She flinched like I’d slapped her.
Standing there, both of us not talking, I saw the thing I shoulda looked at first—the ring on her finger. It was my fault she didn’t understand. When I told her she was too young to get married, I figured she knew I was talking about sex. But I bought her a wedding ring. I promised there wasn’t gonna be other girls, and there hadn’t been. I didn’t even look at other women anymore. Maybe I was the one who didn’t understand.
“Wavy—” As shitty as it was, I wasn’t getting ready to apologize. I was so ashamed of myself, I was gonna say, “You can’t tell anybody about this.”
Before I could, she clamped her hands over her mouth and said, “Mama was right. I am dirty.”
She was gone like a flash, leaving the kitchen door slapping in the frame.
I stood in the middle of the room, shocked as hell, wondering where she learned all that. The kissing, the other stuff? Did Liam’s girls talk about sex with her?
No, that was my fault, too. Except for the one skin mag I threw away, I hadn’t done anything with the other magazines in my nightstand. How many times had she been there without me and looked at those pictures?
Wherever she got those ideas, she was only thirteen. All those times I said, “I’m not that kinda guy,” maybe I was that kinda guy. What happened hadn’t just happened. There was that whole half hour of us making out before she unzipped my pants. I’d had plenty of time to put a stop to it, and I didn’t. Because I liked kissing her. I liked all of it, no matter how messed up that was.
My pa was a crazy, mean drunk who beat the shit out of my ma and us kids. Alcohol did that. It didn’t make you do what I’d just done.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t blame the booze. I don’t think I’d ever been as sober as I was right then.
11
KELLEN
I paced up and down, until the TV played the national anthem and went to the test screen. Standing there in the quiet, I knew how bad I’d fucked up. Not just that fooling around with Wavy was illegal—considering all the other laws I’d broken, I didn’t care about that—but that up ’til then, I’d never betrayed anybody I loved. Wavy trusted me, and I took advantage of her.
I got my gun out of the drawer next to the sink and pushed the clip in. When I was younger, I thought about it plenty of times. Just put the barrel in my mouth, pull the trigger, and paint the ceiling with my brains.
I used to think about it when I was lonely and miserable, but now it seemed like something I deserved. Except Wavy had said, “I’m dirty,” and I couldn’t stand for her to think she did something wrong. I didn’t want her going through life thinking she was so dirty I had to kill myself after she touched me. Whatever I deserved, she didn’t deserve that.
The temperature gauge at the kitchen window showed forty-two degrees. I’d let her run out into the night, wearing that skimpy dress with no coat, knowing she’d have to cross two highways and the meadow to get home.
I put the gun away and washed my hands. Then I put her coat and sweater in the saddlebag, and rode. I scanned the shoulder ahead for her as I went, but I’d waited too long.
At the farmhouse, the porch light was on, but the rest of the house was dark. I wasn’t brave enough to call her name, so I stood in the kitchen and listened until I picked out two clear sounds. Splashing water and a muffled hiccup.
I tapped on the bathroom door, and there was a hiccup followed by silence. There was no latch on the door and, when I pushed it open, it thudded against something. Wavy’s boots. The air burned when I sucked it into my lungs. Bleach.
I got down on my knees and crawled to the tub, saying, “I’m sorry, Wavy. I’m sorry I let that happen. That was all my fault and I’m sorry.”
I put my hand down and found her crumpled up dress. I couldn’t see a thing, so I reached for her, but she smacked my hand away.
“No one touches me. I’m dirty. I’ll make you dirty,” she said.
“You’re not dirty.”
“Dirty whore.”
“You’re not dirty and you’re not a whore.”
I couldn’t take the scrubbing, the sound of her feeling dirty. Even knowing she wouldn’t like it, I reached out to stop her.
She screamed and tried to shove me away, but I caught hold of her hands, and got the bar of soap and the washcloth away from her. Her arms were slippery, too hard to hold. She jerked one free and managed to punch me smack in the left eye. Lit up the whole inside of my skull. I been in bar fights where I didn’t get decked that hard, but once I had her tucked under my arm, she wasn’t big enough to put up a real fight against me. The water running off her soaked through my jeans and made the floor slippery. She’d been washing in cold water and bleach.