Tarnished

by Erica Chilson

  Kennedy Holler always represented home, solace- safety. Even after Daddy sold the land, he made sure we had a life lease on the deed so we could stay connected to our roots. Annie never questioned, somehow understanding, when Daddy, Donny, Bren, and I would squeeze in my pickup truck and drive home.

  No matter the season, we’d open all the windows, crank the stereo, and drive like a bat out of hell on the rutty dirt roads. It was freedom, and it’s been more than five years since I’ve experienced the sheer joy, and I’ve lost my soul in the process.

  After Daddy died, we bought the land back, but it was still missing that essential spark only Granddaddy’s house and Daddy brought to it. After Willa, I forgot our ritual because driving to Kennedy Holler meant something else entirely. With that, not only did I neglect myself, I neglected my daddy’s memory.

  Tomorrow marks twelve years since Daddy and Annie passed, and five years since our lives were rocked to the core. With Dr. Cassidy’s help, knowing tomorrow morning, on the anniversary, I have to spill my soul, I decided it was now or never.

  Windows down, humid summer air whipping me in the face, X Ambassadors’ Jungle reverberating from the speakers, I drive with wild abandon. Trees zip by close to the shoulders of the road. Rocks spit out from beneath my tires around every bend and curve. Up and down I fly through the hills.

  “Howdy, ya drunk bastard!” I shout at the top of my lungs as I pass the turn to Gillette Holler, surprised to see Corbin mending the fence. I flip him off, and he shocks me once again by smiling and laughing while shaking his head back and forth, looking decades younger like when we were teenagers.

  I’ve been to Gillette Holler every few months or so for the past several years, but I never passed the turn off to go up home, some commanding force not allowing me to drive farther on.

  Today, I succeed.

  Cresting one last hill, my foot turns heavy on the gas pedal, and down I go as fast as the truck will allow. Hitting the bottom at seventy miles an hour, my stomach hits me in the throat from the G-force as the truck curves back up the next incline.

  With a loud bellow of a whoop, I ride the road like a child does a roller coaster. Heart beating in my throat, it’s not the excitement revving my system.

  At the quarter mark up the hill, I crank the wheel hard, tires rumbling over a heavy rut from the creek water runoff. Nuts pounding into the seat, I don’t slow until I pop out the tunnel of trees on either side of the drive.

  Two decades ago, the view would have been a well-maintained tiny two-story shack, flowering shrubs and trees, and a woodshed that always needed a fresh coat of paint, even if it was just painted the season before. There was always smoke billowing from the chimney and Granddaddy sitting on the porch.

  A decade ago, our roots were gone, and in their place was a cookie-cutter modular home, which sat nestled in a circular drive, with a pole barn on the side. There was no smoke because there was no chimney. There was no Granddaddy on the porch because there was no porch and Granddaddy and Daddy passed long ago.

  Today… today sits an empty expanse of land as far as the eye can see, which isn’t far because it’s a flat nestled deep in the mountains, surrounded with lush green, wildlife, and history.

  Emotions suffocating me, seeing is believing, reality hits me. Hard.

  One of the storage units I own is filled with everything from Donny’s house. Tucked safe and sound away from harm. They’re our memories from generations ago until five years ago. Handmade furniture, my grandmother’s quilts, our picture albums. I couldn’t handle looking at them, sorting through them, knowing I’d tarnished our lineage.

  My brother gave me everything he owned, knowing his sentence would be for most of his adult life. I couldn’t bear it, knowing I was the reason he was in prison, no matter how many times I tried with all my might to get my brain to blame Corbin instead.

  After the trial, the police even gave back my baseball bat and Granddaddy’s truncheon, like I’d want a constant reminder of the suffering they caused. To this day, I’ve never been able to hold a bat, let alone watch America’s favorite pastime.

  Hands gripping my steering wheel, X Ambassadors singing about holding onto me because I’m a little unsteady, a wasp buzzing my face, I stare into oblivion with tears coursing down my cheeks.

  With the house empty, Corbin took care of the rest at Donny’s bidding.

  The house where nightmares were made. The house, which stood on this piece of land for all of seven years, burned in the night, leaving nothing but ash to fertilize the ground.

  With a fierce urge, the need to resurrect the past overpowers me. I remember every single knot in the wood of Granddaddy’s house. I could have an architect recreate it on this very land.

  But you can’t recapture the past. You can’t find comfort in what no longer exists. To hang onto the past is to ignore your present and stop your future.

  The day Annie died, Daddy was taking her to the baby doctor in a nearby city. If tragedy hadn’t struck, Annie and I would be living in town, Brennan would be going off to college the day after next if he’d done well in school, or he’d be in a dead-end job just like his father– me.

  Our little girl would be eleven years old, with brown flowing hair and huge brown eyes and not much of a future unless she studied hard or married a man who studied harder. She’d be running around the yard while Annie was inside taking care of the chores. Carefree, trailing a girly giggle I’ll never hear.

  Our trailer had a porch, so depending on ailments, Daddy would have been sitting outside, watching the townsfolk walk by after working too hard at his dead-end job to put food in our bellies.

  Donny would be married for the fourth or fifth time to some bar hog who hoped he’d take care of her. She’d sleep all day and carouse all night, and he’d make excuses for her treating him like shit, just like he did with wives one and two. They’d live in the side yard in Donny’s trailer, just as it had been before Daddy and Annie passed.

  Donny would sit on his porch with Daddy on ours, and they’d have a shouting match of a conversation across the lawn where my nameless daughter played.

  We’d be poor. We’d struggle just to put food in our bellies and to take the chill from our bones, but we would’ve been happy because of the love we felt for one another.

  That vision of the present burst in a ball of flames in the center of the interstate, killing my daddy, my wife, and my unborn daughter. But if it hadn’t, so many things would be different. I wouldn’t trade Hayden and Hayley for a child I never met. Nor would I trade Kaden, Warren, Penny, Copper, Willa, and Wynn, and all of Rusty Knob’s futures to resurrect the dead.

  Our lives are what they are because they are meant to be that way. We can’t live in the past, and it’s time for me to let it go. To release the truth so I can finally live in the here and now instead of being a ghost in the present.

  With a deep breath, I release, “I’m ready,” feeling fortified by Kennedy land.

  House of Horrors

  Five Years Ago

  “Are you doing good, bub?” I reach over to pat my son’s leg as we drive up to Donny’s place. “I know today is a difficult day for all of us.”

  “Dad, I’m fine.” Brennan’s voice is dry, almost bored sounding. “You’ve asked me that for the past few days straight. I-I… I’ve spent more time without Mom than I remember being with her. I miss her. But–”

  “But this is our life now, right?” I coax. “We should be comfortable in the present, but don’t ever lose what memories you do have. It’s why on the anniversary, no matter what, we visit the cemetery, and then spend time together as a family.”

  “I know,” Bren breathes out, no doubt wishing he was in town with his buddies where he could forget what today meant. “What I meant was… I don’t know if I miss Mom, or if I miss not having a mom. If that makes any sense. So this just feels uncomfortable for me, because everyone’s upset and I’m numb.”

  “You’re almost fourteen,
so I’ve got to start treating you like a young man now.”

  Bren bays a laugh, and it’s jarring after a day of quiet reflection. “You mean how you treat Kade like a man?” Snorts bubble up, one right after the other. “He’s nineteen, and you still make him call you from school every night before he goes to bed.”

  Suddenly furious, “Brennan Honor Kennedy, don’t bait me into an argument just so you can hide outside with your cellphone instead of spending the day with family. We’re not mourning their deaths anymore,” I remind my son. “We’re celebrating their lives by sharing memories. I know it hurts, but it’s a good hurt.”

  “Good hurt?” Bren scoffs, and I have to remind myself for the billionth time that the teenage years only last until he goes to college. But then I remember how Kade is still a pain in the ass and decide that they will finally behave around age thirty. Which is a terrifying revelation since I’m only thirty-four myself.

  It’s a long road before we escape the asshole years, and I’ve got two more coming up the ranks behind him.

  “Just suffer through today for me.” I squeeze Bren’s knee, and then put my hand back on the stick shift. “For me. Please. Your mother was my wife, remember that. I lost my life that day. A wife. A daughter. My father. You may not have had them in your life for long, but they were my life for twenty-six years, and now they’re gone. So treat your uncle and me with respect and don’t start fights to get out of suffering through this with us. You’re a Kennedy.”

  “Guilt-trip level ten,” Bren grumbles, and then releases a chuckle. “Mom would be proud of you.”

  I turn to share a grin with my son. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. That’s the kind of thing worth remembering. Then someday when you have kids, you’ll see parts of your mother in them, whether it be how they smile, or the way they say a certain word. Then you will be thankful you were forced to remember, so that you could look your child in the eyes and see your mother shining back.”

  Face whipping to look out the passenger window, “I’m not feeling so numb anymore.” Bren sniffles. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Bren doesn’t sound too thankful to my ears, which makes my grin wider. “Anytime, kid,” I mutter as we pull into Donny’s driveway. “Anytime.”

  Before the tires roll to a complete stop, Brennan is slipping out the passenger door, trying to get away from me in a confined space. “Corbin’s here,” he points out. “This will be interesting.”

  “Fuck,” I snarl as I get out of my truck.

  Bren walks backward chattering at me, taunting like we’re on the basketball court. “I’m waiting for you and Corbin to arm-wrestle over Uncle Donny, with Willa as the ref, and me and the twins as the spectators.”

  “Just you wait,” I warn Bren. “Hayden will be jealous of your buddies, feeling left out, and then you’ll understand.”

  “Nah,” Bren shakes his head no. “We’re too far apart in age. Plus, Hayden’s uncle is one of my buddies. You are a freakin’ weirdo, is what you are.” Still walking backward, I don’t warn Bren he’s nearing the front steps because he’s being a little asshole. “Let your brother have his own friends. You should get your–”

  Clunk.

  My lips twist. I try my damnedest not to laugh as Bren’s arms pinwheel as he flounders to stay on his feet. “Karma,” flows from my mouth when my boy lands on his ass on the bottom stair tread.

  Laughing with me as I laugh at him, I offer Brennan a hand up. “You forgot something, son… You seemed to have forgotten how jealous you get when Kade or Wynn has friends who want nothing to do with you.” I raise a knowing eyebrow and my boy looks away guiltily. “If you behave, I will.”

  “Pfft!” Bren dusts his behind off. “It took forever to get Wynn to like me.” Stilling, my son implores me with huge brown eyes. “I won’t make fun of you, and I’ll even enlist Warren’s help, but you’ve got to continue Wynn and Kade keep-away. ‘Kay?”

  “Sure, kid.” I ruffle up his hair. “You’re not at all jealous.”

  “If they become friends, Wynn won’t have nothing to do with me anymore and Kade won’t give you any attention, either. It’s hard work keeping a brother.”

  “Fair enough,” I allow, but that’s not the real reason I’m playing keep-away with my foster son and Willa’s baby brother. No sense in repeating history.

  If Willa’s my succubus, then Wynn would be Kade’s incubus. Best not go down that particular road.

  “Showtime,” I mutter out the corner of my mouth to Bren as I open the front door. “Hello. Hello. Anybody home?”

  We step in to find Corbin hanging out in the kitchen with my kids in his arms. I hate Corbin so much sometimes because he makes it hard to hate his guts. Like now, when he’s obviously being a good grandfather, and it leaves me feeling confused.

  I’ve never understood how such an ornery bastard can look so pretty when he’s relaxed and happy. Obviously Willa gets her looks from her father, and that freaks me out some, too.

  “Where’s my brother? Willa?” I ask, not moving past the entrance, but Bren has no such qualms.

  “Hey, Mr. Gillette.” My son walks right up to the bastard with a smile on his face, and then lifts a wailing Hayley from his arms. My son has bigger balls than I do because he’s not terrified of Corbin Gillette.

  “Bren! BREN! BRENNAN!” Hayley is shouting her little head off, wiggling around to get into her brother’s arms, and it makes me laugh. The twins just turned three, and their favorite pastime is screaming at us and running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

  “Hayley?” Bren coos to soothe her. “I’m right here, girl.” Settling her in his arms, he grunts, “You sure are a little chunk, aren’t you?”

  “Dad-dy! Dad-dy! Daddy!” Has my feet moving forward without thought. Raising an eyebrow in challenge, Corbin passes my little guy to me.

  “I never told them to call me that.” I blush bright red, loving the sound but fearing what will happen if Hayden says it around mixed company. The instant he settles in my arms, he quiets and my heart bursts with love. “I’ve missed you,” I murmur against the top of his head, nuzzling his hair.

  “You keeping my son in line?” Corbin chats softly with Bren while I get lost in my tiny children. Snuggling Hayden, his hands stretch out for his twin sister. Corbin helps to settle both kids in my arms so they can interlock like puzzle pieces. They simmer down the instant they’re both cuddled in my arms– safe and sound where they belong.

  “Sure am, Mr. Gillette,” Bren chatters back. They have an odd rapport, Corbin and Brennan. It’s the same as how easily Corbin and Donny get along, and it makes me feel left out all over again.

  I can admit I’m jealous, seeing as how since Annie died the only friend I have is my brother, and he splits his time between Corbin and Sean. I hate Sean because he’s a terrorist. But my issues with Corbin are of the green-eyed variety. Plus, he’s a rotten bastard.

  “Have you been enjoying your summer?” I roll my eyes at the man who treats his youngest like shit while talking my boy up. If my hands weren’t full of cuddly toddlers, I’d punch the asshole.

  “Brennan’s summer is spent a lot different than Wynn’s,” spills out my mouth without a filter. “He doesn’t have to work at the Circle K under the table to pay my tab, and he doesn’t have to work for a relative to get his ass out of my house for the weekend.”

  “Huh?” Corbin grunts. “Here I thought my boy was pretending to work for you so it wouldn’t look so fucking odd that your brother’s children were spending every weekend with you. Between all that shit and Warren visiting when the cutter still lived in your house, it’s like you’re running a fucking summer camp.”

  “The cutter?” Bren snorts, loving Corbin’s twisted sense of humor– the asshole knows exactly who Kaden is, seeing as how he’s the originator of the Kade and Wynn keep-away. “I’ma start calling Kade that next time I see him.”

  “Explain to me why you know what Sean has over my brother and I don’t?”
Now I’m just being an asshole, but it rankles me that Corbin doesn’t talk like a hillbilly when he’s sober. When he’s drunk, I can’t even decipher what the hell he’s saying.

  Asshole.

  “I just– Jesus Christ, sometimes I just want to punch you, you judgmental fuck,” Corbin hisses into my face. “You’re not ten years old anymore and annoying the piss out of Donny and me while we tried to get away from ya. We’ve been trying to include you, but you have a long memory and won’t let the shit go.”

  “You used to beat me up,” I grumble, squeezing my kids tighter.

  “I’ma start it up again if you don’t knock your shit off. Donny’s having a hard time, and you acting like he can’t have no friends besides you ain’t helping none. I’m not trying to steal your brother from you– trust me on that.”

  “Trust you?” I gear up to say a few choice words, but that’s when Willa and Donny walk into the kitchen from the hallway. All words dry up when I see how upset my brother is.

  Shoulders hunched, eyes rimmed in red, tear-stained cheeks, I remember why I’m here today. “Donny,” I go to support my brother, but my arms are filled with napping toddlers.

  “I’m okay.” He brushes me off, seeking Bren instead. “Hey, kid. How you holding up?”

  “I’ll be great when tomorrow comes so I don’t have to answer that question again for another year.”

  Corbin barks a laugh at my surly teenager, but it dries up quickly. “I better git outta yer hair. See ya, daughter.” He leans down to kiss Willa on the cheek, who is surprisingly sedate for once, which means Donny is bad off.

  “Bye, Daddy,” Willa barely breathes. “Tell Momma I said hi.”

  I pretend not to watch with one eye as Corbin comforts my brother, giving him a hearty hug and a deep squeeze before pulling away. He whispers something in Donny’s ear that has my brother’s tears renewing.

  I hate that I can’t hate Corbin Gillette, no matter what foulness he commits.