Voice rest was her only option.
Squeezing her eyes shut against more threatening tears, Julie surrendered to the torturous headache and let sleep take her away.
***
Rachel Matthews, Mrs. Tate’s English class, summer session:
Wednesday, June 18:
I haven’t written in my journal in a week. Sorry, Mrs. Tate, but since you’re the one who showed it to Mr. Larl in the first place, maybe you will give me a break here.
Just so you know, Mr. Larl kept his word about only showing parts of my journal to my parents. I never thought they’d hack my computer, invade my privacy, and read the whole thing. But they did.
My mother was worried about me being bullied by Britney for all of about two seconds. But her main concern, as always, is how everything affects her. She accused me of making up everything, of twisting stuff. She’s all worried about what you and Mr. Larl think of her. And she’s all “How could you write that stuff about me?”
She was mad that I didn’t tell the truth sooner about Britney, and that I did tell the truth about her.
Then she went to church by herself. Read her Bible all afternoon, and tried to apologize to me.
She didn’t start with something lame like “I’m sorry if I hurt you or if I did whatever.” Apologies like that aren’t really apologies, are they?
Still, I stood there thinking, Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?
Then Monday, I got home from school after seeing my best friend Amber, and the kitchen was crammed full with all my favorite stuff. I remember the many times I went to the grocery store with her, before I was old enough to stay home by myself. Going shopping takes hours. You have to load everything into the buggy, then you unload the buggy for the cashier, then you load it all into the car, then you unload again at home. Then you put it all away. That’s like, five times you have to touch everything just to get done. And that doesn’t even include cooking it.
I stood there looking at all the food and thought, Holy cow! Every time I grab chips from the cabinet or fruit from the fridge, it’s because Mom went to the grocery store and bought it and brought it home. I felt a little guilty.
If I ever get married, my husband is so doing the grocery shopping.
Monday afternoon, for the first time ever I heard my parents fighting. Really fighting. I went to the stables like I always do to check on Godiva (she’s one of the horses we board, and she’s pregnant). Her stall is next to the tack room.
My mom and dad were in the tack room, yelling so loud I heard everything they said. Listening to them, I realized somehow they’re both right and they’re both wrong. My dad’s absolutely right about how my mother speaks to us. And I hate to admit it, I do, but my mother is absolutely right about everything she does for our family.
I think Mom’s right about something else, too ... but I don’t want her to be.
I always thought I wanted my dad to stick up for me. But hearing him finally do it didn’t make me feel better. He looks sad now, and angry. He hasn’t been joking and laughing with me when we muck the stalls.
My mother hasn’t spoken to any of us—not Daddy, not me, not even Ben—since then. Not one single word.
I don’t know which is worse: being afraid she’ll say something mean, or having her say nothing at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rick squirmed in the driver’s seat of his F-250. When Ben had asked Rachel if he could sit up front during the ride to day camp, Rick figured the boy wanted to commandeer the radio. But his son didn’t reach for the dashboard controls.
“Want to pick some music, buddy?”
“No, sir.”
The boy sat hunched over, a bent elbow on his thigh, his chin in his hand. Rick pulled onto the road in front of their home, scanned the pulled-cotton clouds floating in a perfect Alabama-blue sky.
“I think I see a bear’s head.” He waited, pointed. “There’s a lizard. Two o’clock.”
The boy didn’t budge, but offered a weak, “Hmm.”
Rick drove on. “If we keep our eyes open around the corner here, we might see the Yoda cow.” They saw it most mornings on the way to day camp. Its pale skin somehow exhibited a green tint. Because of the creature’s wide, baggy eyes and low, strangely-pointed ears, Ben had dubbed it “Yoda cow.” He always marveled at its intense stare, and once as they’d driven past, had voiced with surety that one day he’d stare the animal down. Rick slowed slightly as they cruised beside the pasture’s barbed wire fence. But Ben continued staring at the floorboard.
“Something bothering you, buddy?”
His son heaved a heavy sigh. “Dad, I think I’ve finally figured out girls.”
Rick felt his brow shoot up. “I see. Any girl in particular?”
“No. Maybe.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror. Rachel had turned away from the window and caught his eye by rolling both of hers. He gave a brief shake of his head. She offered a whatever eye roll, then laid her head back and put in her earbuds.
“It’s like there’s rules, right? Like a code. One set’s for boys and another set’s for girls.”
“Are you talking about manners, buddy?”
“Yeah. Like how we guys are supposed to open doors for girls, and the girl always walks through first.” He paused. “Unless she’s bigger and she’s a femmy-mist. That means she wants to open the door herself.”
Rick stifled a chuckle. “That’s about right.”
“Then there’s the part where guys don’t hit girls. Not in fights, and not in sports. When just the guys play football, like sometimes at day camp, we tackle and sometimes someone gets banged up or bleeds a little, but that’s okay. But if the girls play, too, we wear belts with flags and we don’t tackle. We just pull off the flags. Because if a boy tackles a girl, the girl might get hurt and that’s bad. Even a femmy-mist can get hurt if someone tackles her.”
“I see,” Rick said. “For a guy who’s figured all this out, you don’t look happy.”
Ben wiped his nose on his sleeve. “It’s the last part I’m not happy about.”
The last part? Rick had no idea what the child meant. He turned into the lot at the day camp center, a converted airport hangar at the edge of a large, community park. Since they’d arrived a few minutes early, he eased to a stop in an out-of-the-way spot, shifted to PARK, and turned to look at his son.
“Dad, how old were you when you got married?”
“I was twenty.”
“And Mom’s your only wife, right? Like, you didn’t have another one before her or anything?”
“Nope. Mom’s it. I’ve loved her since she was fifteen.”
“When did you learn the rules?” Ben asked.
“The rules?”
“Yeah. The rules of marriage, which must be different for boys and girls, and doesn’t work like guys being friends with other guys.”
“No,” Rick said. “It doesn’t work exactly like guys being friends with other guys. A husband and wife are supposed to be best friends. And—”
Rick felt a ping—somewhere deep inside where truth often hid, where under the right conditions certainty bloomed and blossomed like a well-tended bud—it echoed through his heart and made his soul cringe.
Ben wiped his nose on his other sleeve. “Mom said I can’t be best friends with Bradley anymore, because of the way he talks to me. But she says the same kind of stuff to you that Bradley says to me. How come she gets to keep you as her friend, but I can’t keep Bradley as mine? Is it like all the other rules? Is it because she’s a girl?”
A vise tightened around Rick’s chest. “I’ll have to explain later, son. I’m sorry.” For so very much. “You better go, buddy.”
Ben reached for his lunch. “Okay, Dad.”
The child’s grief was a heavy cloak on his thin shoulders. The image chipped the edge of Rick’s heart as he watched his son open the truck door and hop to the ground.
“Hey, buddy? We’ll talk about gir
ls and Bradley and stuff this weekend, all right?”
“Really? Like maybe I could still be friends with Bradley?”
“We’ll see. Pick you up later.”
He watched Ben’s progress across the lot and into the hangar. My little boy. Who’d one day be a man, probably a husband. And Rick had modeled a horrible example for one of the sweetest children God had ever placed on the earth.
“Dad, can I get up front?” Rachel unlatched her seat belt.
“No.” Rick put the truck in gear, and noted the time. “I’m dropping you early, too.”
He’d have plenty of time to settle some things with Julie before taking her to the oral surgeon’s office to have the wires removed.
“Whatever.” Obviously miffed, Rachel re-buckled her belt.
His heart raced as he drove to the middle school, as he pulled up at the entrance and waited while Rachel grabbed her backpack. She exited the truck, then tapped on his window.
He lowered it. “Yeah?”
His daughter looked at him with his wife’s green eyes, then seemed to look clear inside him, to the place he’d heard the ping.
“Has Mom spoken to you since Monday?”
“Monday?” Rick rubbed a hand over his face. “I guess not.”
But Julie didn’t have to say everything she thought for Rick to know the dressing down he was getting. After so many years of hearing it, he knew from the look on her face.
“She hasn’t spoken to Ben or me either. You know, since you two fought.”
“How do you know we fought? You weren’t even home.”
“After Amber’s mom brought me home, I went to check on Godiva. So I kind of heard you.”
“Did Ben?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What does that look mean?”
“It scared me some.”
Rick jerked his head toward the school building. “You go on in. I’ll pick you up later.”
“Daddy, now you’re scaring me. What are you going to do?”
“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he said, and headed home.
***
Julie heard the truck tires screech when Rick pulled into the garage, a sound she’d often heard when Sean had driven the truck, but never Rick. She stopped mid-stroke of brushing her hair, listened, and checked the time. They weren’t running late, she had almost two hours before her appointment.
The door from the garage to the house slammed. With care she lowered the brush to the bathroom vanity. Already dressed and ready to go, she stepped from their bathroom to their bedroom as Rick entered from the hall and walked straight to her. His right eyebrow was furrowed and his cheek twitched, a tic that manifested when his legendary patience stretched thin and dissolved into quiet fury. As long as she’d known him, she’d only seen Rick go ballistic a few times, and always on behalf of her or their children’s welfare. Even last Monday when they’d argued over Sean’s email, he hadn’t been this upset.
What happened? she signed, determined to rest her voice. Is it Ben? Rachel? Sean?
“You know,” he said, “I expected the silent treatment for a while after what happened on Monday with Angelina. I’ve been a little surprised you held out this long, but I expected it, and I’ve dealt with it pretty well, I think. Including last night when we went to bed, and before I turned out the light asked if you wanted me to take the kids this morning. Your emotionless stare confirmed you did, and I was still in trouble.”
She clasped her hands, fighting the urge to defend herself with signed or spoken word. Wouldn’t they only be misinterpreted?
“No response?” Rick asked. “Well, you’re holding fast, I’ll give you that much. But after this morning, I won’t play along anymore.”
This morning? What had happened this morning?
He walked to the bed, sat on the edge, and removed a cowboy boot. Cocked his head and peered up at her. “Curious now, aren’t you?”
He pointed at her with the boot cupped in his hand. “You think I don’t know you, never listen to you, don’t hear what you’re saying. I’ve heard loud and clear for years. I know exactly how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. Your face shows everything.”
He set the boot aside and removed the second, dropped it beside the first. Placing both hands on his knees, he simply looked at her.
In her peripheral vision, the bedside clock switched from 7:45 to 7:46 a.m. Four days, almost to the minute, since she’d walked in on Rick and Angelina in the tack room. As she straightened her shoulders and lowered her hands her mind did a second calculation. She hadn’t spoken to her husband in over eighty hours. She’d thought after all the conflict between them, Rick would be grateful for her silence.
“Wow,” he said. “You really are determined this time. But if you want to know what happened this morning, and it involves our children, you’re going to have to ask me.”
Their children. What could possibly have happened to Ben and Rachel?
He turned away. “Otherwise, I’m not talking to you either.”
In years past when she’d gone on voice rest, none of her family had seemed to miss hearing her speak. So, she’d expected the un-fanned tension in her family to blow over. Ben’s little boy noises and giggles would once again echo through the house. Rachel and Rick would resume their endless dinner discussions about the horses and Godiva’s imminent delivery. Eventually, Rick would find an excuse to kiss her cheek and tell her everything would be okay.
She hadn’t expected her silence to trigger their silence as well, or that she would feel so awful and alone these last four days. But to reach them all, she’d need to use words.
The cost. Rick didn’t even know about Dr. Lilly’s prognosis. He hadn’t asked, and Julie hadn’t told him.
Just today. Only for today, she’d use her voice to get her family in order, to explain to them about the voice rest, and to establish the new “normal” caring for her voice would require.
In the future, maybe she’d allow herself one day a week to talk normally with them. Or maybe use letters and email to communicate with them. Given the recent strife in their household, the strategy might be a smart move.
She swallowed. “What’s going on with Ben and Rachel?”
He didn’t look at her.
“Will you please tell me about our children?”
“Where would you like me to start? With Rachel? She heard us fighting on Monday. Now she’s scared of both of us. Or maybe you’d like to hear about Ben first. Who’s very confused about marriage and how friendship ties into marriage, since the wife—that’s you—gets away with saying less-than-kind things to her husband—that’s me. Stuff no childhood friend is allowed to say. Which is something I would like to know. How did you train me to be such a wimp?”
He stood with his hands on his hips, looking at her much as he did when analyzing an animal. “I use clicks and kisses and clucks with horses. Angelina whistles to Godiva. What did you use to train me?”
“Angelina.”
Julie felt her eyes flash even as her wounded heart bled anew. “She’s the one training you. To look at her. To think about her. Next she’ll have you feeling sorry for her. Poor Angelina, so lonely when her husband’s gone on business. She’s not lonely anymore, is she? She’s moved herself right into the barn.”
His gaze narrowed and his tic became more pronounced. “I offered her the opportunity to be near her horse,” he said in a low voice. “How can you resent an owner spending the night in the barn with her pregnant mare?”
“I see my feelings on the subject don’t matter. Well, I should be used to that. I grew up being disregarded and told my needs and dreams weren’t important.” Just thinking about the missed opportunity in New York still stabbed so deeply. “Looks like I married my mother.”
“I was going to talk to you about Angelina staying in the barn, but you deliberately misinterpreted the situation and as usual, began punishing me.”
“Oh, really? But
you were going to tell me after the decision was made, right? Again, just like my mother.”
“I am not like your mother.”
Her heart had sped up. Her hands shook. “You, you hurt me like she does.”
“No. You’re afraid I’m going to hurt you, afraid I’m going to hit you with my words, so you slug me with yours. When have I ever treated you like your mother does? Ridiculed you and belittled your dreams? Never. I haven’t done it. I won’t do it.”
He stalked toward her and she couldn’t stop herself from cowering.
“See what you’re doing right now? You’re shielding yourself because you expect me to attack. So you attack first, me and the kids.”
He couldn’t be right. Could he?
“I, I’ve never screamed or cursed at you or the children.”
“Neither have I to you. Neither did your mother, according to you. But she damaged you just the same, didn’t she?” He shook his head. “I’m not wasting my breath.”
He strode into their bathroom, slammed the door, then jerked it open again.
“No,” he said, looking at the floor. “I can’t brush over this again. My heart just can’t take it.”
He raised his head and stared into her eyes. She watched as he unfastened his cuffs, pulled the denim work shirt out of his jeans, and unbuttoned it. He tossed it to the floor and threw his undershirt down, as well. He pointed to his left shoulder.
“Do you remember how I got this scar?”
She backed up a step and turned away. “Y-yes.”
He’d gotten the wound the night of her senior prom. She’d worn a deep emerald gown with tiny silver straps. When they left the event, good old Tony Stafford, who’d accompanied one of Julie’s classmates, was in the parking lot. He’d obviously been drinking. He grabbed Julie from behind and spun her around, snapping one of the straps. Julie had clutched her gown to her chest.
“Oops,” Tony laughed.
“Tony, go home!” Rick yelled as they backed away from him. “Have your date drive you home.”
Tony reached for Rick and stumbled, then leered at Julie. “Figured I’d see you here with Miss Centerfold. What would happen if the other strap broke, huh?”
Sticks and Stones (The Barn Church Series) Page 21