by Tawni Waters
I walk home quickly, the heavy bag bouncing on my back. I go to my room and lock the door. Unzipping the backpack, I whisper a prayer to Iggy’s God of light. “Let the letters be okay.” And they are. A little wrinkled, a little faded, but I can read every single word. They are like a math problem with many parts, but when you finally figure out the solution, you get one word: LOVE. When I finish reading them, tears and snot are running down my face. Mara isn’t by the river anymore. She’s inside me, and she’s loved, and she knows what she has to do.
I go to my daddy, who is sitting on the couch watching television. “Daddy, Henry didn’t rape me.”
“What?” he says, blinking.
“Henry didn’t rape me. He saved me.” I go to the door and pull on my shoes. “Elijah Winchell raped me. I’m going to tell the police what really happened.”
“No!” Daddy jumps out of his seat so fast, I barely know what is happening. He stands between me and the door, holding it shut.
“You can’t do this, Mara.”
I stare at him. “What do you mean I can’t do this?”
“The whole town knows Henry did it.”
“Well, he didn’t.” I finish tying my bootlace and stand up.
“Elijah Winchell couldn’t do that.”
“Yes, he could.” The rock-steadiness of my voice surprises me. “He could, and he did. I was there. And I’m not letting Henry go to jail for it.”
“You’re not thinking straight,” Daddy says. “Everyone knows that little heathen raped you.”
I’m stunned. My daddy is too worried about his reputation to care about the truth, to care who really raped me. Sure, Daddy tried to kill Iggy and Momma. But I didn’t think he would defend someone who raped his own daughter. He’s just like Lot in that story about Sodom and Gomorrah. “Go ahead and take my daughters,” he said to the rapists. My daddy is just like him. He’s thinking about the way people will look at us in church. He’s thinking he will never be able to walk tall through town again. In his book he is the only one that counts. His wife and children are just nameless extras, like in the Bible stories.
But I’m not nameless. My name is Mara, and I matter. I feel strength fill me, from my toes up.
I look Daddy straight in his piggy eyes. “Daddy, I swear to God, I’m telling the truth. Henry’s my friend. Henry saved me. If you think I’m letting him go to jail for something Elijah did, you can think again.”
Daddy doesn’t move. I don’t know why, but I’m not afraid of him right now. The worst has already happened to me. What else do I have to lose?
“Fine.” I start toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Daddy hollers.
“I’m going to climb out my goddamn window!” I yell back. “You think I never climbed a tree before? Then I’ll tell the police the truth, and I’ll tell them you knew, and you lied, and you’ll go to jail for a million years.”
I hear Daddy running up behind me. I whirl around. “Don’t you fucking touch me!” I scream.
He stops short. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.
“Get out of my way.”
He doesn’t move, so I push him aside and walk past him, out the door, into the brilliant fall colors and the blazing yellow sun.
CHAPTER 26
MARA LYNN STONEBROOK!” DADDY’S VOICE booms with fury through the fog of my sleep. At first I think it’s just one of my bad dreams, but then I hear it again. I open my eyes. I look at the clock: 12:22. It’s been hours since I went to the police station and told them all about what Elijah did. Is Daddy just now getting pissed enough to do something about it?
Sitting up, I call out, “Yeah, Daddy?” My guts twist with terror. Whatever made me not afraid of him earlier is gone. Right now I’m not brave at all. I’m scared shitless.
“Get your little ass down here,” he bellows. When I don’t move or say anything, he yells, “Now!”
I’m scared to go to him, but more scared to disobey, so I step out of bed. The floor is cold, so cold I think I might freeze into one of those ice sculptures they show on the Food Network. I hope I will anyway, but I don’t. By the time I get downstairs, my heart’s beating so hard, I’m afraid it’s going to blow up.
Daddy’s standing in the living room with his back to me, looking out the window, holding something in his hand. A paper. The paper is shaking. Daddy’s hand is shaking, along with his whole body. He’s that mad. My feet want to run, but before they can, Daddy turns, wearing that same devil face he had the day he beat Iggy with the two-by-four.
“What in the name of the sweet Lord Jesus is this?” he asks, holding up the paper.
When I see what’s on it, I know I don’t need to answer him. He already knows what it is. It’s a full-page print of me and Xylia kissing by the river. That’s what it is.
“Someone rang the doorbell and left this on the porch,” Daddy says. I guess Elijah kept his promise.
Daddy starts toward me, and I know, just know, that after all these years of being the one he never hurt, I’m actually going to be the one he kills. Told you he’d kill someone, a voice inside my head says.
“Russ!” Momma’s voice comes from behind me. “What’s going on?”
“Your daughter is a fucking abomination, that’s what’s going on.” He waves the picture at her. Momma walks toward him. When she gets close enough to see what’s on the picture, she covers her mouth with her hands. She moans.
Everything moves slow for a second. The lace curtains rustle in the breeze. Daddy takes two more steps toward me.
“Russ, no!” Momma lunges at Daddy, and he backhands her. She falls, her nose oozing blood. That’s when I run. But I’m not fast enough. Daddy grabs the back of my nightgown. It rips all the way down, until it’s split in two, like those gowns Momma and Iggy and I had to wear in the hospital. Momma screams, “Russ, you’ll hurt her like you hurt Iggy!”
“Shut up, bitch!” She clutches at him, but he pushes her. This time she hits her head on the floor. It makes a loud crack. I wonder if it’s broken. It must not be, because she starts crawling toward Daddy. She’s gonna try to kill him before he kills me. I can see the fury in her eyes.
“Daddy, I’m sorry!” I scream, but he doesn’t hear, or he doesn’t care.
“Abomination!” he yells. Something slams into the side of my head. My skull feels like it explodes, and a knife of pain shoots right through my eyes. For a second I’m blind. Then I’m just falling, and everything is blurry.
Then the floor is cold. I’m screaming to wake the dead, waiting for his boot to come down and stomp me, the way Elijah killed the worm in class.
Nothing happens.
I don’t know Iggy is in the room until I hear his voice. His words are measured and slow. “Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. My. Sister.”
He looms large in the doorway, wearing loose pajama pants and a T-shirt that says, BE ALL YOU CAN BE. His see-clear-through-you eyes are out. He holds the rifle Daddy bought him for his eighteenth birthday. Its barrel is pointed straight at Daddy’s face.
Shoot him, Iggy, I think, imagining Daddy’s brains spraying all over the sofa the way the rabbit’s sprayed all over the grass. The Daddy I loved that day, before the rabbit died, is a million miles away.
Iggy takes a step forward. “I swear to God, I will fucking kill you!” He glances down at me. “Get up, Sis.” I’m too scared to move, so he says it again. “Get up.”
He looks at Momma, who is frozen on all fours, stunned. “You too, Momma,” he says. Momma scrambles to her feet, steadying herself against the wall.
When I try to stand, I’m dizzy. I stumble forward, right into Iggy. The gun clatters to the floor, and Iggy wraps his arms around me tight, kisses the top of my head. He keeps his mouth there for minute, so my scalp gets hot with his breath.
“You okay, Sis?” he asks, and I don’t know if I am or not, so I just bury my face in his shirt, breathing the smell of him, loving it, loving him, finally knowing for sure who is w
hose angel here.
“You fucking punk!” Daddy screams.
Then everything happens so fast. Iggy pushes me to the couch, and Daddy lunges for the gun. Iggy’s quick and young, and his hands get to the rifle butt first. Again the gun is pointed at Daddy, and Iggy says, “You will never touch us again.”
Daddy’s nostrils flare, and he swings at Iggy.
Iggy uses the rifle like a club. The barrel slams into Daddy’s skull. Daddy falls to the floor. “Listen, you old, fat fuck,” Iggy says. “I told you. You. Will. Never. Touch. Us. Again.”
“Oh yeah, retard?” Daddy says through clenched teeth, “What are you gonna do if I do?”
Iggy’s eyes glow so bright, so far away, so crazy. He smiles this eerie smile. “I’ll kill you, Daddy,” Iggy promises. “I’ll kill you.”
The rifle butt slams into the side of Daddy’s head. Daddy falls to the floor. I look at him, hoping he’s dead, but he’s not. His eyes are closed, but the rise and fall of his chest tells me he’s still breathing.
Iggy goes to him, stands over him like a tower. “You’re the only abomination in this house.”
He marches out of the room, carrying the gun that Daddy gave him, the one that meant he was a man.
CHAPTER 27
AFTER IGGY HITS DADDY WITH the gun, me and Iggy race out the door. We try to get Momma to come too, but she won’t leave Daddy.
“Are you sure, Momma?” I ask, and she just nods. We don’t have time to wait around for her to change her mind, and we don’t have time to call Xylia’s mom. We just walk to her house in our pajamas. My shoes were upstairs, so I’m wearing Daddy’s, and they make flopping noises on the road. Somewhere far away a coyote howls.
Juliette is wearing her kimono when she answers the door. “Oh, my God. Are you kids okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I think we are now.” It’s sorta true. I’m still shaking, and my head hurts, but I’m alive, and I’m so grateful to Iggy, and to Momma. Both of them loved me enough to fight for me.
Juliette leads us to the kitchen. “Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks as she makes us hot tea.
I say I can’t just then.
Iggy and me sleep together, curled up in Xylia’s bed. It still smells like her, and it makes me miss her so much. When we wake up in the morning, the house smells warm and cinnamony.
We go to the kitchen, and Juliette puts a bran muffin on a plate for each of us. She doesn’t even say good morning before she asks, “Should I call the police?” Her forehead is wrinkled with concern.
Iggy and I both say, “No!” Iggy seems normal as he eats his muffin, like he did before the brain injury. He’s been himself since last night.
We eat fast, and then I tell Iggy it’s time to go. I’ve spent my whole life keeping Daddy’s secrets. The thought of ratting him out terrifies me. And besides, what would the cops do even if Juliette did call them? Probably nothing, and then Daddy would be even madder. I know if we stay any longer, Juliette will keep pushing, not because she’s trying to interfere, but because she cares. She doesn’t understand though. She doesn’t understand Barnaby. She doesn’t understand the cops. Most of all she doesn’t understand my daddy.
As we walk home, cows low, and I wish I was in their fields with them, petting their soft noses.
We don’t say much. I keep trying to tell myself everything’s changed. Daddy will be humble from now on, and Iggy will be king. Still, fear gnaws at my belly.
When we get to the door of our house, Daddy steps onto the porch. Momma runs outside after him, wailing. They’ve obviously been fighting for a while.
“I’m done giving charity to your bastard son,” Daddy seethes.
“Please! He’s just a boy!” Momma begs.
“If he’s man enough to strike me, he’s man enough to get out of my house.”
I didn’t think I could hate him any more than I already did, but it turns out I can.
Daddy lets Iggy inside the house long enough to pack a suitcase. Iggy is surprisingly calm. Normally he’d be crying, but he seems to understand that he has to keep his wits about him. He shoves T-shirts and jeans into his suitcase with his strong hands.
“I’ll be fine, Momma,” he says, just like the old Iggy would have.
I wonder if last night was a miracle. I wonder if my big brother is back for good. My heart swells with hope. The doctor said Iggy might get better.
Momma folds Iggy’s blanket and puts it in the suitcase, telling him all about her cousin Wanda in Albuquerque. I remember meeting her a couple of times when I was little, but me and Iggy weren’t exactly close to her. Still, Momma writes her address on a piece of paper and gives it to Iggy.
“When you get off the bus, just find a taxi to take you here,” she tells him. “I already called Wanda and told her you were coming.”
That scares me. I hope Iggy’s better, but what if he’s not? He won’t know how to get a taxi. He’s never even seen one. “Momma, why can’t Wanda just pick him up at the bus station?”
She looks at me with desperate eyes. “Wanda doesn’t have a car. She’s barely sane herself, Mara.” She says this as if it’s my fault.
“I thought she made forty dollars an hour as a hairdresser.”
“She used to!” Momma says. “Years ago.” She seems exasperated at my ignorance, like I should know everything about her hairdresser cousin. “She’s an alcoholic now.”
Great, I think. Just like Momma.
“Well, we can’t count on Iggy remembering to give the taxi driver the address.”
“I’ll be fine, Sis,” Iggy says. He hugs me, and I inhale the smell of him, feeling so many things. Love. Hope. Terror.
Momma glares at me. “He’ll be fine, Mara. Don’t even think that way.”
Iggy lets go of me and returns to packing. Behind him, the sun casts orange light over the corn plants, setting them ablaze. Iggy has a glow around him.
Daddy stomps into the room. “Time to get a move on.”
A few minutes later we stand on the porch. Daddy leans against the railing, eating a pear. He chews so loud, I want to punch him. Pear juice dribbles down his chin.
“What if he forgets where to go, Daddy?” I ask, sobbing.
“That’s not my fucking problem.”
“Even if I don’t live here, I swear to God, if you touch Mara, I will find you,” Iggy says. He has that crazy, murderous look again. Daddy walks back into the house without saying a word. I’m starting to like that look of Iggy’s.
Me and Momma drive Iggy to the bus station. When Momma goes to buy Iggy a ticket, I tell her maybe we should buy three.
“Where would I get that kind of money? I’m lucky your daddy gave me enough for Iggy’s bus fare and taxi,” Momma snaps.
Iggy puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”
We stand by the bus, hugging like crazy, saying “I love you” over and over. The driver leans against the bus, smoking a cigarette. He throws it on the ground and snuffs it out with the toe of his boot. “You coming?” he asks Iggy.
“Here, Iggy,” Momma sobs, pressing a wad of bills into his palm. “Just hail a cab as soon as you get there. Don’t forget to show them that address I gave you. Wanda will help you look for a job.”
I’m still not convinced Iggy will remember all that when he gets to Albuquerque, but I try to be hopeful. We’re due for some good luck. Maybe this is it. Maybe my brother is back, and he’s going to get a job and come for me.
“Remember how you told me you were gonna leave this place and be something great?” I ask.
Iggy nods. “I do.”
“This is it. This is your chance.”
Iggy hugs me hard one last time before he gets on the bus. “We’ll be back together soon, Sis.”
I sort of believe him. After he comes for me, we can both go to San Francisco.
Iggy climbs the bus stairs. The door closes behind him. As the bus drives away, Iggy waves at me.
When Momma
and me get home from the bus station, Daddy is sitting in his chair in front of the TV, watching some talk show. I expect him to attack me, but he just stares.
“Cora, get me a sandwich” is all he says. He pretends I’m not there.
After Momma makes Daddy a BLT, we go to her room and leaf through photo albums. Momma tears up a lot, looking at two-year-old Iggy playing in the snow and six-year-old Iggy swinging on a tire and eighteen-year-old Iggy all dressed up in Daddy’s suit for graduation. We talk about the pictures, waiting for Iggy to call. After a few hours the silence starts to feel heavy. It suffocates us. When I stand to go to bed, Momma says, “He’ll call soon. Don’t worry.” Nothing makes me worry more than when Momma tells me not to worry.
As soon as I wake up the next morning, I run to the kitchen, hoping Momma will have good news about Iggy. She’s on the phone. “What do you mean he never came?” she sobs. I want to punch her. I want to punch myself. How could we have been so stupid to think that Iggy could handle taking a taxi? Momma hangs up. “I’m going to the cops,” she declares, pulling her bathrobe closed.
Momma drives to the police station in her robe. I ride along in my pajamas, not caring what people think. The receptionist tells Sheriff Perkins we’re there, and before we know it, we’re sitting in his office.
“Coffee?” He smooths his red mustache, which reminds me of the bristle brush Daddy uses to shine his shoes.
I shake my head. The very thought turns my stomach.
“My son is missing!” Momma sobs.
Slouched behind his desk, sipping from a mug with an American eagle painted on the side, Sheriff Perkins tells her to come back in two days. “Iggy’s of age,” he points out.
“He’s not in his right mind!” I say.
“Come back in two days,” Sheriff Perkins says again.
In the evening, Momma sits on the porch, watching the sunset crumble. She drinks straight from a vodka bottle. No glass. “I have the sickest feeling, Mara.”
