The Night Sister

There was her beautiful cow, a small round bullet hole right in the center of her forehead. Rose opened the gate and lay down beside Lucy, buried her face in the cow’s still-warm fur and cried.

She cried for what felt like hours, days. Flies came and landed on her and Lucy, and Rose flicked them away, used the sleeve of her robe to clean the blood from Lucy’s forehead.

She had lost her only true friend.

“I’m sorry, girl,” she cried. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“She had a good life,” Fenton said.

Rose turned around. Fenton was there behind her, leaning on the fence. Had he been there the whole time?

“If she’d been any other cow, she would have been made into hamburger years ago. Your daddy, he loved Lucy. You don’t know how hard it was for him to shoot her today. And you know what he wants to do? He wants to bury her in the back field. Dig a big old hole and have a real funeral. Send her off right.”

Rose kept her face buried in the cow’s warm chest, ran her hands over her ribs, her shoulder blade, down her bumpy spine.

“I should have been here,” Rose said. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“Now, Rose, your dad didn’t want to upset you, that’s all. I think he still sees you as a little kid, fragile. You’re tougher than he knows, Rose.”

She lifted her head, nodded.

“Smarter, too,” Fenton said. “Your father—both your parents, really—they don’t give you enough credit.”

For a second, Rose was surprised. Then, she thought, Exactly. For once, someone had it right. “Thank you,” she said.

“In fact,” he said, “I bet there’s not a whole lot that goes on here that you don’t know about. I bet the things you know would surprise everyone.”

She nodded up at him. If only he knew the half of it. But then, feeling the need to prove herself, she said, “I know about Daddy.”

“What about him?” Fenton said.

“That there’s another lady he sees. Her name is Vivienne.”

Fenton blew out a breath. “You know about that, huh? Well, do us all a favor and don’t mention that one to either of your parents.”

“Mama knows already,” Rose said.

“Yeah, well, just ’cause she knows doesn’t mean she needs to be reminded, right?”

Rose nodded. She felt strangely powerful. The keeper of grown-up secrets.

“Hey,” Fenton said. “Seeing as how you’ve already missed the school bus, how about you come to the trailer for a cup of cocoa? Then I can give you a lift to school when you’re good and ready. How does that sound?”

Rose wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Okay,” she said, standing on rubbery legs. She followed Fenton past the swimming pool (closed down for the season), and across the grass to his blue-and-white trailer.

“Take a seat,” he said once they were inside. Rose sat at the little table while he moved around the small, efficient kitchen, heating milk, stirring in cocoa powder and sugar.

Clang, clang, clang, went the spoon in the saucepan. Maybe it was Rose’s imagination, but there was something odd about Fenton today. He seemed out of sorts. Nervous. He wasn’t quite looking her in the eye. She guessed he was just feeling bad about Lucy. Men had a hard time expressing emotion. She’d read that in an article in one of Sylvie’s magazines and believed it was true.

They were quiet a minute while Fenton worked at the stove. Rose looked around. Fenton’s trailer was always clean, but cluttered—paperback books, tools, and motorcycle parts covered every surface. In spite of the apparent chaos, Fenton always seemed to know where everything was.

“This what you’re reading?” Rose asked, picking up the paperback in front of her. There was a napkin stuck in it, being used as a bookmark.

The Stars My Destination, the cover said.

“Uh-huh,” Fenton said.

“Is it good?” Rose asked.

“Pretty good. People can teleport. It’s actually pretty interesting.”

“I wish I could teleport,” Rose said.

Fenton grinned at her. “Where would you go?” he asked.