All Things Different

by Underhill, Shawn

  Then I was moving again, by reaction rather than decision. I saw Buck ahead, on the other side of the fight, moving toward them as I was now, and then together we were pulling my old man off and away, using every bit of our combined strength to only partially contain him. The three of us tumbled back and scattered in various directions.

  My ears seemed to pop and I began hearing rightly again. I heard the rain lightly ticking the leaves and everyone’s elevated breathing. The girls were crying. Buck was saying “It’s done, it’s done.” I couldn’t understand Dad through his furious breathing, but he was terribly, frightfully angry, far more so than I’d ever seen all my life. And then there was another sound standing out from the others, a strange snorting sound that made no sense at first.

  I looked around me more alertly. My head was coming back. The girls were huddled just inside, on the floor leaning against the arm of the couch. Kate’s face was red and swelling from where she’d caught a backhand in the doorway, and Sara clung to her, hiding her face. In front of them, on the ground between us and them, a wreck of a man lay snoring on his back. His body looked completely rigid, his head did not rest on the ground, and the neck was stiff. One leg and foot pointed slightly up off the ground, one arm was partially pinned under his hip, and the other hovered flat above the ground, moving in unconscious spasms. Only the whites of the eyes were showing. The rest were far back in his head. His nose was ruined and there was much dark blood.

  “Sonovabitch,” Buck panted. He leaned over and spit his tobacco out, to keep from swallowing any more. “Out cold.”

  34

  The next hour was unreal. Police arrived and an ambulance was called and then a tow truck came for the strange car. Buck was less involved than the rest us, so he handled the majority of the initial communications. When looking around at one another, we each seemed to have the same far-off expression. In the dry shelter of the shop we took turns making our statements. When my statement was done, I tried to approach Sara. She and Kate were still very upset, standing close together under the pink umbrella. Sara kept her face turned away when I tried to speak. Kate shook her head very slightly. I took the hint and walked away. I went inside to get cleaned up.

  I tossed my dirty clothes down the cellar stairs, went up to my bathroom and took a hot shower. My right hand opened and closed stiffly under the hot water, and in my head as I stood there, I kept hearing the EMT saying “You could have killed this man” to my father. “Over what?” Bucky shut the guy up coarsely, saying he hadn’t a clue and asked if he wanted some too. Bucky could find fun in any situation. Then the cop ended up getting between them, and Buck packed his lip with Skoal and set to pacing and spitting and muttering. I was in the shower for a long time. The bathroom was thick with steam when I got out.

  I went downstairs and started the wood stove. Through the window I saw that the driveway was cleared out, and I heard my old man just starting his shower as the kindling wood caught from the crinkled newspaper, snapping as it flamed up. I thought about some food, but my stomach was not good. I fed two pieces of wood into the offset front-opening mouth of the old cook stove, then pulled over a chair from the kitchen table and sat across from the fire, looking in at the dancing flames through the open vents. I felt the heat slowly growing and listened to the wood crackling and the faint sound of water falling from the shower down the hall.

  When the old man came out, he stopped by the stove, silently soaking up the warmth for a moment. I looked at his hands. They were leathered and thick-skinned and only slightly reddened around the knuckles. He asked again if I was all right. He’d already asked about half a dozen times while we were still outside.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “You?”

  “No worse for the wear, I guess.”

  “Have you spoken with the girls?”

  “They’re shaken but all right. Kate should be fine after some ice.”

  “Sara?”

  “She’s pretty frightened.”

  “I tried to take control of the situation.”

  “Yeah.”

  We stared at the flames flickering through the opened vents.

  “There’ll be a restraining order to keep him away,” Dad said, breaking the silence. “We shouldn’t see him back anytime soon.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “Let’s not joke about it.”

  “He was so sure of himself. Thought he could do whatever and get away with it.”

  “I don’t believe he thought anything at all. That’s the type that only feels and reacts.”

  “I get it,” I said after a while.

  “I lost my cool too. Hasn’t happened like that in many years.”

  “How’d he find his way here, do you know?”

  “Followed Kate from work. Apparently she called him one night and it got him to thinking and asking around about her. Once he figured out she was working at the Star, all he had to do was wait for her to leave.”

  “Sara wouldn’t talk to me,” I said. “She wouldn’t even look at me.”

  “That was some damned ugly business out there.”

  “Would she speak to you?”

  “Not a lot.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Animal or not, he’s still her father. Must be confusing for her.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t want him in there throwing Kate around.”

  “I know that. You didn’t invite him here. And you kept him from Sara. It was the right idea, I guess, it just didn’t work out so well. Give her some time, she’ll settle down.”

  I waited a long time that night. I could not sleep or focus to read, so I lay quietly staring up at the ceiling, picturing the rain I heard falling lightly on the roof. An image of the two of them over in the little house was hanging in my head the way the shadow of the picture Sara had given me was hanging on the wall. I saw them trying to comfort each other and make sense of things, and I listened to the gentle rain.

  It was very late when she came quietly through the kitchen door. I heard it only because I was waiting, hoping for the small sound. I kept still, listening as she moved lightly to the stairway by the fire’s glow through the stove vents. Her wet shoes were off now and I heard her tiptoeing on the wooden stairs, then moving through the dull glow of the hall night-light. There was no sound of her on the hard pine floor of the hall, and still no sound when she stopped in the doorway, not even her breathing. There was only her faint shadow cast by the low light.

  “You awake?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  She moved into the room, took off her sweatshirt and sat on her side of the bed, slipping her socks off. Her smooth legs came coolly when they just touched mine, her hands icy as they reached under the covers to my folded arms. Her close face was still pretty as always across from mine, but it had no expression. The big eyes that normally reflected and glowed were dim.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said.

  “Me too. Were you hurt?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Good. Mom’s fine too. She finally fell asleep.”

  “I’m sorry I hated him so much. I know he’s still your father.”

  “I’m sorry I came outside. I should’ve listened to you.”

  “I just didn’t know what else to do. The idea of him near you—”

  “Don’t get upset.”

  “I’m trying. I just hope you still love me. I love you so much, that’s all I care about.”

  “I love him because he’s my father, but I hate him too. It’s not normal, I know.” She waited, thinking. “I love you because …”

  “You don’t have to say any more.”

  Her hand was moving on my arm beneath the covers.

  “I felt better as soon as I heard you come in.”

  “So did I. This place feels like home now.”

  “Let’s try to forget everything.”

  “Okay, we’ll try.”

  “I can if you can.” />
  “I can,” she whispered.

  “By tomorrow we’ll be back to normal.”

  35

  In the morning the rain had ceased. My stomach felt massively empty. Sara was already in the shower by then, so I went downstairs for breakfast. My old man was still home. He’d slept later than usual and he was at the table with his coffee.

  “Get any sleep?”

  “Not much,” he said over the coffee. “You?”

  “Some, later.”

  “I heard her come in.”

  “I think she’s all right now.”

  He nodded. “She’s a resilient little thing.”

  I thought about it, agreeing as I dug around for some food. “You eaten yet?”

  “No, I’m draggin.’ ”

  “Sit tight. I’ve got it.”

  I took out the carton with four eggs remaining along with two more from a new carton and scrambled them while the pan heated. Sara came down when I called up that breakfast was ready. Her hair was wet when she sat down to eat, and her mood, though not as energetic as usual, seemed good enough to set us at ease.

  Dad went out after breakfast, already later than he’d like to be. Sara and I sat for a few minutes before we forced ourselves to get going. I cleaned up the kitchen while she dried and fixed her hair upstairs.

  At the time I could never have guessed how it was going for my old man, but later, when he explained it, I sensed part of the alarm he’d felt when peering around the lilacs and seeing Kate’s car in the drive, unmoved since the night before, on a morning she was due early for the breakfast shift. I felt part of his tension as he knocked on the door and waited, knocked and waited. He tried the door and it was unlocked, and he opened it and called her name several times, hoping for something in return. But there’d been only silence as he moved through the little house, still hopeful in his heart but knowing in his mind by that there was little left to hope for. Then, seeing her, he had felt a sinking inside, akin to a shut-away memory that rose again within him like a ghost from many years past, returning again to haunt, leading him down roads long ago traveled, all those years and miles being traversed in the course of a few terrible seconds within him. He saw the way she lay lifeless as a statue with no clear rising and falling of breathing, and when touching her wrist, he barely felt the last of her warmth leaving her pale skin. Beside her he saw the bottle of pills on the bedside table as he lifted her from the bed, and all he could think of to be thankful for in that moment was the fact that he had found her, not Sara.

  All I knew as I stood over the sink was that something was very wrong. Through the side window I saw him carrying Kate wrapped in blankets and then laying her in the truck. He ran around to the driver’s side, and then I heard the engine roar to life and saw the dirt kicking up from the rear tires as he tore off. I could hear Sara’s hair dryer running upstairs. She hadn’t seen. Dad had hoped neither of us had.

  When the phone rang moments later, he spoke uncommonly bothered through his cell. Kate’s very sick. Only tell Sara she’s sick. Don’t go to school. Wait at home. Keep her mind off things. Keep the phone handy. He’d call when he could. He’d be back when he could. I said only yes and okay, trying to remain calm.

  When Sara came down a few minutes later, I was leaning against the kitchen counter. It took her only a few blinks to read my face. I had her sit down on the couch and explained what I knew. He’d get her to the hospital before an ambulance could reach us. I was sorry. That was all I knew. I tried to keep her still.

  “Is it the pills?” she kept asking.

  “I don’t know, Sara. I honestly don’t know.”

  Once again I felt that awful feeling of her turning to rushing water through my hands. I felt all of her, so small and shrinking in smaller by the second, so gentle in spite of experience, so full of love and buoyant hope, and I could not understand why so little good had ever really come back to her.

  Outside a beautiful day was dawning. The sun was rising, streaming through the mists as it climbed, the air was cool and the colored leaves were dropping and reflecting on the water, while, inside, Sara was taking the next forced step on her way to growing up much, much too quickly.

  36

  We had not left the couch while my old man was gone. I’d sat with her speaking as softly as I could, helplessly trying to comfort her. She had cried and kicked until exhaustion overwhelmed her. I flipped through the channels with the volume low for distraction while she slept. When Dad came in, she startled awake at the closing of the door. She rubbed her puffy eyes and looked at me. Then we both looked at him. His hat was low and he would not lift his eyes. He just shook his head as he walked over and slowly lowered himself down on one knee by the couch before Sara.

  “I’m so sorry, dear,” he said gently, and he pulled her small dead weight against him. “I know it hurts like nothing else. But don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll do everything we can to help you through this.”

  She made an awful sound to acknowledge him. Then she was shaking and heaving, crying and trying her best to say without a voice that she loved him, was sorry, was scared, why and why and why.

  When I couldn’t take it anymore, I got up and went outside, turned over the boat, pushed off hard and jumped in. I rowed as hard as I could until the house was out of sight. My feet were wet and cold. I hadn’t thought to put on my boots.

  Later, when I got back, Sara had fallen asleep again. Dad and I spoke at the kitchen table. It was a cool day even with the sun, and he’d started the stove while I was gone. The place was quiet now except for the crackle of the fire and the ticking iron. He had been thumbing through a phone book that he closed when I entered.

  “It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he said quietly.

  “How is that possible?”

  “Easy,” he said, rubbing his eyes and then his forehead. “It looks like an accidental overdose, but either way it’ll be terrible for Sara to live with.”

  “She’s already got enough.”

  “I know.”

  “But she can stay here with us, at least.”

  “For now she can.”

  “She loves it here. It’s her home now.”

  My old man said nothing then. I waited, watching him. The sinking feeling inside me felt like it would go on forever.

  “What?”

  “Sara’s a minor,” he said. “As much as she’d like to, she can’t make her own decisions. Going with her father isn’t an option, and I don’t know what’ll come from Kate’s family.” He stopped a moment. “My guess is that the state will end up taking her into temporary custody. We’ll have to fight to keep her here, if that’s what she wants after the shock wears off.”

  I said nothing. I couldn’t. Whatever good the row had done me was long gone.

  “That’s how it goes, Jake.” He had his elbows on the table now, his head on his hand, looking out over the top of his hand and away to somewhere that troubled him greatly. “It’s only a matter of time, the way I see it.”

  “We can’t let that happen,” I said calmly. I wanted to shout it.

  “We can’t stop it. All we can do is hope it takes some time. That way I can get my own process started.”

  I looked over at Sara in the living room on the couch. She was curled up like a small child. “What do we tell her?”

  “The truth,” my old man said quietly. “I’m dreading it.”

  “It can’t be another shock to her. I don’t know if she can take it.”

  “I know,” he said. His eyes were closed now. “I’ve got to call the school. Then I’ve got to call an attorney. I’m way out of my element here, kid.”

  “I’ll tell her,” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” Dad shook his head. “I hate to put that job on you, but I don’t think I have it in me at this point.”

  I stood up. I had to. I couldn’t keep still anymore. Dad got up too. He took the phone and the phone book and went down the hall to his room and shut the
door. I turned to Sara again. I watched her sleeping, unaware of this next phase. It was too warm in the kitchen. She was all right. I couldn’t be quiet anymore. I had to get back outside.

  I pulled on sneakers and went out quietly, picking up the pace toward the shop. I slammed the side door and spun, looking for something to take everything out on. I beat the holy hell out of the trash cans and cursed everything that came to mind until my throat stopped working and I owed my old man money for new trash cans. Then the shine of a sharp ax hanging from the hooks on the wall caught my eye.

  Outside I ran along the path to the clearing with the ax, holding it over my shoulder like a soldier holds a rifle. The ground was damp and spongy underfoot, and I ran and slipped, breathed hard, ran and slipped until I was well beyond the clearing, and probably off our land.

  Stopping, panting, I sized up a poplar tree far out into the woods from the house. Re-gripping the now-damp handle, I swung once, feeling the sharp head sink into the bark with a thud that shot back up my hands and arms. I pulled, loosened the head, dried my hands on my jeans, drew back and swung harder. I loosened and swung again, harder. Then again, harder. I was used to the feedback now, and I swung on without restraint against that poor old tree that had stood for many decades longer than I had lived. I swung from low to high and from high to low until there was an ugly gash in the tree, the splintered bark and light-colored chips were all around me, and the smaller pieces clinging to my wet clothes.

  I stood back sucking wind when I heard the sharp cracking of the tree buckling. Then there was the rustling from above as branches crashed through other branches. The cracking sound grew and deepened as the tree pitched over, slowly at first, but increasing in speed and ending with a very deep thud and a thousand smaller crackles amid the crash. Then, from above, there was light and clear blue sky.