All Things Different

  “Hey,” my old man broke in. You planning on helping me or standing there making googly eyes all day?”

  I made a face for Sara’s benefit. She laughed and smiled at Dad. I went over and got in the truck. We got rolling and my old man said he was just giving me a hard time.

  “It’s funny what they do to you, isn’t it?”

  “Real funny.”

  He laughed a little. “Couldn’t find a sweeter one if you tried.”

  “I know,” I said, looking out the window. The rain-soaked colors were starting to drop along the road.

  After the fourth load of wood we decided it was enough for one day. Sara joined us outside. She found some gloves behind the seat of the truck, which were way too big, and began helping carry the wood, one or two pieces at a time rather than by the armload. She was proud as a peacock by the time we were finished.

  “Not bad considering I never stacked wood before,” she said.

  “That’s right,” Dad told her with his own proud smile.

  “Should we decorate it somehow?” I asked.

  “Lunch is ready, if you are,” she said next, and gave me a little scowl. “But I should let you go hungry for making fun of me.”

  “I know,” I said, and started brushing the sawdust from my clothes.

  We took off our boots in the entryway. The house smelled like a bakery. We washed up and sat down at the table. Sara had baked bread from a recipe in a book, and now she brought a loaf to the table, wrapped in foil to keep warm.

  “The first one was a disaster,” she explained as she sliced the warm bread. “The next two came out pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

  The old man and I ate the first slices as she returned to the stove and then brought back a steaming pot.

  “Do you want butter?”

  No, we both agreed. It was perfectly doughy soft and needed nothing.

  “Okay,” she said, as she served us out bowls of tomato soup, made with real milk, the right way.

  Then there was the sizzle of a pan when she returned to the stove, and we guessed grilled cheese sandwiches were on their way. The few minutes it took for them to cook felt like an eternity. Finally, the thick sandwiches were dropped from the pan to our plates. A minute later she sat down beside me, and we ate one of the best lunches in history for a cool autumn day.

  After the hot food we were lazy. Dad started a small fire in the stove and then we settled in the living room.

  “It’s a lazy one,” Dad remarked. “Maybe we’ll keep things simple and go out for dinner.”

  Sara was at the computer browsing Halloween costumes, formulating her late-October plans weeks in advance. “Can Mom and I go too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Please let her buy dinner, if she offers.”

  “I suppose I could let her.”

  “I really wish you would.”

  My old man winked at me. “We’ll see.”

  That night we had dinner at The Lobster House. Kate was very happy when my old man lost the tug-of-war over the check. And later, when Sara came for the night, there were no leftover signs of the mood from the previous night.

  “I can’t decide on a costume,” she said once we were in bed.

  “What are the choices?”

  “Either Goldilocks or Kayleigh from my books.”

  “Big decision.”

  “You hush.”

  “Well, you’ve got a few weeks.”

  “Yeah, I do. You guys don’t ever hand out candy?”

  “No one comes here.”

  “Did you ever try to get anyone?”

  “No. Why give away perfectly good candy?”

  “Ugh. You guys, I swear …”

  I fell asleep soon after that. We slept well through night, and in the morning the three of us had breakfast, using the leftover bread for the best French toast we’d ever had. It was a lazy fall Sunday, gray except for a few scattered breaks of weakened sun. Instead of fishing we fed the stove throughout the day, just enough to fend off the chill of the dampness, and I read while Sara was with Kate and while Dad napped in his chair through a dull football game. It was a perfect day for doing nothing, and for being together. If I’d had my way, there would’ve been many more like it.

  33

  Monday morning the weather was unchanged. We’d slept well another night and Sara bounced out of bed full of her typical daytime energy, while I lay there grumbling like a bear until she was gone from the room. To compensate for the lack of rowing, I did pushups now, my off-summer routine, before eating and showering and getting on with the day.

  The misty rain continued on through the school day. As we stepped off the bus in mid-afternoon, I was hearing more about Halloween costumes, the two of us walking side by side under her pink umbrella, me holding it and feeling like a buffoon. One moment we were plodding along easily, glad to be home, nearing the house when, just before the driveway split by the huge pine, Sara stopped suddenly, inhaled with a slight gasp, and then pressed close against my side. I noticed the strange car a blink later, parked alongside Kate’s before the old camp.

  “Is that …” I started.

  “My father,” she finished.

  In a second everything around me seemed to slow down around me. There was fear, question, uncertainty, and at the same time, a sharp resolve taking over my head. My mind began to work very fast but very clearly, seeing everything ahead through a strange tunnel vision.

  “Go in the house,” I told her.

  “No.”

  In another second she had worked her hand loose from mine and started grabbing at my sweatshirt with both hands. In her panic she was clamoring with her whole body, like when a nervous dog becomes somehow everywhere at once. It felt like she was trying to climb me.

  “You have to get inside,” I said firmly but not loudly.

  “No. I have to make sure Mom’s okay.”

  “You can’t. Listen to me. You can’t.”

  In the next instant she tried to break away toward the little house. I lunged in time to get her and held her back with both arms around her, lifting her slightly with her legs kicking like she were peddling an imaginary bicycle.

  “We can’t leave her in there,” she was crying, struggling for all she was worth in my arms.

  “Listen,” I said near her ear, holding her tight against me to the point where I almost felt bad for being so firm with her. “Sara, listen to me.” I set her on her feet again but held her just as tight. “You have to go in and call Dad’s cell. His number’s on the fridge. You know where. We need help. If you freak out and run in there right now, we don’t know what’ll happen.”

  “Jake,” she cried. She was shaking and her voice was cracking. “I’m so scared he’ll hurt her.”

  I relaxed my grip on her and turned her so that she was facing me. Her eyes were wide and darting and blinking. “Listen to me, Sara,” I said, with a small shake. “The sooner you call, the sooner Dad will get here, and the sooner Kate will be okay. Once you call Dad, call the police. And stay—in—the—house.”

  “Can’t we stay together?”

  “No. Someone has to check on her. You can’t go.”

  “I know,” she choked.

  “Get in there. Quick. Go. Now!”

  Finally she gave in, and in a blink she was running, crying, staggering but moving away fast. Her purse and backpack were on the ground near the umbrella I’d dropped when trying to get ahold of her. I watched after her. She was to the porch quick. The screen door flew open. She fell forward, scrambling on wet feet, struggling with the big kitchen door in the clumsiness of panic. I could still hear the sound of her crying blending with breathing. Then she was inside and out of sight with the door closed.

  I turned slowly and looked to the old camp. I saw the two cars straight ahead, the dark of the trees to my left, the haze over the lake to my right through the lilacs, and the glow of the misty flat light from the lake encircling the small house. In my mind I was als
o seeing Sara in our kitchen. The phone was lifted from the cradle. She was at the fridge, dialing the number, then waiting, waiting, fidgeting, pacing, trying to catch her breath until she heard his voice.

  I breathed deep and started toward the little house, moving deliberately slow, wondering if they could see me from the windows. My father was on his way by now. I knew it somehow. He could be here in minutes if he stepped on it hard. He hated to drive that way, but he would do it if necessary. It was mostly back-road driving, no traffic lights and few intersections. He would be here soon. The old truck would get a workout, and he would be here. It would all be all right then.

  There was a heaviness all through me as I walked. At the same time, though, it was like I weighed nothing at all. So much adrenaline was surging through me that I could barely control my own walking. Muscles were tightening and contracting involuntarily. Every nerve in me had gone prickly-jumpy tense. I felt every light drop of rain individually, every pine root or small stone against the soles of my shoes, and the shaking of my hands that I could not stop. In my head I could hear the ocean of my own pulse over the surrounding sounds of branches moving and raindrops dripping. I knew I had to stall, to give my old man a few more minutes. But I had to check on Kate too. Neither of them would even be here in the first place unless he’d proven to be worthy of their fear.

  I turned back toward the big house, thinking of Sara, to make sure she hadn’t tried to follow me, and then looked back to the cars and the camp. I remembered my rifle. I saw a clear picture of it in my head, the way it leaned in the dark corner of my closet. I remembered the day my old man had given it to me, as his father had once given it to him. I saw the single square box of bullets on the shelf beside some books, felt the cool metal of the shell casings in my fingers, heard the metallic clicking as each round slid into the chamber, and felt its sturdy weight in my hands and the smoothness of the well-worn wooden stock. It was a comforting feeling to think of my rifle then, and it was better that I only thought of it now, a safe distance from turning back to the house to get it.

  Now I was passing the cars, nearing the old camp. I was as damp as the ground, and I stopped a few back from the door. I could see nothing inside through the drawn curtains in the small windows. Time was passing too slowly. Either an hour had passed or barely a few minutes since I’d sent Sara away. I’d lost all sense of it, other than the baseline understanding that I needed more of it.

  Finally, when it could not be avoided any longer, I knocked on the door, feeling like it was someone else’s closed hand on the wood. I breathed in very long and deep, and exhaled slowly, trying to hold my feet and hands still. I stood there a long time that way.

  Kate looked washed-out white when she finally opened the door. She opened it only enough to see me, but I could tell through the sliver that her eyes were puffy and strained. “Hi, Jake,” she said weakly.

  “What’s he doing here?” I was quiet but firm.

  “We’re just talking. Everything is fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I am,” she said so softly that I barely heard her.

  “Dad will be home any time,” I said.

  Kate exhaled. Her body shook once she’d given up holding her breath, and her eyes blinked with nerves. “Where is she?” she asked under her breath.

  “My house.” I waited and watched for the relief on her face, and went on once I saw it. “You know Dad doesn’t want him here.”

  Kate stared without blinking.

  “She’s called him. He’s on his way. It won’t be good when he gets back.”

  “I’m trying to reason with him. I think he’ll go soon.”

  I nodded and breathed. I had been holding my own breath too. Then I heard a voice from inside.

  “Nothing,” Kate answered him. “I’ll be right back.”

  I watched her face. She looked as helpless as I felt standing there. Then her eyes closed, pressing tightly. Her lips moved but I heard no sound. She pushed the door closed, and then the door went back again, suddenly opened.

  I backtracked a few steps, startled, and then stood my ground. All at once the image that I’d formed of him in my mind was gone as quickly as the door had snapped open. The man before me looked far from monstrous. He was ordinary, mid-thirties or so, average-looking, and decently dressed. Yet in him, in that moment, I saw every image of every story, and I felt all my hatred coming together and settling on a singular focal point.

  “Jake, is it?” He held out his hand and waited for me to shake it.

  I kept my hand where it was. “Yeah.”

  “Please,” Kate said from behind him now, “just go home, Jake. He’s been drinking and I don’t want trouble. Let me handle it.”

  “You can’t be here,” I said to him. I glared steadily, partially out of focus, refusing to lower my eyes and let him have even the slightest satisfaction over me.

  “I’m visiting,” he said. His voice was lazy-sounding and careless, a sarcastic friendliness. He’d given up on the handshake now. “What’s the problem?”

  “It’s my dad’s land,” I said. “You need to leave. He’ll be home soon. He doesn’t—”

  “If he wants me out, he can tell me when he gets here, and I’ll go. But I’m not taking orders from his kid.” He looked very pleased as the words rolled off his tongue.

  “Please,” Kate said.

  “I wouldn’t wait if I were you,” I said.

  “I came to see my girls. You don’t need to make trouble.”

  “I’m not making trouble. But you’ll get plenty, if you don’t go.”

  “Please,” Kate said again. “Don’t antagonize him, Jake.”

  “I’m not. I’m asking him to go.”

  “He’ll go now. Won’t you?” Her hand was on his shoulder.

  “I haven’t seen Sara yet,” he said to Kate while staring at me. He was smiling.

  “Just go,” I said, and I stood aside slightly. “It would be best if you left now. My dad doesn’t like much company.”

  “Can’t a guy see his family?” he asked, raising his hands, trying to appear sincerely perplexed.

  “I can’t speak for Kate,” I said slowly. “But Sara does not want to see you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You know,” I mumbled.

  He half looked back to Kate. “She been telling her stories again?”

  “No,” Kate whispered.

  “Her and her crazy stories.” He stared directly to me. “All imagination and zero sense, that one is.”

  His comment burned me but I gave no response. He saw it affect me, though, and moved slightly forward. I stared at him with my eyes out of focus to avoid seeing him too clearly. I wanted no memory of him once he was gone.

  “She’s a royal pain in the ass, but she’s my girl. I just want to see her quick. Make sure she’s okay. Then I’ll go.” His tone was friendlier again. “I miss my family. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  I shook my head slowly. I was tensing more and more, breathing very shallow and quick, trying to hold still.

  His eyes changed right then, suddenly narrowing. My eyes focused enough to see the change, and to see his head move. I realized he was looking beyond me, and all I could think, all I could hope, was that maybe he’d gotten a look at the size of my old man.

  In a matter of seconds, everything exploded. It was slow-motion detail and sharp lightning flashes at once. And colors. Flashing colors. I saw red, saw the expression on Kate’s face, felt an unraveling inside me, and sensed his movement out and away from the doorway. Sara had come around the lilacs into sight over my shoulder. I felt and saw it in my mind’s eye. I heard Kate yelling and I saw her trying to hold him back, saw him pushing her away, Kate jumping onto him, and then she being thrown down and back hard. All this happened in a matter of blinks. I was in front of him, between him and Sara, and then I felt his open hand come against my shoulder, shoving me on his way by.

  The instant his hand
touched my shoulder I felt a release. I had wanted to feel my closed fist hard against his body, to inflict pain on him, as much pain as I possibly could. But in the heat of that moment I was so tightly wound that I could not properly govern my limbs. There was too much built up to be let out slowly, and so everything went out at once. My left hand went forward, grabbing at his shirt, while my core twisted, knees bent, feet planted, right hand clenching and coming around with all of the sudden violence I could load into one swing, like a relief pitcher going for the first-pitch strike. When the explosion hit him, with everything I had behind it, it was not the devastating direct hit from the movies but a glancing shot to the side of the face from an awkward angle, and so lacking in power. It angered him more than it hurt him. Then he turned fully away from Sara to me, and lunged.

  We were on the ground, wet, struggling wildly, and then I was red-hot all through. I could faintly hear the girls screaming over the sound of my pulse thumping in my ears. I swung and flailed and twisted and grabbed, but the whole confrontation quickly became a grounded stalemate. We weren’t hurting each other, just wrestling and getting wetter and dirtier with pine needles sticking all over. I don’t know how long it lasted, but a way into the struggle I felt myself shift from rage into panic. My energy was burning out fast and my resolve dropping along with it, and I knew if I didn’t get the upper hand on him very soon, I would begin to lose, and probably lose badly. His adrenaline was peaking and mine was dropping off.

  The next thing I knew I was being hauled backward from under the arms, like a child plucked from a sandbox. Then I was on the ground, alone, the struggle over, lungs burning, leaning on my side and watching something else entirely.

  My old man was all over him fast. The struggle was brief and one-sided before Harper was on his back, weighed down by my father’s powerful frame, his knee to the man’s chest. And then there were blows thundering down on him. For only a second, it was everything I’d ever wanted to see, and then it became one of the worst things I ever had seen. It looked differently than I’d expected and sounded differently, again, unlike the movies. I’d never seen a man beaten that way in person, just feet away from me. It was brutal and disturbing to behold the unnatural bends his body made against his will, the distortions to his face, the helpless and ineffectual kicking and flailing. I still heard my pulse racing in my ears, but now too I heard the knock of knuckles on flesh and bone, the man’s scattered voice and his desperate attempts to breathe mixing with the guttural sound of air being forcefully expelled from his chest.