What we reckon, p.22
What We Reckon, page 22
“Don’t talk about my mother.”
“Sometimes, in the right light, you’re the spitting image of her. Her hair was longer, of course, and a lighter shade of blonde…”
Donnie found himself gripping the pencil so hard, it nearly broke. He’d no idea how long his leg had shaken, but it nearly rattled the kerosene lamp off the desktop. He put a hand to his knee to steady it.
“You know what else you got?” When Donnie didn’t answer, Barney continued. “You got her mean streak.”
Donnie could not manage an exhale. All that wind sucked up tight in him and had nowhere to go.
“And who do you think gave her that mean streak?” he managed to ask through clenched teeth.
“That woman was an angry person long before she met me,” Barney said. “You don’t develop a hatred that deep overnight. No, that was something she inherited through generations of broken and damaged DNA. If you don’t do something—and something fast—it will continue to spread. Is that what you want?”
Donnie stared at the book in front of him so hard, it liked to have set on fire. He swore to himself that if Barney said another word about his mother, he’d leap over that desk and grab him with both hands and pummel his face with them until the old man stopped moving.
Barney was smart enough to let the air settle in the room. With the powers and energies properly redistributed, he watched his boy wither before him.
“We have to rid ourselves of the Halifax girl,” he said.
“Her parents send us another check in three days,” Donnie said. “And another one every two Wednesdays after that. So long as we keep her here—”
“I don’t like the effect she’s having on the other girls,” said Barney. “I don’t like the effect she’s having on me.”
“We need to keep her. She’s a windfall.”
“Windfall…” Barney shook his head and kept his voice level with his breathing. “That’s where your trouble begins. You refer to these girls with words like windfall and profit margin, but they are human beings. That talk may get you far on Wall Street, but not down here at Miracle Ranch.” Barney pointed out the open window. “There is something sick about that girl.”
“You said we would never turn our back on anyone.”
“I said that before I knew what a person could be capable of.” Barney closed his eyes. “I’ve never before faced something like…”
“Something like what?”
Barney pursed his lips. He swallowed. “Do you believe there is such a thing as true evil?”
“No.” Donnie picked up the pencil again, but could not bring himself to put it to the paper. “And neither do you. If there’s one thing you’ve stressed in these meetings, it’s that every person on earth is a Miracle and they—”
“I know what I said.” Barney’s voice cracked. “But maybe…”
“What?”
Barney turned his face to the wall. “Maybe I was wrong.”
Donnie erased numbers. He scribbled new ones. When next he looked up, the man looked older than Donnie remembered him. He looked smaller, and beaten more by time and elements. His eyes—forever green—looked grey in the lamplight and Donnie felt twinges of remorse mingling with the mirth. He leaned back in his chair and further inspected his father.
“I think,” said Donnie, “maybe you should take a couple days off. Maybe you should drive into Dallas. Hit you one of those AA meetings, recharge your batteries…you know, get away for a bit. Nothing is guaranteed to drive a man batshit faster than a bunch of young girls, and Lord knows you’ve spent plenty time around them. How about you take the truck and air yourself out a little bit?”
If Barney considered it, he didn’t do so for long. He shook his head. “This is no time to retreat. My work is assailed on all sides. I have you on one side harping about money and Summer on the other. If I left now, what would I return to?”
Donnie shook his head and turned back to his work.
“What I need to do is pray,” said Barney.
“Fine. Then pray.”
Barney paced the floor. He appeared lost in thought.
“I thought you were going to pray.”
Said Barney, “This was all so much better before you came along.”
“Excuse me?”
“You brought pestilence with you, much like the Horseman. You brought disease.” Barney pointed a finger to the ceiling. “Sin turned inward, that is disease. Dis ease. It’s something that can only be cured on the inside, not from outside.”
“Except for my mother.” Donnie felt his own patience sapping from him. In its place burned something hot. “Say it right now, god damn you. Except for my mother.”
“Especially your mother,” Barney snapped. “She was a spiteful woman. She was dishonest to the core. She was quick to lie, and quicker to find fault in—”
“Shut up.”
Barney showed no sign of stopping. “It’s true,” he said. “Perhaps a more remarkable person could have healed themselves, but your mother was far from remarkable. She carried with her no insight she didn’t pilfer from a schoolbook, nor could she acquaint herself with reason. She was petty, and that pettiness manifested within her a cancer.”
“I swear…” Donnie’s shoulders squared, heaving. “You’d better shut your mouth this instant.”
“In fact, your mother wouldn’t have been a blip on my radar, if not for you. Neither before, nor after.” Something foreign had taken hold of Barney’s voice, his cadence. It was as if the man had been replaced with someone more sinister. He sounded nothing of his former self, especially when he uttered the words, “She was poison then, and she remains to be poison long after her death.”
Donnie was over the desk before he could stop himself. He held at his side the pencil by which he daily scratched his numbers and drove its sharp point into his father’s throat. This caught them both by surprise, but none more than Barney Malone, who’s eyes bugged wide as he drew up both hands to staunch the steady flow of blood.
“Dear God!” barked Donnie. “What have I…?”
Barney kicked the boy off him and jerked from the couch as if yanked by a string. He collapsed, bloodied, into one wall, then raced the length of the living room to throw himself into another. He dropped to the floor, where he struggled and spasmed, working to free the pencil from deep within his throat.
“Don’t move!” Donnie shouted. “Hold still and I’ll get it.”
But Donnie spoke to no avail. Barney wrestled with the confines of the room, as if breaking free might save him from what now appeared certain. He grasped at the air before him with one hand, and threw wild punches with the other. He kicked his feet in the direction of Donnie, as if to keep him at bay. As if to keep him from stabbing him again with more instruments.
Donnie could not be stayed. He dodged one blow, then charged into the melee of Barney’s feet until he’d climbed atop the old man and pinned his shoulders with his knees. As his father bucked and hollered below him, Donnie spoke in as calm a voice as he could muster.
“Dad,” he said, “you have to trust me.”
Barney’s eyes bulged white. He sucked air like a catfish on a riverbank.
“Hold still,” said his boy.
Barney, seeing little choice in the matter, did as he was told. His face lost color. His left leg twitched slower and slower.
Donnie wrapped both fists around the pencil and closed his fingers.
“This is going to hurt,” he said.
Barney opened his mouth in mad protest, but it was too late. Donnie slipped the pencil from the old man’s throat, and soon the room was awash in spray. He’d nicked an artery good, and what was inside Barney soon found its way outside of him. The old man clasped both hands to his throat and held on tight. He whispered words that never found their way to anyone.
“No, no, no, no, no, no…”
Donnie ripped his own shirt from his body and held it to his father’s neck to stop the life from leaving him. Soon, the shirt purpled and turned heavy, so he tossed it aside and grabbed the pages of his precious ledger, the sofa’s pillow, pulled up pieces of carpet, anything to save his father, but all to no use.
Barney Malone could no longer be saved.
Summer crossed the back lot of the ranch with shoulders more slumped than they’d ever been. She carried with her only an apple, rather than the fruits from all her planning, hard labor, and good intentions. She shuffled across the dirt until she reached the far end and sat below what used to be a telephone booth.
Don’t sit so close to the tall grass. There might be snakes.
“I pity the snake that sinks its teeth into me,” Summer said. “The blood it’d draw would be cursed.”
Don’t say that.
“It’s true.” She polished the apple with the front of her overalls. “I’m a black stain. I’m no good to anyone and it’s high time I made peace with that.”
She bit into the apple. She watched buzzards soar overhead. One bird, then two, all steady on the updrafts.
“Luther?” She swallowed her bite. “Luther?”
I’m here.
“You got quiet, is all.” She studied a bruise in her apple. “You know I couldn’t handle it if you stopped talking to me.”
I just won’t play that game. That’s all.
“I ain’t playing no game.”
The pity parties. The self-loathing. I told you, I won’t have it. If you’re going to talk like that, you might as well talk to someone else. I won’t be your audience for it.
Summer sighed. Luther had a point. She’d worked so hard on her self-esteem since coming to the ranch. She’d come so far. She had fifty-eight days sober. She cut through the Principles like they were victims at a massacre.
She was perfect.
She was loved.
“You’re right,” she said. “You don’t understand how hard it is to keep from repeated learned behaviors.”
I understand completely.
“Of course you do. You understand everything.”
She scanned the horizon. She watched an armadillo hustle from one hole and into another. She took another bite from her apple.
“You’re the only one who understands me.”
That’s not true.
“Oh yeah? Who, then?”
Do I really have to spell it out for you?
Summer opened wide her mouth. She slapped at the air in front of her.
“Stop teasing and tell me.”
Think about it.
“Donnie?”
He’s cute.
“He’s a little straight and narrow for my tastes, don’t you think?”
You’d be surprised what kind of darkness he has inside of him.
“I’m tired of the darkness.” Rather than finish the rest of her apple, she tossed it into the weeds. “If it’s all the same, I’d like to spend a bit more time here in the light.”
Summer rose and walked further into the pasture. She ducked between strands of barbed wire, then kept going. Stepping over petrified patties of cow shit and around prickly mesquite shrubs, she came upon an old bass tank. The waters quivered and quaked as turtles, frogs, and whatnot scattered at the sight of her. A crane took flight. She looked out, over the hilly horizon. The sun was setting. The landscape burned brilliant, a color she’d never before seen.
“You’re doing a good job with this one, Luther.”
Thank you.
“No…thank you.” When everything returned still, she said, “Do you really think he understands me?”
The two of you are cut from the same cloth. Where you are weak, he is strong. And vice versa. You are the perfect complements of each other.
“You’ve said the same thing before.” Summer crossed her arms. “And look where that got me.”
Exactly. Where it got you. If it weren’t for everything that’s ever happened, do you think you still would have ended up right here, right now?
Summer nodded her head. “That’s a good point, Luther.”
He is a firm, guiding hand. He’ll be good to have around in a week or two, because based on my calculations that’s around the time you will be—
“Speaking of calculations,” said Summer, “he’s got a great head for numbers. Let’s face it, math is not my strong suit.”
Right.
“He’s got a good head on his shoulders.” Summer’s cheeks flushed. “He sure does. You know, I’ve heard him talk about the plans he has for the ranch. How he says if we planted corn and cotton in yonder fallow fields, we could gin it in town and make enough money to sustain ourselves for years.”
If not for his father…
“And how any day, those Miracle Dolls will take off and become collector’s items. Any day…I can just feel it.”
If only Barney allowed him to market them on the internet. Can you imagine what you could do for the Ranch, if Barney allowed an internet connection?
“I could turn this ranch into something big, you know. They’ve got no idea what I’m capable of.”
When they find out…
“I could bring them into social media. I’d get them on all the latest platforms.” It grew dark. She squinted at a fresh star winking overhead. “Maybe fetch us a celebrity to clean up, so we could get on the cover of People or Parade magazines.”
Barney would never go for it.
“That man is a fool,” she said. “He’s got no clue how to run a sober camp.”
He’s served his purpose.
“Sure, he did.” Summer leaned back in the craggy grass. She stared up to the crescent moon. “Maybe it’s high time we move him along.”
Focus on a goal with every ounce of love you can muster. Concentrate. Make it so.
Summer closed tight her eyes. She balled her fists. She squeezed the whole of her body so tight, her teeth nearly popped out. When she could tense her muscles no further, she relaxed them with a heavy sigh. Her ears rang long after, and her lungs could not receive enough air.
“I did it.” She lay still in the craggy grass. “I focused like a motherfucker.”
Good for you. Now you must go to him, because he needs you.
“Who? Donnie?” Summer smiled sideways. “I’m just a washed-up old junkie. What could he possibly need with a wing nut like me?”
Far off, a hoot owl gave plenty warning. A coyote’s song filled the arroyo.
“Luther?”
There was no reply.
“Luther?” Summer sat up. Her hands scrabbled at the dry dirt alongside her. “Luther, I was only kidding. I was just funning you. I know I’m more than a wing nut. I’m a Miracle. I’m loved. I’m—”
Summer, I’m serious.
“So am I. I didn’t—”
Summer…he needs you.
Summer didn’t like the tone in his voice. She cocked her head sideways, like a dog at a whistle. Any hint of a smile quit her face.
“What do you mean? You mean…he’s in trouble?”
Summer, now! He needs your help!
Summer needed no further encouragement. She made tracks across the pasture, leapt the barbed wire in a single bound, and headed straight for the Big House.
SUMMER KNOCKED once, but didn’t bother to wait as she punched open the back door of the Big House. She stumbled through the kitchen, the hallway, all the way to the living room before she stopped at the threshold, then used it to keep herself upright.
“Oh, dear Luther…” She did her level best to keep it together. “What have we done?”
Donnie Williams stood in the center of the room. His shoulders and chest heaved like that of a wounded animal. The room stunk of fear and something metal, like copper, and the walls had been splattered with blood.
“Oh my—” Summer slipped a hand to her mouth. “I willed this to happen.”
Donnie stood over the corpse of his father. The both of them were soaked straight through with enough ink-black blood that Summer could not tell if it came from one or the both of them. Donnie’s hands shook so hard she thought his arms might vibrate straight from their sockets. He held a bloodied pencil in one of them, and a gaping mouth on his face.
“I asked him to stop talking about my mother.” He could speak only in mumbles. “I begged him.”
Bubbles formed and popped at a jagged hole in Barney’s neck. It was the only movement from the old man.
“He said she gave herself the cancer,” whispered Donnie. “That she’d brought it on herself. He said she deserved to die. He said…” Donnie dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, what have I done?”
“You didn’t do anything,” she stammered. “It was me. I did this. I swear to Luther, I was just out in the pasture and I made this happen.”
“You have no idea what you are talking about.”
“I do.” Summer hopped up and down, splashing in the gore as if it were rain puddles. “Luther was right. All you have to do is focus your energies and great things will happen.”
“I killed my father.” Donnie rocked back and forth, as if he’d gone simple. “I stabbed him in the throat with a pencil. That’s what happened. He was right: I’m just like my mother.”
“I will not attend your pity party.” Summer waded into the blood and stepped around one side of the dead man, then the other. She made mental measurements. “If Luther did not want this to happen, then it would not have happened. This is but a single step in a very long journey for you and me.”
“There is no journey.” Donnie collapsed to his knees, sending a salvo of the old man into both their faces. “I’ll spend the rest of my life in a jail.”
“I won’t let you go to prison.”
“When the police hear what happened—”
Summer lowered herself to his level. She cupped his cheeks with both of her hands.
“They’re not going to hear what happened.”
Donnie stopped his simpering. His eyes quivered, but he kept her gaze.
“No one’s going to hear a thing.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Because no one’s going to find his body.”
Donnie sniffled. He looked her up and down.
“How so?”
