Aunt Leah jumped up and put herself between Dad and Ryan. “Jesus Christ, Reese! Is that all you ever think about? Your fucking campaign?”
She’s a lot shorter than Dad, but she kept walking forward until he nearly bumped into the flaming grill. She poked him in the chest with every word she said. “My! Son! Is! The! Only! Person! Who! Had! The! Courage! To! Report! Jared! For! Rape!” She stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “When the local police department refused to investigate, he called the county sheriff! Ryan did the right thing!”
The air became heavy, and the only sound was the birds in the forest.
Dad said nothing; just met Leah’s ice-cold stare right on.
Finally, Grandma murmured, “So, why…?” She reached over and laid a hand gently on Ryan’s bright orange cast. He looked to the right and down, but didn’t pull away from her.
Leah dragged her feet through the powdery forest floor as she walked back to her chair. She sat heavily and put her head in her hands. After a minute or so, she spoke. “The boy—Jared—is very well-liked; very well-connected. He was bound for Baylor on a full-ride football scholarship. When the news first broke, his teammates—and much of the community—took Jared’s side. They blamed the girl for getting drunk! All they talked about was what a shame it was that such a nice boy with a promising future would lose it all because of”—she shook her head disgustedly—“one bad decision.”
Leah straightened and reached for Ryan’s shoulder, resting her hand on it. “The last day of school, three of the football players severely beat Ryan. They even videoed the attack and posted it on YouTube, but it was quickly removed.”
Aunt Judy was clearly horrified and asked Ryan, “Well, what happened to those boys? The ones who hurt you?”
Ryan shook his head, his angry tears flowing hard.
Leah answered for him. “Nothing, really.”
Grandpa’s voice was soft. “And Jared? What about him?”
“Luckily, the district attorney was able to use the texts that Ryan received from Jared as evidence. Jared is eighteen, so he’ll be tried as an adult.”
“You’re saying he lost everything he worked so hard for, based on what could have been a consensual act?” Grandpa sounded like the attorney he was before he retired.
Leah looked like she’d tasted something bitter. “Were you listening to what I said, Daddy?” Her eyes grew huge, and it was like a cartoon when a light bulb shows that somebody just realized a big truth. “Jared texted photos that proved his guilt, just like I showed you photos that prove that what I’m saying about Mark is true…and yet you choose not to believe it.”
Dad slammed the lid on the grill and strode over to Ryan. “…Well, how do you know that it was rape, unless you heard the girl tell him to stop? You weren’t there, right?”
Ryan set his jaw and stared at the cast on his wrist.
Dad clapped Ryan on the back, then gripped his shoulder tightly. “Right, Ryan? You weren’t there when this alleged rape occurred?”
At last, Ryan shook his head.
Grandpa said brusquely, “As far as I’m concerned, everyone at that party was in the wrong. Underage drinking! You’re not going to sit here and pretend that you weren’t drinking, too, are you, Ryan?”
Ryan leaned forward at the waist and dragged his toe through pine needles in a triangular pattern. Grandpa cleared his throat, and Ryan finally shook his head.
My grandfather railed, “I agree with your community, Leah Jane. That girl brought it on herself by drinking until she passed out! She may not remember giving consent, but…whatever happened, it was a perfect storm of bad choices.” He looked at me. “Colby, you’d never go to a party where underage drinking was occurring, would you?”
I started to answer, but Rachel snorted, “Ha! As if anyone would invite her!”
Grandpa raised his eyebrows, and Rachel muttered, “Not that…I would go, you know, if…I was invited to one.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” my mother said sharply.
“Of course not,” Grandma agreed.
Grandpa set his sights on Ryan again. “Look at me, boy.”
Ryan raised his eyes at last.
“You need to get a job and help your mama pay the medical bills that you brought on her by going to a party where illegal activity occurred. You’re not going to learn a lesson from this if you don’t pay the price.”
Ryan mumbled, “I do have a job. I work at Sugar’s. With Mom.”
Grandpa sat back hard in his chair. “Then you’d better get another one. I’m assuming you’re no longer welcome on the football team?”
“I quit,” Ryan said softly.
Grandpa accepted the ice cream churn from Uncle Dale and began turning the handle. “Well then, you’ll have plenty of time this summer and autumn to work.”
Then he set his gaze on Aunt Leah. “And, you: the first time I see you in seven years, and it’s to ask for money. You can’t expect us to open our arms and welcome you back just because you’re flesh and blood. Pull yourself together, Leah Jane. Lose some weight. Pay off your debts through hard work and determination. Stop blaming Mark for your problems and, by God, don’t teach Ryan to blame those other kids for his lapse in judgment, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll come out of this stronger than when you started.”
My mom sat up straight in her chair and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “Just look at Rachel, Ryan. She’s got a fully paid academic scholarship to Lewis & Clark College in Portland. She’s going to be a lawyer, just like your grandpa. Get yourself on the right track again, and maybe you can do the same. Bring pride to our family, not shame.”
“That’s it!” Leah bolted out of her chair and gestured to Ryan to follow her. “I knew it was a mistake to come here! Just when I start to forget why I avoid this fucked-up family, you people remind me!”
She stomped over to the picnic table, tossed their potato salad into her ice chest, and told Ryan to take it to their car. As they sped away, Ryan rolled down his window and gave us all a one-fingered salute.
About the time they rounded the corner, Uncle Dale’s wife, Judy, clucked her tongue. “You’d think a woman her size wouldn’t wear tank tops in public.”
“The way you acted like her best friend, I’m a little surprised to hear you say that,” Mom said snidely.
“Oh, please. I wouldn’t be seen talking to her in public. What would people think if they associated me with her? She looks like a…a…biker chick!” Aunt Judy collapsed into giggles, and Mom and Rachel joined in.
“Can I come out now?” Drew called from the doorway of the motor coach.
“Yes, it’s safe,” Dad grinned. “The biker chick has left the building,” he said, sounding like a World Wrestling Federation announcer.
Drew cocked her head. “Huh?” The adults laughed, and she gave an adorable smile, flipped her hair from side to side like Mom does, and practically skipped down the motor coach steps.
Grandma opened her arms; Drew ran into them, and she was enveloped in a White Diamonds–scented cloud.
I brush my teeth, then sit at Mom’s desk and eat a couple sleeves of Pop Tarts while I search the Internet for Piney Creek, Texas.
Mom and Drew come through the back door carrying a few Walmart bags.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Mom smiles—like, she really smiles—for the first time since I saw her standing next to Dad when he was shaking hands with supporters at his rally about ten days ago. Feels like it’s been a lifetime.
I wonder if she’s about to go crazy again. “You’re in a good mood.”
Mom pops the top on a diet soda and takes a sip. “I spent time in prayer last night. I’ve handed our future over to the Lord.”
“Hmm.” I look up from reading the Piney Creek Chamber of Commerce website. “Aunt Leah called. She said it’s cool if we live in the trailer behind her house.” I watch Mom’s face to see if this statement strikes her as odd.
It doesn’t seem to; Mom
looks relieved as she empties the plastic sacks. “See there? Prayer works! I’ll call her back in a sec.”
I log off the computer and lean back in the chair with my feet on the desk. “So…you want to move to Piney Creek?” I gesture to the monitor. “Have you seen Piney Creek?”
Her eyebrows bump up and she shrugs. “Well, the offer of a place for us means I don’t have to ask your grandma or Uncle Dale to let us live with them. It’s not like I’m overflowing with family to rely on.”
Drew kicks off her flip-flops and sits cross-legged on the sofa. “I thought we didn’t like Aunt Leah and Ryan. You and Aunt Judy made fun of her for looking like a biker chick, and everybody said it’s Ryan’s fault that he got beat up, ’cause he has a big mouth just like Aunt Leah.”
Mom crosses to the coffee table, picks up the TV remote, and clicks it On. She doesn’t look at us but mumbles, “I didn’t say that.”
Drew insists, “Yes, you did! Remember? Remember, Mama? You, Aunt Judy, and Grandma were trying to figure out why she got all those tattoos, and Uncle Dale, Grandpa, and Daddy kept talking about how she already ruined Ryan.”
Mom stares, trancelike, flipping the channels, but going so fast that there’s no way she could be seeing each TV show.
“…Mama?” Drew just doesn’t know when to give up. “…Mama? Didn’t you say that?”
I whisper, “Drew! Knock it off!” I catch her eye and shake my head.
Drew throws her hands up and mouths, “What?”
I mouth, “Shut up!”
Mom blasts, “Yes!” She whips around, and her eyes look wild. Just as suddenly, it’s like she hits a switch in her mind and stares at the remote in her hand. She sputters, “Yes…I said some…things…that day. And…just because I accepted Leah’s offer doesn’t mean that I’ve changed my mind about…everything. We’re still the same people we were.”
Her words echo off the walls of our packed-up home, and I wonder if they sound as empty to her as they do to me. I heave myself out of the chair and place myself between Mom and Drew. “So, when are we moving?”
Friday morning, just before the crew Mom hired shows up with a moving truck, I drag a stepladder to my room, peel a glow-in-the-dark star from my ceiling, and slide it into my pocket.
Within a couple of hours, the house is just a shell. Mom and Drew give it one last walk-through while I start the car and roll down the windows to release the August heat. Mom’s locking the front door when the News Ten van pulls up at the end of our driveway, blocking us in.
Susie Harlan hurries up our driveway. Her cameraman follows a few feet behind. She glances at me in the car and continues toward Mom, then abruptly stops and comes back to me. My stomach clenches.
She smiles. “So, you’re moving, huh?”
I nod.
“That’s exciting. Where are you going?” Her notepad seems to appear out of thin air. I narrow my eyes at her. Drew opens the rear passenger door and gets in without a word.
“That’s none of your business,” Mom says from behind the cameraman.
Susie turns to her. “Good morning, Mrs. Denton. I see that you’ve vacated the house within the two-week window that the government gave you.”
Mom’s doing her nodding and smiling thing, but her eyes are shooting lasers.
“As we speak, the grand jury is meeting to decide whether to indict your husband on charges of embezzlement and theft with intent to defraud. Do you have any comment?”
Mom gives me a split-second glance that I read as “Not a word,” and turns her icy stare back to Susie. She shakes her head, says nothing.
Susie presses, “Are you leaving town, or will you be remaining in the community?”
Mom moves to the driver’s side and opens the door. She tosses her purse onto the seat, gets in, and cranks up the air conditioner.
Susie leans into the car. She’s so close to me that I can see the line where her makeup ends on the underside of her jaw. “Do you still believe that your husband is the ‘family values’ candidate?”
Mom starts rolling up the window on Susie, who freaks out a little. “Hey!” She jerks backward.
Mom leaves the window open about a fourth of the way from the top. She speaks loudly above the blasting air conditioner. “I do have one comment for you, if you’d like it.”
Susie lunges toward the window, her eyes just above the glass. “Yes?”
“You have thirty seconds to move that van before I call the competing news station and give an exclusive interview.” Mom glances at her watch. “Your time starts…now.”
When Susie doesn’t budge, Mom pulls her phone out of her purse, appears to press some numbers, and says, “Yes, I need the number for KVUE in Dallas, Texas…thank you.” She glances at Susie. “It’s ringing.”
Susie’s obviously irritated. “Mrs. Denton, I’m just doing my job, reporting the news. Your husband is a public figure, and, to be honest, most people believe that you had to know something was going on. Would you care to dispute that?”
Mom ignores her and speaks into her phone. “Hello, my name is Sonya Denton. I was Miss Texas twenty-two years ago. My husband is Reese Denton, the now former candidate for United States Senate. I’d like to speak to your producer. I have a story for you.” She shoots a look at Susie and adds, “An exclusive story.”
Susie squeaks, “You’re really going to give them an interview?”
Mom holds up a finger for Susie to wait. “Hi, Stu. You’re the producer, correct?” Mom introduces herself again, then: “Could you hold a moment, please?” She rolls the window more than halfway down and gives Susie an evil grin. “Guess you’ll find out when you see the news tonight, won’t you? Last chance: stop blocking my driveway.”
Susie folds her arms and juts out a hip. “Well, I’m not going to move that van. It’s on the street, which is public domain, so—”
Mom shrugs, throws our car into Reverse, zooms back until she clears the front walk, then slams it into Drive and does a one-eighty in the front yard. We fly over the curb and hook a sharp right onto the street, narrowly missing the News Ten van. She brakes long enough to throw her arm out the window and signal to the guys in the moving van to follow us.
“Whew!” Mom tosses her phone into her purse and swipes her hand across her brow.
Drew asks, “What about Stu, Mom?”
“Who’s Stu?”
“Um, the guy you were talking to on the phone? The producer?”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking to anyone,” she states matter-of-factly.
“You mean…you lied?” Drew’s mind is clearly blown. “I thought we weren’t supposed to lie.”
I blurt, “Know what, Drew? I’ll bet Aunt Leah won’t mind if you have a puppy.”
“Yay! I want a girl puppy and I’m going to name her Angel. Can I get her today? Please?”
Chapter Seven
Piney Creek is only about two and a half hours southeast of Dallas, but it may as well be on another planet. The East Texas roads are like roller coasters, rising and falling narrowly between gargantuan pine trees. Reddish-brown sand fills the space between the forests and the road, and huge hawks and black vultures circle overhead.
Pretty soon, I notice a pattern: The highway narrows to two lanes as it approaches a town, everybody hits their brakes when they see the local cop shooting radar, and then they punch the accelerator at the city limit sign. Unlike Northside, there’s no strip shopping centers or gated neighborhoods with names like “Wildwood” with only tiny saplings for trees. Instead, there are real forests as far as I can see, and the tiny towns each seem to have a Dairy Queen and a gas station, but not much else.
A faded billboard lets us know that we’re getting close:
Welcome to Piney Creek!
Home of the Fightin’ Possums!
There’s a cartoon possum dressed in a football uniform. He’s baring his pointy teeth, but a speech bubble next to his mouth reads, “Visit for a day! You’ll want to stay!”
I
murmur, “Don’t possums play dead?” but Mom doesn’t answer. She’s trying to drive and read the directions she wrote on a paper lunch bag. I take it from her. “You want me to read this to you so we don’t crash into the possum on steroids?”
Mom glances in the rearview mirror at the moving van. “Just watch for the post office. Leah said that if I pass the post office, I’ve gone too far.”
The only buildings I see are the Piney Creek Family Pharmacy, an Exxon, and a David’s grocery. We keep looking for our turnoff, but before we know it, we pass the city limit sign.
Mom sighs. “I didn’t see a post office; did you?”
“It wasn’t one of the three places I counted.” I reread the directions. “We were supposed to turn by the sign that said Goats for Sale, right? Maybe there’s more than one place that sells goats around here.” I spy stadium lights in the distance. “I think that might be the football stadium, where the Fightin’ Possums play dead on Friday nights.”
“Ooo-kay…” Mom hooks a U-turn and gives the moving truck time to do the same. We’re nearly to the “Welcome to Piney Creek” sign when Mom exclaims, “Hey! Goats for Sale!” She makes an abrupt left onto a narrow asphalt road.
We pass a burned-out double-wide mobile home and a shack with plywood siding that has the back seat of a car on the front porch. It doesn’t look like anyone lives there. Mom hits a pothole. She gasps loudly and slams on her brakes. Two dogs run out from under the porch and bark at us.
The next house has a fenced front yard with no less than thirty dogs in it, many with bald patches and scaly, melty-looking skin. “What’s wrong with those dogs, Mama?” Drew asks worriedly. “This street doesn’t look very nice.”
“Let’s not judge the neighborhood just yet, girls…Leah said she lives at the base of a hill and that if we cross the bridge, we’ve gone too far.”
Mom’s phone rings. “Get that for me, would you?”
I try to answer it, but there’s no signal. “Missed call. Rachel.”
She sighs. “Poor baby. She’s having such a hard time adjusting right now…Oh. My. Goodness.” We slow to a near stop at the sight of a dented white mobile home. There’s aluminum foil in the windows and a big No Trespassing sign tacked to a piece of wood over a window on the end of the trailer. The front yard holds old tires, a washing machine, two trucks with their hoods raised, and a speedboat with a tree growing up through the middle of it. But the thing that really stands out is the cage—like, a cage-fighting cage—surrounded on all sides by rotting wooden bleachers.
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