Fingertips

            Everything is nothing until you make it into something; that’s what Nina loves about baking. Flour doesn’t taste like much until combined with a few other things and then put into a very, very hot box. The next time you see it, it has completely transformed; it has become something that people will lust over and praise you for. While it’s technically the product of chemistry, Nina prefers to think of it as the closest thing humans have to magic. To her, the knowledge of how to build this food is the most sacred that we have and have passed down. Following the steps of a recipe is merely invoking it once again.

            She hears the argument rumbling down the stairs before she can make out any specific words. Her father’s voice rumbles like he’s part bulldog, and her mother is all high-pitched squealing and uncompromising wit. Nina dips the whisk into the bowl of dry ingredients sitting in front of her and begins to stir. White powder into more white powder; it looks like nothing because it still is nothing. Nina realizes she’s left her ring on when a cloud of flour puffs up. Tiny granules of it find their way into the flawed diamond. She pulls it off and drops it into her pocket.

            “I just don’t understand why you have to go today,” her mother says. “It doesn’t make sense.”

            “You’re only saying that because it wasn’t your idea,” her father says. “If it was your job to keep the school running, you wouldn’t want me to complain about it.”

            “But it’s Saturday,” her mother says. “Can’t you wait until tomorrow?”

            Nina walks the short distance to the fridge and grabs the butter. She warms it with the palms of her hands and then unwraps it and drops it into the mixing bowl. Pouring the sugar in after the butter, Nina turns on the mixer and steps back to let it do its work.

            “. . . besides, I’ll get in trouble if I leave it until tomorrow,” she hears her father say.

            “Who will know?” her mother says.

            Nina hears a familiar clapping sound and knows her father has let his hands flop to his sides in a dramatic, helpless gesture. “There are people all over that school all the time,” he says. “If something happens, chances are I won’t be the first person to know.”

            Her mother’s voice drops, and Nina doesn’t hear what she says next. Nina steps forward and turns off the mixer. She scrapes the sides of the bowl and then goes to the fridge to get the milk. While she measures it out with the other wet ingredients, she hears her parents’ conversation continue.

            “Please, John,” her mother says, “it’s Daisy’s birthday.”

            Nina doesn’t see her father roll his eyes, but she knows instinctively that he does this. He starts to respond, “I told you, I have to—“

            “Go to the school, I know,” her mother says. “But we both know that’s not where you’re going.”

            Nina whisks the wet ingredients until they begin to come together. “That’s such bullshit, and you know it,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” Nina hears the door open. She pours a third of the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl.

            “John—“ her mother says, but the door slams before she gets out the rest. Nina hears her sigh, and the silence that follows is harder to listen to than the argument. She sets the mixer on a lower setting and alternates between adding the wet and dry ingredients to the bowl.

            “Nina, love?” her mother says as she walks into the room.

            “Yeah, mom?” Nina says without looking up.

            “How is the cake coming?”

            “Good, mom,” Nina says. “I think it’ll be good.”

            She looks over to see her mother nodding.

            “Don’t worry about it,” Nina says.

            “I’m not,” her mother says. “I’m not worried about it.”

            Nina stops the mixer to add the last of the dry ingredients and fold them in. She notices that her mother’s fingers have started to rap the counter. Nina glances from the skeletal hand to her mother’s face. She never realized it before, but her mother has excellent cheekbones. Her dark brown eyes set over those carved-out features gives her a hawk-like look. Nina starts to feel sick, so she focuses on dividing the cake batter between cake pans.

            “Daisy’s going to have a good birthday, mom,” she says. “Don’t worry about that, either.”

            Her mother snaps out of her trance. “Why would you say that?” she says. “Why would I be worried?”

            Nina quickly shakes her head. “No reason.”

            “Good, good, because nothing is wrong. We’re going to have a wonderful day.”

            Nina slips the cakes pans into the oven and says nothing.

~

            When Nina puts on her dress for the party, she feels an exhaustion that she hasn’t experienced in a long time. Maybe not since her senior trip in high school, when her entire class went to the local amusement park. Nina, like everyone else, had insisted she was too old for the trip and was just using it as an excuse to not be in class. However, as soon as they got there, the seniors dispersed as though they had never been to such a paradise before. The day flew by in a haze of funnel cake, sunscreen, and wooden rollercoasters, and when the new adults climbed back onto the bus at the end of the day, it all felt like a dream. The final strains of their responsibility-free youth had been pushed through their pores, and everyone was left feeling spent and wondering what had just happened.

            This is the exhaustion that Nina feels now. Her feet hurt from standing all day, her shoulders are stiff from the posture of uncertainty, and her knees are about to buckle underneath her. She struggles to zip up the back of her dress by herself. It is different now, though; When she was on that bus, she had the hopefulness that is an eighteen-year-old surrounded by friends, four years of college in front of her.

            She pulls at the dress’s skirt and then exits the room she shares with her little sister. Daisy almost runs into her as soon as she crosses the threshold.
            “Careful,” Nina says, holding out her hands as if to stop her. But Daisy can’t be stopped. She pushes Nina out of the way and runs into the backyard. The doorbell rings and Nina goes to answer it.

            “Hi!” she says, hoping her enthusiasm will mask the fact that she has no idea who she is talking to.

            “Hi!” a blonde woman says back. She pushes her daughter into the house, past Nina.

            “Um, come on in,” Nina says. She smiles and tries to remember where she has seen this woman before.

            “Oh, you have a . . . lovely home,” the woman says. She glances from the rip in the couch to the worn carpet in the hallway.

            “Thank you,” Nina says. She scratches her elbow.

            “Where should I put this?” the woman says, handing Nina a beautifully-wrapped pink present.

             “Oh, I’ll take it,” Nina says. She turns and the woman lets herself into the house. Nina watches as she crosses to the back door and slides it open. Nina sets the present on the mantle over the fireplace and walks into the kitchen. She wrings her hands and puts one on the fridge. Then she hears the doorbell again.

            “Nina?” her mom yells from across the house.

            “Mom?”

            “Can you get that?”

            Nina glances at the counter. She goes to the fridge and pulls out the platter of celery and carrots. “I can’t, mom, I’m busy.”

            She hears her mother swear as she makes her way to the door. Her mother never had the patience to learn how to walk in heels, so her feet make a comforting clomping sound on the hardwood floors. Then silence falls as she prepares herself to greet the next mom.

            The door opens. “Hi, guys!” her mother says.

            “Hi, Cathy, how are you?” a startlingly deep voice responds.

            “I’m doing well, thank you,” her mother says. Nina squeezes her eyelids closed. “Come on in.” The door shuts again.

            Nina hears her mother come into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she says.

            Nina wraps her fingers around the sides of the platter. “I’m . . .”
            “Take that out to the backyard!” her mother says. Nina grabs the plate and carries it outside. She sets it on the table and anxiously glances around the party. She doesn’t have a peer in sight. Nina feels the sweat drip down her spine and her bare legs start to itch. She pulls her heel out of her shoe and rubs it against the opposite ankle. Then she hears it: a blood-curdling scream fills the yard and Nina’s eyes latch onto the source of the noise.

            Her sister is lying on the ground, clutching her leg. Her black hair is spread out underneath her like a spider. Her enchanting green eyes are scrunched closed in pain, although she isn’t crying. Nina runs towards her.

            Daisy is screaming, not she isn’t screaming words. “Daisy, what happened?” Nina says, but she can see for herself. There is a long gash running down the middle of her sister’s leg, and Nina feels the urge to lean down and try to close it up with her hands. She looks around, but can’t find the cause of the accident.

            “What happened?” she says again. Then, “I’ll get mom.”

            Nina stands up and feels the blood rush to her head. She takes a few steps towards the house, and then stops before she reaches the back door. Here, she leans to the left and vomits the entire contents of her stomach into the bushes. Then she heads inside.

            “Mom!” Nina screams. She can hear her voice crack. “Daisy’s hurt! She needs you! Mom!”

            Her mother appears from the hallway. “What?”

            “Daisy’s hurt! She’s needs a doctor, or something! She’s bleeding!”

            “Oh my god!” Nina’s mother runs past her and into the yard where Daisy is laid out. Nina can feel the fear run though her, but her mother is surprisingly steady. She turns to one of the women present. “Call an ambulance.” The woman pulls out her phone. “Nina?”

            “Yeah, mom?” Nina says. The tears are starting to leak from Daisy’s eyes, and Nina looks away so she doesn’t follow suit.

            “Go get your father,” her mother says.

            “What? But, mom—“

            “Just go do it.”

            Despite everything, an awkward silence stirs between them. “At the school?” Nina says.

            Her mother looks up and into her eyes. “You know perfectly well where he is,” she says.

            Nina nods and turns to go. When she reaches the back door, Nina hears the other mother say, “An ambulance is on its way.”

~

            Nina isn’t sure if it makes her sadder that the bar is virtually empty. She hasn’t been here many times, but as soon as she walks in, the bartender makes eye contact with her and nods. There are a few cracked barstools that line the counter, as well as a booth that looks like it hasn’t been scrubbed down in weeks. The light is dim the way it is in bad cop movies. Nina makes her way to the end of the bar to where her father sits.

            “Dad,” she says. He doesn’t look up. “Dad,” she says again. He still doesn’t look up. She walks forward and climbs onto the barstool next to him. The bartender walks over and puts a glass of water in front of her. Then he retreats.

            Nina puts her hand on her father’s arm. “Dad,” she says, “you need to come home. Daisy’s hurt.”

            Her father looks at her, and at first his expression is horror. But as he surveys her, his lips slowly crack into a smile. “What do you mean?” he says.

            “Daisy did something at her party, and when I left she was bleeding all over the yard.”

            His smile doesn’t falter. “But Daisy’s so little. What could have happened at her birthday party?”

            Nina picks up her glass and takes a large sip. Then she says, “Dad. Listen to me. You need to come home.”
            He leans forward onto the bar and rubs his forehead with his hand. “Yeah,” he says.

            She wants to slap him. “Dad, I’m not kidding.” Still he doesn’t move from his barstool. “Dad, I’m not fucking around. You really need to come home. Now.”

            His head snaps to the right. “Don’t use that kind of language around your father,” he says.

            “I’ll use whatever kind of language I want,” she says.

            His eyes flash. “Not around me.”

            “Fine,” she says. “Then come home and punish me, or whatever. Just come home.”

            He reaches forward and strokes the sides of the pint in front of him. “I don’t think I can,” he says.

            “You can,” Nina says. “Now get up.”

            “You don’t understand,” he says. “There’s so much—“
            “I don’t care!” Nina says. “I don’t care about your life problems or your marital issues or your midlife crisis. I care that my sister is gushing blood in our backyard, and you don’t seem to give a shit.”

            Her father stares at her. His cheeks turn red.

            “So are you coming, or not?” Nina says.

            Her father says nothing. He swallows and looks down at the bar in front of him.

            Nina stands up. “I don’t have time for this. We’ll be in the ER. You’ll regret this when you sober up,” she says.

            She turns and walks towards the exit. She makes eye contact with the bartender, who nods at her. Her hands barely feel the door when she throws it open.

~

            Her mom texts her from the emergency room as Nina drives back home. Things are relatively under control, but she needs her as soon as possible. Can she grab Daisy’s stuffed giraffe and a few other things from the house before heading over? Nina agrees and gets to it.

            The house is eerily empty for being so colorfully decorated. The food that she and her mom set out is still in the process of being disturbed, even though no one is left to eat it. Purple streamers sag over the doorway to the kitchen, embarrassed that they are left without anyone to notice them. Nina runs to her sister’s room and grabs the stuffed animal in question. Then she collects the few other things her mom requested and heads to the kitchen. She drops everything on the counter and goes to get a bag from under the sink. Nina quickly packs it and throws it over her shoulder. Then she goes to the fridge to get a couple cold bottles of water.

            When she opens it, she freezes. There, staring back at her, is the cake she spent all day making and decorating. It mocks her with its rounded edges and garish yellow frosting. She is tempted to take a chunk of it in her hand and throw it to the floor. But no, her sister might remember it later and want it. There is no point in being wasteful; This has been a tough enough birthday as it is.

            Still, the cake feels like an unexpected weight in her stomach. She reaches forward and pushes it farther back into the fridge. Somehow, this move makes the nausea subside a little. Nina slams the fridge closed. She is out the door and back in her car in thirty seconds. It’s difficult to remember to drive slowly.

            That bright yellow cake is still in the back of her mind as Nina nears the ER, though. Learning to bake was the moment Nina realized the power at her fingertips. She has control over this magic of chemistry; she can cobble together joy by combining what doesn’t naturally exist side by side. Nina contains this old knowledge and calls it back when things are hard. Everything is nothing until you make it into something. 

Truck Stop Tears

            She left with every car that passed the truck stop. There weren’t many; few people came this far west anymore. When they did, it was like Anna could feel them. She wanted to be them so badly that she slipped on their skin for a few minutes. She watched through the thick glass windows as another version of herself put the gas pump back and wiped her hands on her jeans. She climbed into driver’s seat, laughing at something the man in the back seat had said, and turned the key in the ignition. She felt the soft purr of the engine beneath her and threw the car in reverse. Alternate Anna cast a glance back to the short brown building, her eyes flickering over the dimly-lit windows. Real Anna met her gaze and broke a little as she watched her unreachable twin drive away.

            She sprayed the window with cleaner and wiped it with a stained rag. The smell of the chemicals clung to her nostrils and made Anna cough. She turned and looked around. Her father’s establishment didn’t know what it wanted to be. Half the building was made up of booths and a counter, squeezed together like a miniature version of a diner. The other half was a convenience store, the dinginess almost hanging from the walls. The two were separated by some invisible boundary, the point at which her father decided he couldn’t make up his mind.

            He passed her, muttering under his breath, as she crossed the boundary into the diner half. An older couple sat in a booth in the corner. They looked up at Anna in her cheap, bright pink uniform and their frowns deepened. The man leaned into his folded hands, his greasy hair crawling down the back of his neck. The woman peered at her with red-rimmed eyes, her maroon lipstick smudged at the edge of her mouth. Her lips parted as though she was about to say something, so Anna raised one polite forefinger. She smiled and nodded. Then she turned and headed into the kitchen.

            “Molly?” she yelled, although she knew where her sister would be. The lanky blonde, dressed in an identical pink uniform, was bent over the counter talking to the cook. The fifteen-year-old smiled and let out a low laugh. “Molly,” Anna said again.

            “Hmmm?” she said, tilting her head in Anna’s direction.

            “It’s your turn, Molly,” Anna said, readjusting the tacky cotton gathered around her shoulders.

            “Cute?” Molly said, winking.

            “Sure,” Anna said, moving out of the way as Molly hurried past her. She waved at the cook and said, “How’s it going?”

            He shrugged. “You know,” he said.

            “Yeah,” Anna said. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The cook forced a smile and turned back to the stove. Knowing there weren’t any orders for him to fill, Anna left the kitchen. Molly brushed past her again.

            “Thanks a lot,” she said, intentionally hitting Anna with her shoulder.

            “What?” Anna said, smiling. “They’re cute.”

            Molly rolled her eyes and went to deliver the order. Anna heard a crash come from the other side of the building and ran towards it. When she crossed the boundary, it took her a moment to adjust to the sight in front of her. Her father was sprawled out on the floor, packets of trail mix and sunflower seeds scattered around him.

            “Dad?” she said, hurrying forward. A woman clutching a fake Louis Vuitton was standing nearby with an expression of overproduced horror on her face.

            “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, crawling onto his hands and knees. Anna put her hands at her father’s elbow as he stood up. He jerked away. “Stop it. I’m fine.”

            “Okay,” Anna said, “uh, what happened?” She tried to reach out to him again.

            “Seriously, stop it,” he said. “I don’t need any help.”

            Anna glanced from the woman, who quickly shook her head, to the display that now lay on its side. Her gaze returned to her father’s face.

            “I just leaned on the display and it tipped over, okay?”

            “Okay,” Anna said, and folded her arms over her chest.

            Her father stared at her for a moment. “Well?” he said.

            “Well, what?” she said.

            “Well, aren’t you going to clean it up?”

            Anna opened her mouth and then closed it. She summoned all the wisdom of her sixteen years. “Of course,” she said, and bent to the ground.

            “Here, ma’am, I’ll help you out over here if you’re ready,” her father said to the woman still clutching her purse. She nodded meekly and held out a bottle of Smart Water. Anna’s father grabbed it and placed his hand on the woman’s back when she got near him. A shiver ran down Anna’s spine and she righted the display. She tried not to glance up as her father returned the woman’s change and briefly ran a finger along her wrist, but she couldn’t help it. Anna started to feel nauseated.

            “Why are you moving so slowly?” her father said, coming up behind her when the woman left. “We can’t let our customers see this mess.”
            Anna glanced in the direction of the old couple in the booth and looked back down. She nodded and gathered the scattered food faster. Her father watched in silence as she organized the bags and brushed the specks of dirt and hair off the ones that had been on the bottom of the pile. She could feel the back of her neck start to burn.

Her father nodded in apparent satisfaction and went to stand behind counter again. Anna brushed her hands on the skirt of her dress and quickly walked back across the boundary. The old woman was chewing and eyeing her suspiciously. Anna smiled brightly at her and said, “Is there anything I can get you two?” The old man shook his head and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. Anna’s smile stayed glued onto her face as she made a beeline for the kitchen.

            Molly was back at the counter, leaning against her elbows and listening to the cook tell a story about . . . something.

            “Molly,” Anna said. “What are you doing? You’ve got customers.”

            “Please,” Molly said, “I’ve got them under control.”

            The cook cleared his throat. “So like I was sayin’, we were chasin’ that pig all over the yard and Matt finally had it cornered when that godforsaken creature got a board in the fence loose and—“

            “What the hell is everyone doing in here?” Anna and Molly’s father said as he threw open the kitchen door. “Do I pay y’all to stand around and shoot the shit?”

            Molly straightened up, her face going white. “No, dad, but it’s pretty slow so I just thought . . .”

            “You thought what? That you could sit around and waste my time?”

            “No, of course not—“

            “Then why are you doing it?” Their father took a few steps into the kitchen and Molly took a few steps back. “Good God, no matter what we do with you, you never cease to be completely useless.”

            Anna stepped into the space her father had just occupied and slipped out the kitchen door. She made eye contact with the cook as she left. He was standing by the flat top and nervously tapping a fork against his open palm.

            “Can we get the check please?” the old woman said when Anna reappeared. Anna raised her forefinger again and continued walking until she was across the boundary. She headed straight for the space behind the register and felt around in the drawers underneath the outdated machine. Anna’s fingers wrapped around the familiar metal container. She pulled it out. Her father’s flask. She needed to be quick.

            Anna exited the convenience store and unscrewed the flask’s lid. She dumped the entire contents of it onto the pavement in front of her, startled by how the smell of the whiskey both nauseated and comforted her. She screwed the lid on and hurried back inside. Anna locked eyes with her sister, who was walking out of the kitchen. Molly lifted one shoulder and smiled as she handed the old couple their check. The man pulled out his wallet, retrieved a single bill, and slapped it down on the table. He and the old woman got up and made for the exit, the woman pulling her cardigan close to her round body. The door swung open and they were gone.

            Anna walked to the window and watched them leave. They made their way to a predictably rusty Honda, opening their doors at the same time and slumping inside. The man put the car in reverse and sped out of the parking lot. As the bumper of the vehicle disappeared from sight, Alternate Anna turned and waved from the back seat. Real Anna tilted her head forward until her nose was resting against the cool surface of the glass. She wanted to leave, even if it meant leaving with them.

~

            Night fell and still the girls were there. Molly was pacing back and forth in the diner, twisting her hands and sighing every few steps. Anna was sitting in a booth, filling sugar containers and studying the cracked table in front of her. Their father was slumped over against the broom closet in the back of the convenience store, snoring lightly.  

            The silence stretched out between them until Molly finally said, “You know, if we wanted, we could just leave right now.”

            “Where would we go?” Anna said. “We don’t have any money.”

            “It doesn’t matter. We could take it from the register and have enough to live on for weeks.”
            “Molly,” Anna said, looking up from the sugar containers. “What are you talking about? We can’t take money from the register. That would be stealing. Dad would report us in a heartbeat and we’d get caught.”

            “Why?” Molly said, massaging her bruised wrist. “Don’t you think we’ve earned it?”

            Anna sighed. “Since when has what we’ve earned made a difference?”

            Molly rolled her eyes and Anna saw they were starting to fill with tears. She stood up and walked to her sister, putting her arms around her bony shoulders. “Please don’t cry,” she said. “We just have to dig in a little longer and things will change. We can leave then.”

            “’Then’ isn’t soon enough,” Molly said, a tear dropping down her cheek. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and wiped her face with her hands.

            “Please, it’s okay, we’ll be able to—“

            “Girls?” their father’s sleepy voice came from the back of the building.

            They both froze. “Yeah?” Anna said.

            “Kim’s going to be here soon. Get out front.”

            The girls looked at each other and Molly wiped her face on the sleeve of her dress. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” she said.

            “We’ve never wanted to do this,” Anna said. “It doesn’t matter. Where else do we have to go?” She walked to the diner’s entrance and let herself out. Sure enough, Kim was standing on the curb, smoking. Her blonde hair was thrown up into a messy bun and her eyeliner had fallen down her face. Her reddened skin was pulled tight across her cheeks, but was baggy under her eyes, and harsh lines met on her forehead and at her mouth.

            “I’ve been waiting for five minutes, what have you two been doing?” Kim said.

            Molly stared at her shoes. “Refilling sugar containers,” Anna said.

            Kim rolled her eyes and stuck her cigarette between her lips. She grabbed Anna by the wrist and pulled her off the curb. Anna looked back at Molly. Molly’s eyes had grown round in fear, as they always did. Anna set her mouth in a firm line and nodded. If she would be okay, then Molly would be okay. But then Anna watched as their father walked out of the convenience store. He hung an arm around Molly’s shoulders and seemed to lean on her. Anna thought she saw Molly’s knees shake.

            Kim dragged Anna towards the line of dark trucks. Their customers were waiting.

~

            The next morning, Anna quietly wiped the tables down before the store opened. Molly was washing dishes in the kitchen and their father was sleeping off his customary hangover behind the register. Anger pulsed through Anna, as it always did. She imagined herself grabbing a butter knife and running it along her father’s throat, patiently repeating the task until she smelled blood. It would take a while, but then that might be okay.

            But no, she couldn’t do anything like that. She would walk out, and when she did no one would be able to stop her. She pressed her hand into the plastic in front of her and scrubbed. A crash came from the kitchen. Anna stopped what she was doing and went to check on her sister.

            The cook was crouched on the ground, carefully picking up pieces of ceramic and placing them in his hand. Molly stood over him, completely still. Anna came up behind her and put a hand on her back. Molly looked at her, narrowing her eyes and then yawning. “I don’t know,” she said, in response to Anna’s silent question.

            Molly absently ran her finger along the counter. “Just a little bit longer,” Anna said. Molly nodded and took a deep breath. She pulled at the skirt of her dress until it was neat on her tiny frame. Then she crouched on the ground beside the cook and started picking up pieces herself.

            “Hello?” someone called from the diner. Anna went out to investigate.

            It was a man, maybe in his late-twenties. He had shoulder-length black hair and held himself with a sense of power that had never been crushed. The expression on his face was kind enough, though. Anna had gotten good at sensing the intentions of greedy men.

            “Hi! Sorry!” she said.

            “Is the restaurant open?” he said, indicating the deserted building around them.

            “Yes, yes it is,” she said. “Please, take a seat.”

            He nodded and made the for the nearest booth. Anna went to pour him a glass of water and added a lemon wedge as an afterthought. She immediately regretted it as she watched the small, slimy rind sink down into the water, but it was too late. She brought the glass to his table. He was studying the menu.

            “What’s good here?” he said.

            “Nothing,” she said.

            He laughed and looked up at her. “What? Really?”

            She shrugged. “I think the cook is about ready to give up on life,” she said. “That’s what it tastes like anyways.”

            “Aren’t you supposed to be selling me on this place?”

            She smiled. “We’re the only truck stop for a hundred miles. There, I sold it.”

            He laughed again. “You’re a smart girl,” he said.

            She shrugged. “Relative to here, which means next to nothing,” she said. He frowned. “I’ll get you a burger. It will definitely be overcooked, but I promise it won’t make you sick.”

            He stared at her. “What a wonderful promise,” he said. Anna walked to the kitchen and delivered his order. She came back and made a point of slowly wiping down the counter. “I’m Jack,” he said from across the room.

            “Okay,” she said, continuing her task. Then she looked over her shoulder and said, “Anna.”

            “What are you doing a hundred miles from civilization, Anna?” he said.

            She shrugged again. “Doing what everybody does. I’m working.”

            He blinked. “That wasn’t really the question.”

            “I know,” she said, and smiled. Jack studied her face, but she knew he wouldn’t find anything.

            Five minutes passed of her working silently while he stared down at his blank phone and toyed with the straw container. Then Molly burst through the kitchen door, burger in hand, and looked from where her sister stood cleaning to the man sitting in the booth and back again. She strode up to his table and slapped the plate down. “Here you are!” she said. “Enjoy!” Anna heard the chirp in her voice and warmed. At least this was something else.

            “I’ve been assured that I won’t, but thank you,” the man said, and picked up the burger.

            She thought Molly would return to her cave with the cook, but Anna was surprised when her sister’s voice came from her left. “What are you doing?” Molly said.

            Anna glanced at Molly and tried on an expression of false innocence. “Cleaning,” she said.

            Molly shook her head and walked back toward the kitchen. “You always waste the cute ones,” she said, making sure Anna could hear her. Anna rolled her eyes, finished the end of the counter, and returned the cleaning supplies to their hiding place.

            “I know what I’m doing here,” Anna said, breaking the silence, “but I want to know what the hell you’re passing through the middle of nowhere for. Nobody should have to be here.”

            She looked over and saw Jack’s eyes light up at this invitation to connect. “I’m a grad student,” he said. “I’m on my way back to school after doing some field work.” He paused. “Sometimes the best places can be a little hard to get to.”

            Anna pulled at the corner of her uniform. “I know that’s true,” she said. “What are you working on?”

            “The effect of the use of genetically-modified seed on biodiversity in the agricultural world,” he said. He set his burger down in anticipation of the fascinating conversation they were about to have.

            “Sounds important,” she said.

            “Everyone thinks what they do is important,” he said, “and they’re usually right. Just in a different way than they think.”

            Anna laughed and Jack frowned. He didn’t understand that every morning she put on that sickly, pink cotton uniform and tied her hair into a bun she thought about the dead-ended pain of her life. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just think we’ve had very different lives.”

            He took a bite and drummed his right hand on the table. “I don’t doubt that’s true,” he said. “But you’ll end up surprising yourself.”

            Anna shrugged and didn’t know what to do with her hands. She was filled with the sudden urge to tell him everything. To tell this stranger, whose last name she didn’t know, what it felt like when a man older than your father pulled you into the cab of his truck. About the way her wrists ached when she woke up in the morning, about how her hair always smelled like Kim’s cigarettes and about the burn mark on her back. She wanted to express how painful it was to watch her little sister devolve into a spiritless being, how worried she was that Molly would be broken. About how empty her life had become when her mother died, how much light had gone out. More than anything, Anna wanted to talk about the trap she was always fighting, about the life she dreamed for herself and how she didn’t have a clue how to get there. She opened her mouth to say all these things. Then Anna heard her father’s guttural voice boom from across the boundary, and they shrunk on her tongue. Jack was staring at her now. “I don’t know,” she said.

            “That’s okay,” he said, “it’s just something to think about.” He shoved a few fries in his mouth. “This burger is truly average.”

            She gave him a weak smile, her heart pumping in the pit of her stomach. “Told you so,” she said. She turned and walked to the kitchen door, letting herself straight through past Molly and the cook to the tiny hallway that led to the freezer. She leaned against the wall, hearing Molly grumble as she finished up the table and brought Jack the check.

            “He’s gone,” Molly said eventually, walking back to where her sister stood. “What’re you doing back here?”

            Anna studied the freckles covering Molly’s face and imagined them pulled tight across her cheeks, but baggy under her eyes. “This isn’t forever,” she said, running her hand through Molly’s stringy hair. “This isn’t even for much longer. You know that, right?”

            Molly was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I know,” she said. “I trust you.”

            Anna leaned her head forward and tapped it lightly against Molly’s. “Our moment will come, and we will go. And we will never have to see this shithole again.” They stood there for a moment. Then Anna could hear Molly’s breath get ragged so she pulled away. She passed her sister and walked back out into the diner.

            Jack had left a generous tip, despite the fact that she had abandoned him halfway through his meal. Anna picked it up and quickly tucked half of it into her uniform. They were supposed to give all the money to their father, but Anna had started relying on his pessimistic view of humanity. What did another tiny tip matter if it was consistent with the rest? Besides, he would never see these customers again.

            Anna would put these bills with the rest; she would collect them until the stack was big enough to get her and Molly past the state line for good. It was just a matter of time.

            Anna looked out the window and caught a glimpse of her other self. Alternate Anna stood and leaned against the hood of a car, patiently waiting for it to be filled with gas. She jingled her keys in her hands and stared at the toes of her boots. She was nothing and she was everything. Real Anna placed her hand on the glass in front of her and could almost feel it. The steady pulse of this other girl thrummed through her head and kept her awake.

            She watched as Alternate Anna removed the pump, closed the flap covering her gas tank, and got back into her car. The car made its way to the edge of the parking lot and drove off. Real Anna could have sworn she heard herself laughing.

Sharks and Minnows

            His body cut a figure he didn’t recognize anymore, but Luke couldn’t understand why. He stared at himself in the mirror, trying to locate the source of the change. He hadn’t gained or lost a significant amount of weight. His posture was much as it had always been. If anything, his shoulders slipped back more easily now, modeling the body language of confidence and power. His hair had gone from the perfectly disheveled style of privileged youth to a clean-cut indicator of corporate professionalism, but he had expected this, had dreamed of it, even. So what was the problem?

            Luke put his hands in his pockets, but it didn’t help. He couldn’t shake the hollow sound that kept running through his brain. When he opened his mouth, the words that came out didn’t seem right. He looked at the set of his brow, at the way his cheeks curved under his eyes, and wondered what he would look like thirty years from now.

            “Luke?” he heard from the other room. He glanced back at the mirror, but his train of thought was broken. He crossed the short space that separated their bedroom from the kitchen.

            “Yeah?” he said, and looked at her. Abby was cutting up an avocado, her face an expression of unstressed concentration. She turned to throw the pit in the trash and her feet made that comforting padding sound on the linoleum floor. She was smooth lines and easy strength. She was someone who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t selfish about it. For a moment, he felt the cold bite of envy move through him. Then she looked up and their eyes met, and the jealousy was replaced with pride.

            She smiled. “I’m making guac. Do you want any?”

            Luke laughed. “Is that even a question?”

            She laughed back, reached up, and pulled down the heavy molcajete. He watched as Abby’s hands pulled off the avocado skin and carefully placed the meaty insides in the stone bowl.

            “What are you going to do on your day off?” he asked, and observed the slight tremor in her hands.

            “Maybe yoga, maybe go for a run. Depends how I’m feeling in a couple hours,” she smirked. “I don’t know, try not to think about work.”

            He nodded and she laughed again. “What?” he said.

            Abby leaned her head back and sighed. “Just thinking about not thinking about work makes me want to have a beer.”

            Luke smiled and glanced at the clock. “I guess it is a little early, but I wouldn’t judge.” Their eyes met again. He watched as the corners of her mouth twitched down and then struggled to go back up.

            He felt the words course from her brain into her veins, and knew them intimately before they floated out of her mouth. “What time does your dad get in?” she said.

            Luke shrugged and looked at the plant sitting by the television. “4:30, I think.”

            “Do you think you’ll come back here after you pick him up?” she asked.

            He looked at her. “I think we’ll probably go straight to an early dinner. He’s always hungry when he gets someplace new.” Luke watched Abby’s shoulders relax. “So you won’t have to interact with him before we’ve talked.”

            She grinned, reaching for a lime and slicing it in half. “You know I’m always happy to have your dad here,” she said.

            “I know,” he said, smiling at her fondly.

            Abby set her knife down. “Nervous?” she asked.

            He shrugged again. “Not so much nervous as . . .” he smiled, “filled with dread. I know how the conversation’s going to go.”
            She nodded. “Well, try to get some rest before he gets here. I’ll bring you some of this when it’s ready,” she said, pointing at the bowl. He turned. “Luke?” she said, and he looked back. She smiled at him and he crossed the room. He kissed her, feeling the weight of her as she went up on her tiptoes to meet his mouth. Then she pulled away. “Try not to let him get in your head,” she said softly.

            He sighed and walked back into their room.

~

            A sharp silence infected the car. Luke’s father sat in the passenger seat, clenching his jaw every few minutes and trying not to stare at his son. Whenever they drove over a bump in the road, Luke jumped. His slight nerves from earlier had morphed into imaginary spiders wrapping their legs around his esophagus. He wanted to stop the car, step out into the street, and run until another vehicle hit him or stopped to give him a ride. Instead, he drove straight to the restaurant and parked quietly.

            His father always walked a little in front of him, the leader in everything, even dinner. When they got inside, Luke tried to look away as his father confidently passed the host a tip in the fold of his palm. The host nodded and smiled and led them straight into the dining room.

            The restaurant was situated a short distance from the beach, one of those semi-private expanses that seemed perpetually clear of debris. Luke and his father were seated near the window, their view of the ocean pulsing through Luke’s brain and swallowing him whole. It made him nervous. The sheet of glass separating them from nature’s magnificence reminded him of his place, reminded him he wasn’t supposed to want to leave, only to look.

A waiter appeared with a bottle of red, but his father frowned and put his hand over his wine glass. The waiter turned on his heel and disappeared. Luke tried to look at his father, but kept glancing down. His father’s brown eyes, on the other hand, surveyed him until they were satisfied.

“I’m assuming you know why I felt the need to come here,” his father said.

Luke ran his fingers over his napkin. He nodded.

“I want to hear you say it, just so I know you understand.”

Luke could feel what his father was doing, and he still couldn’t figure a way out of it. “Because it’s been three years since I left school, and I just quit my third job.”

His father nodded, and Luke was surprised he didn’t lick his lips in anticipation. “And do you feel good about that, Luke?”

            Luke shrugged. He stared hard into the shiny white of the plate in front of him.

            “I’m sorry, what was that?” his father said. Luke could feel him lean forward a few inches.

            “No,” Luke said, “I don’t feel particularly good about it.”

            His father smirked. “Well, neither do your mother and I. You should have called me before you left the last one. Maybe I could have talked some sense into you.” The waiter reappeared. “Two filet mignons,” his father said, without looking up. “Medium-rare.”

            Luke could almost hear the waiter’s heels click together as he left. “I didn’t want to have sense talked into me,” he began, but changed tactics when he saw the annoyance grow around his father’s eyes. “I talked it over with Abby. We decided it was the best thing for me to do.”

            His father snorted. “Then she’s not as smart as I thought she was,” he said. “I stuck my neck out for you for that job. Do you think that’s going to happen again? Three different careers in three years? How’s that going to look on a résumé?”

            “I’m only twenty-four, dad,” Luke said.

            “No, you’re already twenty-four. You should have three solid years of work to build a foundation on at this point.” Luke could swear his father was about to roll his eyes.

            “Well, that’s not what happened,” he said.

            “It should have,” his father said. “You should have picked something after you graduated and you should have stuck it out. Instead, you’re living off your girlfriend until you can find somewhere else to take you.” His father picked his water glass up by the stem and tossed its contents down his throat.

            “I did pick something,” Luke said, “but it wasn’t right.”

            His father laughed bitterly. “I don’t know where you got the idea that there’s some magic job out there, waiting for you. You make a job right for you, son. Besides, work’s work. Were you getting paid well? Did they make you do something you were morally opposed to? No?” He laughed again.

            “I wasn’t happy,” Luke said.

            This time his father’s eyes really did roll. “This generation. Work isn’t to make you happy, it’s to provide you with a way to support your family. I did it for you and your sisters. Do you think I was happy every time I marched off to work? Every time I had to take a call on vacation?”

            Luke sat there in silence and observed the way his father’s shoulders always returned to the same posture when he was finished speaking. He wondered if this was still a conscious effort, or if it had become a force of habit. Their dinner was delivered and he watched in silence as his father sliced through the bright pink meat. Every bite was carefully speared with a fork and transported to a perpetually ravenous mouth. Luke started to feel nauseated.

            “I feel like that’s not true, though,” he found himself saying.

            His father glanced up from his meal. “What’s not?” he said.

            “That you weren’t happy to do those things,” Luke said.

            His father’s fork clattered when he set it down on his plate. “Don’t be ungrateful,” he said. “I worked myself into the ground. I made sacrifices. For you.”

            “Maybe that was true,” Luke said. “But what happened after you made your first million? Or your second? Did you stop working yourself into the ground when we had enough?”

            His father’s frown deepened. “That’s an embarrassingly ignorant thing for you to say.”

            “No, it’s not,” Luke said. “I’ve watched you, and I know you. You didn’t stop working like that because you didn’t want to.” His father opened his mouth to reply, but Luke continued. “Your work is an addiction. There’s something that you get out of it that you don’t get from anything else.”

            “Oh please,” his father said. “You’re romanticizing everything. I did what I had to.”

            Luke’s words caught up to him and he felt the blood drain from his face. But still he didn’t stop. “I don’t doubt that’s true. But can you tell me, can you really tell me, that the moment you look another man in the eye after closing a deal with him, knowing you’ve bested him, that that doesn’t give you some kind of charge?”

            “If you understand it so much, I don’t know why you keep quitting your fucking jobs,” his father said.

            “Because I’m not like you!” Luke yelled. The couple at the table next to them looked over. “I don’t want to do those things!”
            “Bullshit,” his father said. “Everyone wants to do those things. Everyone would be in that position of power if they could.”

            “Well I fucking wouldn’t, okay?”

            His father shook his head. “I could hand it all to you, I could literally hand it all to you . . .” He rubbed his forehead.

            Luke sighed. “I don’t want it, though. I thought I did, but . . . I don’t.”

            His father rapped his fingers on the tabletop. “You’re not who I thought you were,” he said.

            A moment passed. “I know,” Luke said quietly.

            “Well, I’m not going to support this kind of thinking, I can tell you that right now,” his father said, leaning forward with his palms flat on the table. “As far as your mom and I are concerned, we’re cutting you off financially.”

            Luke shrugged. “So how will things be any different?” he said.

            “I mean it,” his father said. “If you want to move, or get a new car, or go to grad school, you’re not getting anything from us. Not a single cent.”

            “That’s fine,” Luke said. “I don’t want anything.”

            His father looked at him for a long time. “I hope you’ll snap out of this before it’s too late. I wouldn’t want you to get to your mid-thirties and realize you should have done everything differently.”

            “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

            His father’s steely eyes passed over him. Then he raised his right hand. Within seconds, their waiter was tableside. His father produced his credit card and gave it to the eager man without asking to see the check. When the plastic had left his hand, Luke watched as his father pushed his hair back. A signal of distress, but a subtle one. If Luke didn’t know the manner in which his father moved when he was agitated, the speech patterns he chose, and the way his left eye twitched, he wouldn’t have caught it. He wouldn’t have understood that the imposing man in front of him was at a loss for words.

            The waiter returned, and Luke’s father snapped open the bill and scrawled a tip. He stood up from his seat and straightened his suit jacket. “I think I’m going to fly back to LA tonight,” his father said.

            This surprised Luke. “Um, okay,” he said. “Do you want me to drive you?”

            His father shook his head. “No. I’ll get a taxi.” He held out his hand and Luke took it in a firm handshake. “Best of luck to you,” his father said. Luke could feel the slight tremble in his fingers. He wanted to pull his father close, tell him he was sorry that he couldn’t be more predatory, that he had tried as hard as he could to develop a killer instinct. But he didn’t say it, because he wasn’t sorry. He wanted to have another life, an honest life, so he let his father’s hand fall away.

            His father nodded, refastened his suit jacket, and turned on his heel. He walked out of the dining room, the seas seeming to part before him as he went.

            Luke sat there for a moment longer. He took a deep breath, expecting it to be ragged. But no, he felt surprisingly calm. He ran his finger along the pristine white edge of his untouched plate. Then he stood up and walked to the entrance of the restaurant. When he got outside, he didn’t head for his car. Instead, he turned and walked in the direction of the ocean.

            The smell of the salt on the air steadied him and reminded him where he was. He trudged a ways through the sand before finding a spot that seemed about the right distance from the water. He sat down. He had so dreaded the conversation with his father that he hadn’t slept for two nights. He had been so sure that it would end in his own broken-down resolution. But it didn’t, and here he was.

           Nothing had really changed. He was still out of a job, didn’t have a clue what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, and didn’t have his parents to fall back on anymore. But Luke felt lighter. The exhilarating terror of having the world laid out in front of him filled his lungs, and he smiled as he breathed deep. For the first time in his life, he was obligated to no one, to nothing except the things he wanted to love. He was ready for them. He was finally whole, finally filled with electricity, finally steadied. Luke looked out at the waves, watching the gentle white caps break on the water. He was finally freed. 

The Drought

            The land wasn’t beautiful anymore, not in reality. What had been sweeping fields of mixed flowers and weeds and the odd blade of grass was now a barren plain of yellow stalks. They didn’t bend when the wind pushed at them; they barely even moved. It was like they were indifferent to the forces of nature around them. Well, that, or they stopped caring about the big, wide world when they were allowed to die where they stood. It’s hard to continue reacting when someone has left you for dead.

            But the land was still beautiful in Zach’s mind, and that was what was important. As long as he had his memories to fill in the gaps, he could handle the sights that made him want to stagger back and ask for mercy. He could carry on with his day and ignore the crunching sound beneath his feet.

            But not today. It was harder to ignore today.

            Today his foot touched the rock that sat, inconveniently, two hundred feet from the house and he was transported back. It was enough that it took some effort to get to, but was much too close to be a getaway from the house. An altogether unnecessary thing. Still, it was where seven-year-old Zach chose to sit that day.

            His feet made a comforting tramping sound as he stomped towards it. When he got to the rock, he realized it was going to be horribly uncomfortable, but it was too late. He had made up his mind, and he didn’t want his family to think he had made it incorrectly.

            Zach’s elbows rested on his knees and he used his tiny hands to rub his eyes. He knew they must still be red because they stung. He just wanted it to stop, but he didn’t know how. The side of his face throbbed, and he started to wish he had brought an ice pack out with him. Something, anything, to make this feeling go away.

            But he didn’t have anything. He was sitting on his rock,  thinking through the last few minutes. He wouldn’t be moved, not for anything. He would show them all who he was, and they would never forget it.

            Still, the wind started to blow colder and colder, and the sky twisted into a burning red. He began to wish someone would come out to get him. Maybe one of his older sisters, maybe his mother. He wouldn’t be moved. Well . . . he’d only be moved if someone came and made him. If they promised that things would be quieter when he came back inside.

            His resolve was breaking. Zach looked down at his shoes and tapped them together a few times. Then the screaming, the tears, the sickening pain, they were all there again. He didn’t want to go back inside anymore, even if it meant sitting out here after nightfall.

            But surely, surely, someone would come for him. In spite of himself, he twisted around and glanced at the front door of his crooked home. No one. No eyes peaked out from the window. So . . . waiting.

            He waited for hours before finally slinking back inside.

            The memory of this didn’t make his stomach turn anymore. It didn’t do anything, except exist. It was too far away to care about, to wonder at. Besides, he had gotten good at willing himself forward.

            Sweat dripped down the back of his leg. He was grateful for it. Despite the fact that this stretch of Midwestern land received a blanket of snow during the winter, this was how Zach always remembered it. It was the place where the heat tried to swallow him whole as soon as he left the house; where the weak of heart were reduced to piles of ashes in a few minutes. He couldn’t imagine the rain, although it must have rained throughout his childhood. It had been so long since he had last seen rain that he wasn’t sure he would recognize it if it finally showed up.

            The old blue barn sat out in the middle of the field, more crooked than it used to be. Zach wondered if it had truly shifted over time, or if he had just thought of things as sturdier when he was little. The building he had seen as strong and permanent was actually just a bunch of old wooden boards, hastily thrown together by his grandfather. The eerie curve of it ran straight into his brain and made him shudder.

            It was there that he had returned after his high school prom, his sweaty right hand firmly grasping his date’s. He had thrown the huge doors open, his eyes nervously searching the dark depths. His date cleared her throat and tugged at his arm. He turned and kissed her quickly. She tried to put her arms around his neck and draw him in, but Zach avoided this and turned back to the dark barn. His legs started to feel twitchy and his nausea grew. This place was different at night. He had spent so much time here, had thrown things up into the loft and chased out the snakes. He probably knew every corner of it, and yet now it looked at him like a stranger. Zach didn’t want to be here, and desperately wished they had never left the dance.

            His date cleared her throat again and said, “Well?” She let go of his hand and moved so she was standing in front of him. Zach almost reached out to grab her arm and stop her from entering the looming darkness, but gained control of himself. It’s nothing, just let it go and focus on who you’re with. Tonight’s the night.

            She smiled at him, a strand of her blonde hair falling across her forehead like . . . a worm. Zach shook his head and tried to clear his brain.

            “Is something wrong?” she said, her smile turning into an expression of worry and vague annoyance.

            “No,” he said, “of course not.”

            “Well, good,” she said. Her hands reached up to where the straps of her dress met at the back of her neck. She carefully untied them, her face lost in a frown of concentration, and let the dress fall to her waist.

            His mind cleared. Zach’s fear briefly forgotten, he took a step towards his date and reached out his hand . . .

            Suddenly the barn was flooded with light. Zach froze in place and blinked. He barely had time to process the horrified expression on his date’s face before the laughter started. Zach was overwhelmed by the thought that, somehow, hyenas had infiltrated the farm. His arms shrunk around him to cover his body. But . . . it couldn’t be . . .

            The faces of his two sisters appeared over the loft railing. Gasping for breath, Amelia yelled, “I’m sorry, are we interrupting something?” His date ran past him out of the barn. Zach couldn’t tell if she was sobbing or out of breath.

            “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted up at the loft, his voice cracking a little.

            “Sorry, sorry,” Rachel said, “we just couldn’t help ourselves.”

            “We were hoping you’d come back here,” Amelia said, “and you did! So, thank you. That was . . . entertaining . . .” She locked eyes with Rachel and they both burst into another fit of laughter.

            “You’d better stay up there!” Zach shouted. “When I get my hands on you two . . .”

            Rachel leaned her elbow on the railing and pushed a clump of her hair back. “You’ll what? Please let me know what you’re going to do once you get your hands on your tiny female siblings.” Zach felt his face burn. He wanted to hurt something, but Rachel was right, it couldn’t be them. His body was trembling uncontrollably from the combination of fear and humiliation that had so quickly run through him. He stalked over to the ladder that accessed the loft and put both hands on it.

            “What are you . . . Don’t!” he heard Amelia yell behind him. He ignored her and pulled. The wood protested, but the nails were so old they couldn’t hang on. The ladder came off the loft in a flurry of dust and wood chips. Zach threw it down next to him.

            “What the hell?” Rachel screamed. “What’d you do that for?”

            “Do you seriously not know?” Zach yelled back.

            “Well, thank you, now we’re all fucked,” Rachel said.

            “Good for us!” Zach threw out his hands. “You could always jump down.”

            “Do you want me to hurt myself?”

            “It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

            “Oh, shut up.”

            The three siblings glared at each other. Amelia put her hands on her hips and then dropped them. Rachel was still leaning against the railing, taking deep breaths and chewing the inside of her cheek. Zach clenched and unclenched his fists. The silence covered them, and stoked the anger floating between them.

            Suddenly, Zach felt two hands land on his back and give him a push. He stumbled forward. He whirled around, only to be greeted by the sight of his mother clutching his date by the wrist. In her rush to get away from the barn, she hadn’t quite managed to retie the straps of her dress. She was covering her breasts with her free arm and looking around like a wild animal.

            “Who is this?” his mother demanded, her grip tightening.

            “Mom, stop, it’s my prom date. Let her go,” Zach looked from his mother to his date. He wanted to say something, apologize for this whole night, but the words died on his lips.

            “I will not let her go,” his mother said. Her face had turned red and her eyes bore right into his spirit. Suddenly he was eight years old and had broken a plate while drying it. “Please explain to me why half of her dress is off.”

            His face had to be bright red. “Mom, please just let her go . . .”

            “And what are you two doing in here? What is this? Some big orgy?”

            “Mom!” Amelia said. “It’s not . . . Just . . . Don’t worry about us, we’re fine. Just deal with what’s in front of you.” She gestured down to Zach. He glared at her. Her nose crinkled in a mocking expression.

            “Good God, boy, when I am done with you—“ His mother’s eyes caught the ladder behind him. She stepped forward, pulling the poor girl along with her. “What’ve you done?!” she screamed. All of Zach’s instincts told him to make a break for the door while she was out of the way. Instead, he pivoted in place and made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a nervous laugh.

            “That was Zach!” Rachel said, pointing to her brother as if her mother didn’t know who he was. “Zach did that because he was mad at us!”

            “I swear to God, you three are going to be the death of me,” his mother said, her tone quieter. The sound of it cut through him. Her hands were shaking.

            “Look, it’s going to be okay, mom. Besides, it wasn’t really us,” Rachel said. She sat down and put her legs over the edge of the loft. “I mean, we technically started it, but . . .” She jumped to the floor. Everyone stared at her in shock. Her face went from her usual self-satisfied expression to one of sudden pain. A moment passed. Then she started screaming.

            His mother rushed forward. “What have you done?” she asked, her voice strained as she leaned over Rachel. In her worry, she had released Zach’s date. The girl ran back out through the doors and into the night.

            “A stupid thing, mom,” Rachel said, rolling back and forth on the ground. “I did a really stupid thing.”

            “You can say that again,” Zach said, relieved that the focus was briefly off him.

            “Shut up, fuckface,” Rachel said.

            “Rachel!” his mother said. “Language!”
            “Mom!” she said. “I think my ankle’s broken!”
            “All right, all right,” his mother said. She looked out the door, in the direction of the house. “Zach, do you think you could go get your father?”

            Zach’s stomach lurched. He looked from where Rachel lay on the ground to the door to the stressed curve of his mother’s lips. He didn’t want to go, but he needed to.

            “What are you waiting for?” Rachel yelled. “Go!”
            “Please,” his mother said, her voice softening, “it’ll be okay.”

            He nodded and turned. He focused on the movement of his feet. Soon, he was out in the night and approaching the house. It was okay. His sister needed him.

            Zach pulled back out of his memories. It didn’t matter now. He reached out and grabbed the doorknob. Despite all the years, the door held the way he remembered, then gave under the pressure of his hand. He pulled it open, and the scent of ten deserted years hit him and almost made him crumble to the ground.

            The kitchen light was on, and he made his way toward it. His lawyer was standing at the counter, the contracts laid out in front of her. She had offered to bring them to his apartment, but he’d wanted to see it again. All the furniture that his mother had lovingly collected had been scooped out, the house a shell of what it had been. The smell lingered, though: the smell of roast cooking, and the smell of his sisters’ perfume. He smiled at his lawyer, and reached out to the counter.

            And when his hand landed, it landed on his father’s, twelve years ago. His father was lying in a hospital bed, his eyes half closed. His skin had lost all of its harsh, ruddy complexion and stretched tightly over his skull. His hand twitched away when it felt Zach’s touch. He grunted.

            Zach sat down in the chair next to his father’s bed, his hands clasped in front of him. He tapped his feet and looked at the clock on the wall. His mother was supposed to come back at four, an agonizing thirty minutes away. His eyes flickered to his father, and then flickered to the wall.

            His father grunted again, and his eyes widened. His fingers twitched. Zach swallowed, and watched. His father’s eyes met his. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

            Zach took a deep breath. “You asked for me, dad.”

            His father wheezed in and out. “What are you . . . what are you doing in my bedroom?”

            Zach leaned forward. “We’re not in your bedroom, dad. We’re at the hospital. Do you remember coming here?”

            His father’s face pulled through a series of angry and bewildered expressions before arriving at something like acceptance. “I’m here . . . I’ve been here for a long time . . .”
            Zach nodded. When he had first heard of his father’s liver cancer diagnosis, he’d been ashamed of the relief he had felt. Of the overwhelming release that had gone through his body when they’d found out it was terminal. So many good people were taken from their families before their time, but his father wasn’t one of them. His father had been with them fifty-one years too long.

            The weathered man’s expression became panicked, and he made an effort to turn his head and face his son. “Zach,” he said. “Zach . . . I need to . . . I couldn’t . . . Please, I can’t . . .”

            Zach opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted to hear it and he didn’t.

            “I just . . .” his father said, and then his expression glazed over. Zach watched, and his nerves pulled tight. He needed to call his mom, his sisters. They should get here, they’d be too late if they got here at four. Oh God, oh God . . .

            And then he heard it, as though it were a million miles away. That faint beeping that had served as background noise for so many weeks. It slowed, and then stopped. Then the constant whine of the heart monitor began as it warned the doctors of their patient’s distress. They rushed in. Zach stood up.

            He walked out, and as he walked out, he felt something he hadn’t felt since he was eighteen. Since that night in the barn, when his sister’s carelessness had led him back to the house. Zach felt his father’s fist collide with his cheek, then his stomach. All the air was knocked out of him. He walked faster, then stumbled to the ground, catching himself with his hands. He brushed them off on the sides of his pants, got up and kept walking. The blood was pounding in his ears. He felt his father’s hand wrap around his seven-year-old wrist, his head slamming into the wall behind him. He wanted to be out of the hospital, he needed to be. The sliding doors were in front of him, welcoming him back into the warm, blue world.

            Zach signed the contracts quickly. He had spent weeks working them out, and knew them almost to the letter. It was all there, it was fair. The land was being sold to their neighbors and would be consolidated into their farm. The rate his family was getting was better than the average, and they needed the money. Amelia had lived with their mother since their father died, the two women clinging to each other like they were the last people on Earth. Rachel had moved to New York, and nobody had heard from her for over six months. They were all still rooted in the past, just as he was. It was time to cut a few of the heavier strings.

            It was over faster than he had imagined, his lawyer’s eyes bright, her grip firm in their handshake. He didn’t linger over the house. Zach made a beeline for the front door and let himself out.

            He tried not to look at it as he crossed to his car, but his eyes wandered anyway. It hadn’t changed, but the land didn’t look as dead anymore. Maybe he was being swept up in the last of a gasping nostalgia, maybe it had just gotten later. But something about it welcomed him in as it said goodbye. The smell of the grass weaved its way into his hands, into his blood. He could cut the strings, but these things would always be here. They would always have formed him, loved him, and given him away. There would always be a place where it would never be done.

            And maybe that was okay. Maybe he could live with that. His lips twitched up. Then he climbed into his tiny car and drove off.