The Leftovers of a Life

by Anna Oney

  Emma allowed her anxiety to get the best of her, and, stepping between the two groups of men, she spoke up before Tom and his companion could call Doolie's bluff.

  "Daddy," she said. "I know the big one. His name's Tom."

  As Emma said the words, she could feel Tom's eyes staring at the back of her skull. Since he hadn't said anything yet, Emma assumed he didn't recognize her—that, or he didn't have the stomach to think of the past.

  Furrowing his brow, Doolie pulled his daughter to the side, and whispered, "How do you know him?"

  "From school. I'm sure it's him."

  "You think we can trust them?"

  That was a tough one to answer. If Emma was in revenge mode, she would've replied, "Hell no, just shoot them," but as her mother always said, "Everyone deserves a second chance."

  "Yeah." Emma shrugged, and channeled her mother's graciousness. "They could benefit us."

  Her cousins were the only strong, able-bodied men they had, and she knew Doolie wouldn't be able to take care of them for much longer. They needed all the help they could get to keep their gated community going.

  "Who's the young'un?" Doolie asked.

  Taking in the physical similarities between the two men, Emma replied, "Probably his brother." They had the same thick eyebrows and sharp point at the end of their noses, but their chins were their most defined feature. Their chins were chiseled and square, like the statues of ancient Roman leaders. Their hair colors were different, but they both had the same thick hair and stubborn cowlick.

  "Look at me," Doolie said. "If anything happens—anything at all—if they steal something, if they hurt someone, it's on you. Understood?"

  "Yes," she replied, inwardly struggling with doing the right thing. "I understand."

  "All right then," he replied. "But if you're wrong—it's on you."

  Turning his attention back to the group, Doolie broke the silence.

  "Well, boys, it's your lucky day. This is Back Wood Road, and by the grace of that young lady right there"—he paused, nodding in Emma's direction—"we're inviting you to be a part of our group."

  The sudden change in Doolie's demeanor and tone seemed to startle the two men, so much so that they couldn't utter a peep. From an angle, Emma witnessed Tom's relieved expression, forcing her chicken-neck-wringing father's eyes to swell with tears. Doolie smoothly looked away before anyone could catch a glimpse of the tear Emma had spotted gliding down his cheek.

  "Winston, Maddox." He paused to clear his throat. "You take Tom and—what's your name, son?"

  Tom's brother looked to the ground. Being all too familiar with that feeling herself, Emma couldn't help but feel sorry for the self-conscious fellow.

  "My, my, my," he stammered. "My, my name is Coo-Cooper. It's Cooper."

  "How old are you, boy?"

  "Twelve, sir."

  "Take Tom and Cooper up to the dance hall so we can get this over with," Doolie said, patting Cooper's shoulder. "Emma, you go ahead and round everybody up. Hopefully this'll go over well."

  Kicking up the bike stand, Emma swung her leg over the seat and began to call out for Stella, who was creeping behind the newcomers. Stella was so eerily quiet that Emma had forgotten she was there. As Emma waited for the dog to join her, Tom met Emma's gaze for the first time. He seemed to finally remember the chubby, frizzy-haired, redheaded girl who spent her days secluded in the high school library.

  They didn't break eye contact until Maddox began pushing Tom from behind.

  "C'mon, let's go," Maddox said. He turned to Emma. "Cousin, we'll see you up there."

  With that she sped away, cycling toward her little cabin on the hill, leaving Lyle to finish what was left of his night's watch. Since they hadn't heard a shot, the neighbors seemed to have returned to their cozy beds. Turning the corner to her redbrick driveway, Emma, as a result of the bumpy driveway, began bouncing up and down on the bike's seat. The bumpiness always made her regret not spending the extra money to have the driveway cemented.

  Cheap ass, she thought.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Emma smiled at Stella, who trotted loyally behind her. Stella's breathing implied that she wasn't even close to being winded. Emma, on the other hand, could have just lain down and slept for days. Between three growing girls and a jealous, needy pit bull, the chances of her finding peace and quiet were slim to none.

  After coasting to the porch, Emma dismounted, and leaned the bike against the railing of the porch. As she climbed the steps toward the obnoxious bell, she was nauseated with the thought of ringing it because she was certain everyone had drifted back to sleep. Standing before it, Emma shrugged her shoulders and thought, Oh well. She then rang the bell, jarring her neighbors awake.

  As Emma entered her cozy cabin, she made sure Stella's odoriferousness stayed outside. The animal Stella had devoured had left a putrid, rotting smell on the dog's fur that Emma would rather not have stinking up her home. Emma was pleased to find the girls getting dressed, and without her having to tell them they had added another log to the woodstove.

  "Y'all are too good to me." She sighed, collapsing on the couch. "Thank you."

  "Look, Miss Emma!" Claire exclaimed. "I got dressed and everything all by myself!"

  "Jesus Christ, Claire!" Jane shouted. "We're all dressed!" Jane's tolerance for her sisters had all but completely vanished in the past couple of weeks.

  "Don't take the Lord's name in vain," Emma scolded. "We must be civil to one another, all right? Family is all we have that keeps us going. Apologize to her now." Emma fumed, trying to keep her left eye from twitching. "Or you'll get to help Uncle Doolie plow the fields again."

  There was a long pause before, in response, Jane flipped Emma off and stormed dramatically from the house.

  "Well," Emma said. Looking at Lizzie and Claire, she donned her best British accent, and said, "That was uncalled for."

  "I wish she wouldn't be so mean," Lizzie said.

  "You and me both." Emma sighed, zipping up her jacket.

  Nowadays, Lizzie seemed frightened of everything, and scarcely got through the night without ending up next to Emma on the couch. Claire and Lizzie were the ones who constantly asked when their mommy and daddy were coming home. Their older sister behaved as though she couldn't care less. Jane spent most of her days moping around, behaving as a regular teenager would, but there weren't any social network sites for her to pass the time with. There was only one boy around her age, Ian, but Emma didn't approve. His older brothers, Matt and Ethan, were nothing but loafers, and Doolie was constantly on their case about needing to do their part. On many occasions, he had said of the two brothers, "It's poor parenting skills that spawn that type of incompetence."

  When the girls' parents had been around, they'd trusted Emma to look after their daughters. They were always busy with work. Working for a law firm was considered a big deal, even if the main office was located in their small town. Emma hadn't complained—they'd paid her good money, and for the most part the girls had been easy to handle. But once Jane was old enough to watch her sisters on her own, the parents had stopped calling the girl down the road who had no life—which is how Emma assumed they thought of her. It was at that point that Emma's second source of income—which she'd set aside for dream vacations—had ceased.

  Emma tied Claire's laces, and then made sure both of the girls' jackets were zipped up tightly. As they headed out the front door, Stella met up with them, and together they all trekked down the hill toward the dance hall. On their way Emma spotted the remains of the rabbit her companion had devoured. Stella was always killing things, and Emma considered her self-sufficiency a positive. If the neighbors were ever asked to part with their meals to feed Stella, they'd start wondering how she tasted.

  As they reached the bottom of the hill, Emma noticed Andy sitting in his designated spot at the picnic table. Luckily, there were a few others clearing the other side of the hill, their children following, dazed, at their sides.

  "Mo
rning, Andy," Emma said, ushering the girls past the back of his shiny, bald head.

  "You didn't have to yell at me," he replied, his lip quivering.

  "Maybe you'll listen at this meeting and know what's going on next time," she snapped.

  Lord have mercy on my soul, Emma thought. He needs a good slap in the face.

  After they reached the bar, Emma helped Claire and Lizzie climb on top of it. They constantly complained they couldn't see. She then turned around to realize Mrs. Maples had arrived.

  "When are we gonna start?" Mrs. Maples asked. "Huh?"

  The road's inhabitants called her Mrs. Maples, although her first name was Georgia. After all, she was their doctor—although technically, a retired nurse. The only person who felt comfortable calling Mrs. Maples by her first name was Doolie, and they hadn't gotten along since Emma was a child. Emma believed the reason was because there were too many similarities between Doolie and Mrs. Maples. People who were as fierce and demanding as they were typically couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other.

  "Shouldn't be too long," Emma answered. "Just waiting for the rest to show up."

  It wasn't until the picnic table was full that Claire tugged at Emma's sleeve.

  "Here they come," she whispered.

  "All right, now," Emma said. "It's time to be quiet and listen. Okay, Claire? Turn your listening ears on. You too, Lizzie."

  Nodding in response, they turned their golden heads toward Emma's kin, who were leading the strangers their way.

  "Who's that with Doolie?" Andy asked as he caught on to what everyone else was gawking at.

  "That's what the meeting is about. It'll be fine. Don't worry."

  Instead of inquiring further, Andy continued to stare with a petrified look upon his face. Obviously, he didn't like strangers. The fact that Andy was counted among their strong, able-bodied men proved her point that they needed more of them.

  As the newcomers cleared the steps of the hall, all eyes were glued to them. The neighbors had a glimmer of hope that lingered in some of their gazes. Emma assumed most of them were thinking that because Tom and Cooper had found their way there, maybe other missing loved ones would also find their way back home.

  When he reached Emma's side, Doolie looked at her, widened his eyes, and took a deep breath before starting.

  "Morning, everybody. I promise I won't keep y'all away from your beds too long." He awkwardly clapped his hands together. "Sooo, yeeeah. As you can see, we have some new folks with us. And as everyone knows, we need help around here."

  Startling Emma, Doolie leaned over her shoulder, and whispered, "You sure?"

  "Positive." She nodded, noticing that Tom was straining to hear.

  "We're taking them in," Doolie continued, addressing the group once again.

  "So," Mrs. Maples interjected. "what you're saying is this ain't up for discussion?"

  "That's right," he said. "It ain't. This is Tom, and this is Cooper. They're brothers. And we are gonna welcome them with open arms, and teach them our ways."

  "What are we expected to do?" Tom asked.

  "If he ain't willing to work, they need to carry their asses!" someone from the group in the corner shouted.

  "They're gonna have to prove their worth if I'm gonna share my bread with them!" someone from one of the other groups exclaimed.

  "Shut your traps!" Doolie shouted. "Now! Everybody, quiet!"

  Settling down, everyone clamped their lips shut with frightened expressions on their faces, and waited for their leader to continue.

  With a wave of his hand in the two brothers' direction, Doolie said, "Let's just ask the boys what they can contribute. Is that okay with everyone? Hmmm? Okay," he said. He turned his attention to Tom, who had once been his daughter's classmate. "What can you do for us?"

  Chapter 2:

  Tom & Cooper

  Stepping forward, Tom paused to scan the crowd. The faces of strangers who were scared, angry, and burdened with worry, stared them down. He sensed they had worked hard to shield their community from the outside world. He agreed with them: Anyone outside of these walls could not be trusted, and those people were the furthest thing from friendly. Just four days ago, the brothers had been made aware of that fact.

  ***

  Due to the hostility brewing between their father and Tom, the brothers had been forced to part from the comfort of their home dozens of miles back. Two and a half years ago had marked the end of the War on Terror, and the tension between Tom and his father had tripled since the day Tom had returned from his tour in Syria.

  Their father was the poorest excuse for a caregiver either brother could think of—and an abusive drunk as well.

  When the bombs had fallen, some people had been relieved that the gutless monsters behind the brutal killings were dead. But there were others who believed the attack was just as cowardly as the enemy had been to them. Like the rest of the nation, Cooper had mixed feelings, but he knew better than to bring it up in front of the older men of the house. Wiping out the terrorists was at the top of Tom's list, but he couldn't repress his guilt for the innocents who they hadn't bothered evacuating in time.

  ***

  As they had traveled along the desolate back roads of East Texas, it felt as though they had been walking for weeks, but it had only been a measly couple of days. When they had begun their journey, Tom and Cooper had a substantially low food supply, but after only a couple of days it was nearly nonexistent. The conditions of their environment were harsh, and the season's bitterly cold winds smashed against their raw and cracked skin. When night was upon them, they were forced to warm themselves with their combined body heat.

  But despite the aching pains that plagued them, they trudged forward.

  Rarely had Tom ever fit breaks into their schedule. Together, they labeled their desperate quest to find civilization as "The Soul-sucking March Through the World We Once Knew."

  They longed for the day they could no longer see the breath billowing from their chapped lips or had runny noses. More often than not, Tom would turn to catch his brother behaving as though he were a fire-breathing dragon. To accomplish the effect, Cooper would hiss and roar loudly. Usually these great performances ended with him choking on the "smoke" escaping his mouth. Putting it mildly, Cooper's childish quirks were getting on his older brother's nerves.

  At only twelve years old, Cooper hadn't harnessed the skill of keeping his complaints to himself. There were many times the urge to leave him behind crept into the back of Tom's skull. For a solid twenty-four hours, he had contemplated this, but Tom's conscience ended up getting the better of him.

  To aid Tom with keeping his mind from convincing him to do such an unforgivable act, he often thought of his mother. Her name had been Sally Gripter. He had loved her—he'd never shown it, but he had. The day she committed suicide, Tom had been only sixteen years old, and it had taken a steep toll on him.

  The outside world had had no knowledge of the pain Sally had endured behind the closed doors during her childhood. Before she'd married Tom's father, she'd already known how it felt to be abused. In the depths of the home she grew up in, her father had verbally abused both Sally and her mother. But when she married their father, she was to experience another level of abuse.

  Guilt for her death was what plagued Tom. What kept him from forgiving himself was the fact that Sally had suffered beating after beating just so her son would never have to know how it felt to be stripped of all dignity and pride.

  On that fateful night, instead of choosing to help her, Tom had continued to play video games. The truth was that he had been just as frightened of Ross as she had been. It didn't matter how loudly he played the music or cranked up the volume on his television—he could still hear the screams of pain.

  Later that night, Tom had fallen asleep blaring Nirvana, worrying about his mother, but not enough to check on her. The next morning, in a daze from his rocky night of sleep and deafening headphones, Tom had stumbled dow
n the hall and arrived at the bathroom, failing to notice the note on the door that said, "Don't come in. Call the police." At first he had thought she was bathing, but then he realized she hadn't locked the door. Splatters of blood staining the rim of the tub were the second thing he'd noticed. The pistol rested beside her right thigh. The tub was empty of water. The small opening in the middle of her chest had doused her white nightgown with blood. His mother's face had stared back at him.

  Despite the grisly scene, for a moment he'd expected her to wake and scold him for not knocking first. Ross had been nowhere to be found. Tom had figured his father had fled when he heard the shot that his son's loud music had drowned out. Sally had pulled the trigger, but the bruises plaguing her body had raised the suspicion of the authorities. They'd questioned Tom, and he wasn't hesitant to give Ross away. With the information Tom had provided, the police were able to locate Ross downtown at Dixon's Bar. In the past, Sally had always known that if he was there, she'd be free of his torment until the next morning. When Ross was arrested, he'd had the gall to ask Tom if she'd left a note. Although she had, Tom had chosen not to share her last words with anyone.

  He'd found the folded paper stashed away in the top drawer of his dresser. Inside the letter's folds was Sally's gold cross, which her mother had passed down to her. Sally's words had been simple and to the point: "Forgive me. I love you." Before the trial commenced, the court had placed a restraining order against Ross that prohibited him from being within three hundred yards of Tom. He was charged with domestic abuse, and was sentenced to one year in county jail with three years probation.

  At sixteen, Tom had been a minor, so the court sent him to live with his closest living relative, his grandmother—whom Tom had only had the pleasure of meeting once. Grandma Alice had been Ross's mother, and she loathed her son just as much as Tom did, so they got along well. One year wasn't nearly long enough to grieve, but during the time Tom had spent with her, Grandma Alice filled his days with the thrill of horseback riding, and she'd taught him everything she knew about horses. Alice was an animal lover and wasn't fond of people, which was obvious due to her lack of guests. "Nothing but damaged creatures," she would say. "Nothing but. At least horses don't talk."