“It’s done, man, let it go. And if you quit yappin’ about it, maybe I can find some way to let it go too,” her Dad finished and he didn’t sound happy. In fact, he sounded less happy than he’d been all last week.
Therefore, Clarisse knew why he was sad and she knew that he was mad at himself. She also knew the why about that too (partly).
And before Clarisse even knew what she was doing, she turned around, ran back up the two steps and to her room. Then she pulled Dusty’s diaries from between her mattress and box springs. Then she shoved them in her book bag.
Then she took in a deep breath and ran back downstairs, this time calling out, “Hey Dad!” so he’d know she was coming.
*
Finley Holliday stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared down the back hall at his Ma who was standing at the sink in the kitchen. She wasn’t moving. Just looking out the back window and he knew she was seeing nothing. He knew this because she’d been doing this a lot. He’d scared her like he was sneaking up on her tons of times the last few weeks.
She was totally losing it.
This didn’t surprise him.
“Your Ma, she’s special,” his Dad had told him so many times he lost count. “That’s why God gave her a bunch of men, me and you and your brother. Special girls like your Ma, they need a bunch of men to look out for them. That’s our job, all of us, to look after your Ma.”
Dad didn’t mind this. Fin knew Dad thought his Ma being “special” was cute. He knew it because when she got goofy or she dropped something like she did all the time and acted like the world was going to end or she said something stupid or she got all shy around company and tripped over her words, his Dad always burst out laughing. Then he’d grab her and kiss her. She’d stop blushing or looking scared and grin at him.
Without Dad, she totally couldn’t deal.
Totally.
And Gram and Gramps, Dad’s folks, and Gramma and Paps, Ma’s folks weren’t helping. Hovering around her like she was a wounded bird or something. You found a wounded bird, you broke its neck and got on with shit. He’d seen his Dad do that twice in his life.
“Kindness,” Dad, his deep voice gentle, had told him the first time he saw him kill a wounded bird, “comes in a number of forms.”
Fin didn’t tell anyone he saw his Dad do that. People would think it was whacked.
But Fin got it. Then again, he got a lot of what his Dad said.
But you couldn’t break a woman’s neck when she was in pain and wounded in a way that no one could ever fix. And it didn’t help, fluttering around her and acting prepared to grab a pillow or something to throw on the floor in case she went down so you could cushion the fall.
Shit had to get done. It was nearly February. They had to think about the corn.
He could not see his mother on a tractor. And her parents weren’t farmers. Her Dad was a retired barber and her Mom never worked. His Gramps lived in Florida now. He wasn’t going to come back up and work the fields.
And his stupid Aunt Debbie was on the phone all the time now with his Ma. Fin had heard the conversations. His Ma was already totally fucked up but after a phone call from Aunt Debbie, she was a mess. So now he ran to the phone so he could answer it and lie if it was Aunt Debbie and say Ma wasn’t home. He even did this with his Ma’s cell, finding it and keeping it close just in case Aunt Debbie called. Ma never cottoned on. She often lost stuff, never remembering where she set it down.
He knew from what he heard that Aunt Debbie was on about selling the farm. He didn’t understand it but from what he heard, since Dad died, Aunt Debbie, Aunt Dusty and Finley and Kirby now owned the farm all together. And Aunt Debbie wanted them to sell.
And that was not going to happen. No fucking way.
That land was his Dad’s land. Since he could reach the pedals, Fin was on a tractor helping his father work the fields. And before that, Fin or Kirb were sitting in front of him while their Dad did it.
He had it all planned out. He was seventeen but he knew. He’d even told his Dad. When he did, his Dad was so fucking happy, he’d smiled huge and Fin could swear to God that he saw his Dad’s eyes get wet and he’d never seen that in his life.
He was working that farm. Like his Dad. And his Gramps. And his great granddad.
Fuck, Aunt Debbie. God, she was such a bitch.
Shit, he needed Aunt Dusty to come back. He didn’t know what was up her ass the last time she was there but even though he sensed something was not cool with her, she was fucking great with Fin’s Ma like she always was. Aunt Dusty didn’t treat her like a wounded bird. She acted like all was normal. She teased her, she teased him and Kirb, she laughed and did crazy shit like she always did. She sang while she was doing the dishes. Once, he saw her holding his mother while she cried but it wasn’t in a bullshit way. It was in Aunt Dusty’s way.
She was just real.