by Karina Halle
I take in a deep breath and set out after her.
I round the corner of the barn, and she’s standing right there with her back to me, staring at the ground.
A dead raven at her feet, looking like it’s only been dead for a few hours.
She glances at me over her shoulder with tears in her eyes.
“It was just lying here…” she starts. “What happened to it? It’s like it fell out of the sky.”
I grab her hand and pull her away from it. “It happens.”
“We should bury it,” she says.
“We should let nature take its course is what we should do.”
She shakes her head, takes her hand out of mine. “No. Not here. Not in this place.”
I watch as she starts looking around for something to dig with before she brushes past me and goes into the barn.
“Be careful,” I tell her, but she’s only in there for a few seconds before she comes out with what looks like a rusted hook.
She starts digging a grave.
I search for a suitable rock and then I start digging with her.
We bury the raven quickly, covering it with dirt.
She places a few wild daisies on the mound, then gives me a brave smile. “We should go back now.”
I agree. I want her to stay with me, afraid I might not get another chance to talk to her, be with her. But I know the moment is over.
I start out toward Polly, glancing back at the grave as I go.
I’m pretty sure Rachel was just trying to bury everything that we were to each other.
I awake to a knocking sound. For the longest time I thought it was in my dream, but now that my eyes are open, adjusting to the darkness of the room, it’s not.
I turn my head. The blinds are knocking against the window with each gust of wind that blows through.
Sometimes in the middle of summer we get these mean winds that come down through the mountain passes and don’t let up for a few days. Dusty, hot, and dry, these winds put everyone in town on edge. Fights break out at the Bear Trap more easily on those nights, and there are more sirens in the air. The horses are constantly cranky and the chickens don’t lay as many eggs.
I get out of bed, glancing at my clock that glows two a.m. as I go and pull up the blinds. Better that than closing the window in this heat.
That’s when I notice a figure out in the space between my house and the worker’s cottage, dressed in a white nightgown, long grey hair flowing behind her in the wind.
It could be a ghost. It wouldn’t be the first time I thought I’ve seen something unexplainable out here.
But it’s not a ghost at all.
It’s Vernalee.
I watch her for a few moments as she slowly walks through the knee-high grass, her back to me, and then throws her arms out to the wind, her nightgown billowing around her.
I want to give her space and privacy but at the same time I know she’s not well.
I slip on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and Vans and head out into the night.
The wind is dry and hot, ruffling my hair, making the grass sound like a symphony. I approach Vernalee carefully, realizing she might just be sleepwalking, and if that’s the case, I shouldn’t disturb her.
“Shane,” she says in a low voice.
I freeze as she slowly turns her head and looks at me over her shoulder. “Isn’t this beautiful?” she asks.
“What are you doing?” I come over to her.
She closes her eyes and smiles, face to the sky. “I’m finding my wings again. I think if I imagine it hard enough, I might just fly away.”
I think about that, looking over the town and the river and the dark peaks against a darker sky. The wind smells like smoke and heat and something from the past, swirling around us, anchoring me in this spot while Vernalee looks as if she’s about to take right off.
“Where would you go?” I ask, keeping my voice low, as if I could break the spell.
“I don’t know. Nowhere, I guess. I’d stay here. But it’s nice to have the option, isn’t it?” She opens her eyes and looks at me. “Would you ever go? Leave this place?”
I shake my head. “No reason to. Everything I need is right here.”
“Everything?” she asks, and there’s a knowing edge to her voice.
“Right now, yes. Everything.”
“And when she leaves?” She tilts her head, gives me a soft smile. “I know you’re still in love with her, Shane. You have to tell her.”
I look away, feeling my throat grow tight.
“And I don’t just mean tell her that you still love her,” she says. “Although it’s a start. You have to tell her everything. I know what you did, Shane, and I know why you did it.”
I glance at her sharply, and my knuckles burn with long-forgotten pain. She searches my face, and there’s no resentment or anger in her eyes—just a kindness that wells from somewhere deep.
“You’ve changed,” I manage to say.
She lets out a breathy laugh which leads into a cough. “I know. I had to. I couldn’t go on like I was. This cancer woke me up. It made me realize that there is an end for all of us and I didn’t want to invite it in. It made me realize I have a lot to live for, and for the last six years I haven’t been living. I think I died a little when Rachel left town. I know you did too. Have you been living, Shane?”
“No,” I say, my voice choking on the word. “I haven’t. I’ve put one foot in front of the other but I don’t think that’s enough to qualify.”
She sighs and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze with her bony fingers. “All that matters for the both of us is that we get second chances. I’ve done my girl wrong and that’s something I’ve never been able to forgive myself for. I don’t even think I should be forgiven. But I know in order to keep living, to get things right with her, it has to be the start. You, though, you know you have to tell her the truth about what happened.”
“How? Why? What difference can it make in her life? It won’t get her to stay here. Her life isn’t here anymore. She has a home and friends and a boyfriend. She has all she needs.”
“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe she has anything she needs. She needs you, Shane. She needs you to love her, to build a life with her. It’s always been you for her and her for you. Time goes on and mistakes happen and lies are told, but when you scratch a bit beneath all that, that’s where your truth is. I want Rachel to be happy and I know she’s not. And I know she would be with you. But you have to start fresh. Come clean.”
I take in a deep breath through my nose, my chest feeling small while the sky above seems to get wider. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“You tell her what you did. You were trying to protect her. Lord knows I couldn’t. But that’s my cross to bear, my darkest sin. You were acting out of love and justice and no one can fault you for that.”
“The courts would have.”
“But they didn’t,” she said sternly, turning to face me dead on. “Listen to me, Shane. My husband put you in a terrible position, but you did the right thing. It was the hardest thing for everyone, but it was the best thing. Because you finally gave her the courage to leave. You spared her. And the loss of her opened my eyes to what was really going on, all the horrible truths I tried so hard to ignore because facing them would have destroyed me. But it destroyed me in the end. Don’t you believe in fate? In luck? In wishes?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“She’s here. Maybe it’s because of me, maybe it’s because of you. Maybe it’s because of a million wishes made.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “She hates me.”
“No. No, she doesn’t. She hates what you did to her but that’s not the same thing. And I’m telling you, I may not know my daughter that well anymore…maybe I never really did. But I do know that just because someone has a broken heart, it doesn’t mean the heart doesn’t work anymore. It beat for you before, and it will beat for you agai
n. You just have to be patient and honest and true. You have to be brave. You have to.”
I nod and close my eyes. The wind feels like ghosts from the past rushing through me.
“I’ve tried to tell her, but…”
“You have to try harder,” she says, adamant. “And I have to try harder too. She’s here now and there’s a reason she’s here. But she won’t be here for long, not unless we both give her reasons to stay. Promise me that you’ll let her know the truth. Do that and her heart will repair before your very eyes.”
It’s not that simple. Rachel has moved on. Telling her the truth will only give her closure—it won’t open another door. Vernalee has far more stock in our love than I do.
Shit, I didn’t even know I was still in love with Rachel until I saw her again.
All those years I spent trying to move on, to find love with someone else, to push her out of my head, dig our relationship a grave and throw dirt on it like she did with the raven. And all of that was for nothing, because deep in my heart, I never stopped loving her. I never stopped thinking about her. The longing became so ingrained in my head, part of my routine, that I never stopped to realize just what—who—I was longing for.
“You better get back to bed,” she says to me. “I know you’re all early risers out here.” She pats me on the arms and walks off toward the house.
“Vernalee,” I call out after her. “He loves you, you know.”
She stops and glances at me over her shoulder, the hair blowing across her face so that I can’t see anything but a slight curve of her lips. A smile.
She doesn’t ask who, because she knows.
Then she turns and keeps walking, disappearing into the grass.
11
Rachel
Past – 20 years old
I lie back in my bed, summoning courage.
The room is dark. The sky outside my window is even darker.
My heart feels like tar.
Sticky, black, turned over and over a million times.
It lies in wait for the next blow. My soul cowers behind it.
I saw the look in my father’s eyes the other night and I know I’m on his agenda again.
It’s been years. And it’s been months. And I’ve worked past it and I’ve tried to thrive. I’ve stayed behind in this shitty town because I don’t want to leave Shane. I know Shane would leave with me in a heartbeat, but I’m not selfish. I know his life is here. And I don’t want to make him choose.
So I’ve stuck it out. And I’ve tried to put distance between me and my parents.
I’ve tried. I lived with my friend Jasmine for six months before rent got too high. I’ve spent more time than ever at the Nelson’s. They don’t care if I live there, sharing Shane’s room.
But it’s not enough. Because sometimes I have to come home.
And this is one of those nights. When my mother is drunk, passed out on the couch with a bottle of gin next to her pale, skinny fingers. Those nights where the front door slams shut because my father is home from his shift and each footfall through the house sounds like a jail cell door slamming on my future. On the person I’m trying so hard to be.
But this time I will not play dead.
I will not be invisible.
I will not shrink into the corner and try to take up less space.
I am full of space. I deserve to take up air in this world.
I deserve to be seen.
I won’t hide anymore.
No matter how many times I tell myself that, though, the fear runs through me like it’s got an iron grip on every single organ. The tightest one is around my soul. Because there’s a battle going on in there. There has been since the day my father first touched me, the day he first told me to never tell anyone, the day he made me hate myself.
The day he made me afraid.
You’re twenty years old, I tell myself. You can do this.
And I think this to myself with silly naiveté, as if the fact that he’s the revered chief of police in this town won’t matter at all.
Of course it will.
His word against mine.
Still, my limbs go stiff, ready to fight.
The door to my bedroom opens.
A column of cold light shines in.
Footsteps.
The door closes.
The column fades.
“Rachel,” my father whispers, and I know it’s the devil himself.
He leans over me. Touches my arm gently. He’s always so gentle to start, as if he’s a nurse, as if he’s helping. As if I need soothing.
His hand slides down my arm and I can’t take it anymore.
I exist.
I exist.
I exist.
I stiffen all over.
His hand pauses.
“Don’t touch me,” I manage to say through grinding teeth.
There’s a moment where I know he’s trying to gather his thoughts.
“What?” he says, shocked.
“I said, don’t you fucking touch me.”
I don’t know what I expected to happen, but I guess I didn’t think that far ahead. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t have said anything.
His hand goes to my hair. It grips me there, making a tight fist. He’s no longer being gentle, he’s no longer being a nurse.
He pulls back in one quick motion, one hardened grunt, and I’m thrown out of bed and onto the floor, screaming as I go.
I hope my neighbors will hear me, but my windows are all closed. I know my mother won’t. Even if my cries do wake her up, she’ll be too chicken-shit to do anything about it. She’ll go on as she has before when I’ve told her what he’s done to me. She’ll pretend I’m fucking crazy. Her husband, my father, would never, ever do that.
I land on the ground with a thud, pain shooting through me in waves of lightning. All my instincts are on fire, though, and I scramble to my feet, heading for the door.
He’s bigger, quicker, stronger. He’s a fucking cop.
He grabs me again, this time by the arm, twisting it far behind my back until I have no choice but to pivot around and face him. He rams himself against me, slamming me back until my head bounces off the wall, paintings falling and shattering on the floor.
“You fucking cunt,” he sneers at me. “You want to fight back now?”
His hand goes for my waist and I know I don’t have much choice in the matter. I will fight back whatever way I can, even if it hurts me.
I bring my head back and slam it forward, headbutting him.
It doesn’t work as I planned. It hurts like hell and I’m screaming in pain, my head spinning, but he’s pushed back a few feet and it’s just enough for me to make for the door and rip it open.
I run out into the hall and to the front door and then I’m out on the street and I’m running and running and running.
It takes a few seconds to feel the cold April air and the fact that I’m in boxer shorts and a tank top, with bare feet. But it doesn’t matter. I will keep running until I’m free, I will keep running because that’s the only thing I can do.
I don’t even bother stopping and knocking at any of our neighbors’ doors. They’ll only call the police and my father will get the call. What the fuck good will that do.
My feet are bleeding from glass and rocks by the time I make myself stop.
Headlights appear at the start of the street. I’m at least four blocks away, but I’m not taking any chances. I pull back into the shadows and hide in the bushes until the car goes past.
It’s a cop car.
My father’s.
I watch, holding my breath, as he turns a corner and disappears into town.
Then I turn around and start running back to my house.
I can’t even feel anything by the time I get in.
I don’t even bother trying to find my phone. I pick up the landline in the hallway and dial Shane’s cell.
It’s past midnight and I know he’s sleeping, doing shifts with M
av and Hank and Dick during the calving season, but he still answers almost right away.
“Hello?”
“Shane?’
“Rachel? What’s wrong? Why are you calling…oh it’s your home number. What’s—?”
“Please come get me. Don’t ask questions, don’t tell anyone. I’ll be on the swing set at the park behind my house. Please hurry.”
I hang up and grab my hooded coat from the foyer, slip on a pair of boots, and I’m out the door, running quietly up the street to the park.
I don’t let myself fall apart. Not yet. Now is not the time.
I sit on the swings but I don’t swing. I don’t move. I stay in the shadows and hold my breath and watch.
Minutes crawl by. Somewhere in the distance there’s a police siren and I don’t know if I should be relieved or not. Maybe my father will be torn away for a while. Or maybe he knows where I am and he’s coming for me.
And then, just when I think maybe time isn’t on my side, a pair of headlights shine and dim as a truck pulls to the side of the road. I’d recognize the sound of Shane’s truck anywhere, the truck he stole from Fox and ended up working his ass off for, for years.
“Rachel?” I hear him call out quietly.
I start running toward him and jump inside the passenger seat.
He looks me over, bewildered, his eyes shining. “What the fuck happened? Are you okay?”
I try and swallow but it’s next to impossible. I can only nod frantically.
“Rachel?”
“Please take me home. Shane, your home. Please.”
He watches me for a moment.
I finally look at him, pleading. “Please!” I cry out, my voice breaking.
He nods and starts driving.
In minutes we’re far from my parents. Then we’re far from town. Then we’re crossing the bridge over the river and it’s only then that I feel I can breathe again.
“Rachel,” he whispers again, hand grasping mine as we pull up to his house. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Everything passes in a blur. I can’t catch my breath, no matter how safe I feel.