“That’s it?” I call after him. “Ain’t I in trouble?”
He looks back at me, eyes dancing with amusement. “You want to be?”
“No, sir.”
“You planning to shirk your responsibilities again?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I’ll take you at your word, cowboy.” He meets my eyes, man to man. A good man to a boy trying to learn to be one. “Don’t let me down.”
I straighten, lifting my chin and feeling every bit of the weight that he undoubtedly intended with that statement settling on my shoulders. Still, I’m smiling again as I watch him reach my mama, wrap his arms around her, and give her a spin before placing her feet back on the solid porch boards. When he also places his hat on her head and bends to put his mouth on hers, she beams.
“Can’t you do that in private?” I mutter, rolling my eyes as Idrag my feet up the stairs. My protests only grow louder when my mama grabs for me once I get to the top, tucking me into her side so that I’m enveloped by the soft fabric of her dress, the gentle waves of her long black hair, the sweet smell of whatever she’s been baking. Apples? Cinnamon?Pie.
My stomach growls and she chuckles, dropping a kiss on the crown of my head. Easier for her than it’s been in the past since now I’m up to her shoulder, and I wonder how many summers it’ll be before I’m as tall as her. Taller, even.
“Go on inside and get washed up,” she says, nudging me toward the door, and I’m so absorbed by the aroma that’s drifting from the kitchen that I almost don’t notice the way my father has gone still beside us.
“Pa?” I look up at his face, the hard lines that are rarely ever there making an appearance as he stares at a figure approaching in the distance.
“You expecting anyone?” he asks, directing the question at my mother and me. We both shake our heads, and he takes a step toward the stairs, keeping his eyes on the visitor.
“Go on inside,” he says, repeating my mother’s words, but they sound completely different when my father is reaching for the pistol at his belt, the real one this time, instead of the wooden toy lying discarded in the yard. “Lock the door.”
Later, I would remember having that sensation again. That suspended weightless moment where you are still able to experience the frantic hope of evading an unavoidable fate.
I would remember the way I tried to stay in that moment. To hide there. Even as my mother held my face and whispered, “Run, Aiden. Don’t look back.”
“You get kicked in the head recently?”
The damn kid just blinks at me, his mouth dropping open for a moment before he stammers out, “Wha—what?”
“Hearing loss? That what this is?”
He looks around, peering over his shoulder toward the rest of camp in the hopes that backup is coming.Not a chance.
Now that we’ve decided to stop here for a while, the only thing that’s going to dislodge any other members of our party from their spot by the fire is their whiskey bottle running empty, and from the looks of it, they’re just getting started for the day.
“Why are you askin’ if—”
“Because I told you to get lost once already,” I tell him, fixing him with a look that usually sends people on their way. “But here you still are.”
His eyes widen a bit, and as much as it irks me, I do have togive him some credit for continuing to stand his ground when it looks like one strong spring breeze could blow him over. Brave kid. Stupid, with no survival instincts to speak of, but brave.
Guess he’s not really akid, though. As scrawny as he is, he has to be eighteen at least. Plenty old enough to be on his own.
Far older than I was…
The thought creeps in before I can bury it, and my teeth grind together with the effort of fighting off a memory that already cost me last night’s sleep. Which isn’t particularly unusual. You’d think at some point it would fade to something less sharp. That time would dull it, even if nothing else has managed to do so.
“I’m…I only…” The kid’s mumbling again, and the overwhelming exhaustion I feel simply watching him struggle makes me finally pause my attempts to fix the busted pocket watch in my palm. I set it beside me on the fallen oak tree I’m sitting on rather than just hurling the fuckin’ thing into the surrounding brush like I should.
Was a ridiculous purchase to begin with. It’s never really worked right, and it seems unlikely to recover now that it’s been stomped on by a sour bull that had been hoping to stomp me instead.
Close call, all things considered, even if living the way I do makes them an almost daily occurrence. Sometimes it’s the animals. Sometimes it’s the terrain. Although, more often than not in my experience, it’s the fuckin’ people.Case in point…
“The, um, the boss says he wants you in town with them tomorrow,” the kid finally gets out. “Told me to tell you.”