“No, it’s the same. It’s exactly the same.” The words come out with vehemence, frustration.
Something clicks for the boy. “And you thought going to Worlds was going to change things.”
“Yes.” Her “yes” is nothing but a humiliated husk of a word.
“Don’t be embarrassed. There’s nothing worse than getting your hopes up for nothing, especially when you have a whole heap of pressure on you.”
“Thank you.” His understanding is an exquisite relief.
“Look. Me and Ma will be there Saturday. We’ll be there to watch you. Okay?”
“Okay.” The girl feels a little better, knowing her best friend will soon be there.
“I’ll say prayers for you. I’ll tell Ma to say some prayers for you, too. She’ll tell her small group and then you’ll have a whole heap of people praying for you and rooting you on, okay?”
“Thanks, Caleb.” A warm wash of love for the boy comes over her. His lack of judgment, his unwavering support, it all means so much.
“And, Ruthie, it ain’t fittin’ for them to fight in front of you like that; it ain’t fittin’ at all.”
And just as quickly, that love disappears. Why does he have to talk like a redneck? He’s smarter than that, should be better than that. It just shows why Caleb could never be a part of the Carver clan. The Carvers are about being the best. Caleb is so close to that, so close to great. But he’s not. He’s on the other side of the line.
“Thanks, Caleb,” she says again, her voice cold. “I gotta go.”
His redneck ways have always been an irritant, but now, in the moment when she most needs him to be perfect, it brings home everything that’s wrong.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE WOLFMAN CONTINUES TO ROOT around in the kitchen as I lie facedown on the couch. Address memorized, I stare at the hunting magazines. Never in a million years would I have guessed his name was Jerry T. Balls. What kind of a name is Jerry Balls? In a different world from this one it would be funny. Thing is, he doesn’t look like a Jerry, and that name doesn’t ring a bell. I can’t remember what they called him when he worked for us, but it wasn’t that. To me, he looks like a Wolfman. He will always be Wolfman to me.
His home address is two towns over from mine. If his plant job is around there, he’s making one hell of a commute. No wonder I was alone for so long.
During our next card game it will be my goal to find out where this cabin is. Maybe even how far away from civilization. But first and foremost—food and water. I need to get some fuel into my body. Once I make my escape, I’ll need all the energy I can get.
The heavy steps of Wolfman are coming closer. I tense, waiting; the nerves on the back of my neck prickle as he looms over me. So close his breathing ruffles my hair. His breath is sour.
He says, “You stink.”
Out behind the cabin there is a garden hose, and I am being sprayed down with it. I’m naked. I’m freezing. My body convulses with cold. My underwear now sits on the end table with the rest. Everything in me wants to curl up, hide, cover my face. But it’s not going to happen. Standing straight and tall, my eyes open and on the Wolfman’s, I try to think about nothing but the water dripping down my face and pulling every little droplet into my mouth.
I’d hoped to get food before I left. I’d hoped to get more information and a kitchen knife. I’d hoped to maybe steal his truck. Those things didn’t happen. This is what did, and this is what is important:
I am outside.
He didn’t bring his gun.
But he did bring a whole new expression to his wolf eyes. He’s done thinking, done planning, done preparing. Things are about to get real. I can feel it. I recite my goals. Number one, I will not be raped. Number two, I will escape. Number three, I will bring him to justice.
“Turn around and bend over.”
My pulse quickens.
I turn very slowly, catch some of my red hair in my mouth and suck the water from it. Bending over, I drink as quickly and as much as I can, even using my hands to cup the water. He says nothing. All the while I’m listening for even one footstep forward. These moments are precious. This water is precious.
Then the water becomes uneven. Instead of a steady spray against the back of my neck, it travels down my body, off it -altogether, and then back to my neck.
Curious, I hang my head down and glance through the space between my ribs and my arm. He’s masturbating. He had to juggle the hose and his zipper. That’s why the spray of water didn’t stay steady.
But it’s not revulsion that strikes me. It’s something else. I think:
This is good.
This is excellent.
Taking the tiniest steps, I inch away from him.