It was almost morning, the sky already getting light, and we had to work on the farm in a couple of hours, but we scrubbed the floor in the bathroom with bleach, using old blankets for rags. Finally we had to stop, too tired to do another thing. We couldn’t get out all the blood—the grooves in the linoleum showed rust-colored stains.
We hadn’t patched the wall where my first shot hit, so we hung a small painting from the living room over the hole. We threw the rags into garbage bags, burying them in the hall closet until we figured out how to get rid of them, then shut the downstairs bathroom and locked the house, making sure every window was closed. We collapsed onto our beds, trying to get a few minutes of rest before we started our day, but I could only toss and turn. I heard Courtney moving around too. She’d been taking ibuprofen but I could tell by her breathing and occasional moans that she was still in pain. My jaw hurt where Dad had elbowed me—my teeth even ached—but we didn’t have many pills left so I’d given them all to Courtney. When Dani came to get us for work, her eyes were red-rimmed.
We left the windows closed for the day. It would be hot as hell by the time we got home, but we had no choice, couldn’t risk someone snooping around until we finished cleaning the bathroom and got rid of the bleach smell.
My lip wasn’t puffy anymore but it stung when I spoke and my jaw was bruised. We figured we could cover it up with makeup.
We weren’t sure what would arouse more suspicion: Courtney missing work or showing up with the burn, which looked even worse in the daylight, the skin red and blistered. Dani figured it was a second-degree burn. None of us wanted to risk going into a hospital. They’d want to talk to our father for sure.
“I’ll just say it was an accident,” Courtney said. “We need the money.”
“We need to not get caught,” Dani said.
“We have a lot of accidents,” I said. “If we say she’s sick, Ingrid might come check on her. Even if she doesn’t, they’ll figure it out if they see her in a few days and she still has the burn on her face. They’ll know we were hiding her.”
Dani was nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. Better we just act normal.”
We were working on different parts of the farm that day but agreed that if anyone asked, Courtney would say she was bending down to get something out of a lower cabinet that morning and I’d walked by with a hot pan.
I mucked out the stalls, trying to focus on the work. Clean that corner, pick up the shovel, load the wheelbarrow.… But I couldn’t stop thinking about the shovel in my hands, Dad’s body slumped in the wheelbarrow, how it had rolled out. You’re a murderer. You’re going to jail. My body ached, my eyes and throat felt dry, my hands were blistered—I’d put on gloves that morning, but every shovelful ripped them open, making them sting and burn. I licked the split in my lip, tasting blood. My gaze kept drifting down to the pig field.
It didn’t feel real, what we’d done. What I’d done.
“You in here, Jess?” It was Ingrid.
I turned away, scraped some manure in the corner. We’d put makeup on my bruise, toning down the color, but a faint shadow showed through.
“Yeah, last stall.”
Ingrid leaned over the open door, chatting about one of the horses—a vet was coming out later and she wanted me to move the horse to a different field. As she spoke, I had to turn to dump the manure into the wheelbarrow. I hoped she was too distracted to see my face, but she stopped talking. I looked up.
She was staring at the bruise. It wasn’t the first time I’d come to work banged up, but I worried she was thinking about the shots last night.
“What happened to you?” she said. Ingrid was a farmer’s wife through and through. She wore men’s jeans and shirts, kept her hair up in a bun, could nurse a lamb with a bottle while baking a pie and throw a hay bale as hard as any man.
She also didn’t miss anything that happened on the farm.
“This?” I rubbed my jaw. “Angus got me.” Angus was one of the Clydesdales—he often knocked his big head into someone, usually on purpose.
“Told you to stay away from his front end.”
I forced a smile. “His back end’s just as dangerous.”
She chuckled. “True enough.” Her face turned serious, the leathery tanned skin pulling at her eyes. “Walter said you kids have some rats.…”
“We’re getting them.”
“Maybe it’s time to try some poison.”
“We don’t want them stinking up the walls.” I felt sick, thinking of the blood still on the floor in the bathroom, the bag of bloody rags, flies circling.
“We’ll talk to your daddy about it when he gets home.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
*
That night we heated up the last can of tomato soup. Courtney told us Ingrid had asked about her burn.
“Did she believe you?” I said.