand up in a small room, filled with sheet-covered objects.

  Furniture?

  I reach out, grab one of the pieces of cloth and pull.

  Tiernan

  “What do you want to do with it?” Jake asks me.

  He and Noah each hold a side as they carry the three-drawer chest into the shop, and I smile at the feather-and-filigree carvings in the wood.

  “Anything you’ll let me, I guess.” I shrug, not really knowing yet. “It’s a great piece of furniture, and there’s so much more up there.”

  There were more chests, a couple of dressers, some end tables and a bedside table, a couple of doors, and a desk. None of the furniture was in good shape, but as soon as I saw it all, my heart leaped. Everything in our house growing up was so new.

  I walk over, running my hand over the grainy wooden top of the chest. There’s no history in new. No mystery. I like old.

  Jake stands back, looking at the piece with me. It almost looks like something out of Beauty and the Beast. The Disney version. The wood curves, the chest widening as it goes up, and there’s lots of detail around the edges and feet. This was probably a stunning piece in its day.

  “My ex and I collected a bunch of stuff from yard sales for when we finished building this place,” Jake says, “but then shit happened, so…”

  I open the drawers, checking the functionality.

  “So yeah, it’s all yours,” he adds. “It’s one other thing to keep you occupied this winter.”

  I turn my head over my shoulder, shooting him a look.

  One other thing.

  He smirks.

  Noah nudges my arm. “Let me show you the paints.”

  I follow him.