Burn Daughters Read online

  My flesh crawled. “That’s creepy. You imitate her too well.”

  Clay laughed. “Hate is easy.”

  “Yeah. She does seem to have forgotten how to smile, and you did take her hose.”

  “A lot of good it’s going to do us now.”

  Clay moved closer to me. I could feel his shoulder touching mine. I could feel the warmth coming off his body. He closed his eyes.

  “What’s a cur?” I asked.

  He cocked a brow. “You don’t know?” I shook my head. He opened his eyes and grinned at me. “Of course you don’t. Millicent Reid, have you ever even been out in the woods?” I shook my head. “Cur is a worthless dog…or an undesirable person.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Growing up around dogs and hunters you learn these things.”

  “What’s wrong with her, Clay? Is she senile?”

  “I think it’s more than old age. She’s paranoid. That’s obvious. Too much time isolated from the rest of the world. I don’t think it’s always been that way though, her being alone.” I looked at him, confused. “The old skins tacked to the barn, all the farm equipment, it’s obvious a man used to live here with her, he explained.

  “Where is he do you think?”

  “Dead, probably. Could be the one in the ground. Maybe that’s why she is so extreme. Maybe she’s been abandoned out here alone for a long time, and then we come along upsetting her normal routine.”

  I swallowed hard. “Think she killed the man?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted a hip, digging the lighter out of his jean pocket, and pulling out the pack of cigarettes he kept in his shirt pocket. His brow pinched together, he cursed. He crushed the empty pack in a hand and slung it at the opposite wall. “That really sucks. It’s the one thing I enjoy.” His head lolled back on the wall, turning in my direction. We stared at each other for a few moments until he grinned. “Mind running out and picking me up some smokes?”

  “You need to quit anyway.”

  “You sound like David.” His grin faded. “You’re probably right. The bright side of being trapped by a madwoman and her dogs, I don’t have access to a cigarette.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it; I didn’t want to. It relieved some of the stress.

  Clay broke eye contact with me and lifted his head, striking the lighter over and over. He watched the flame until it went out.

  I stared at his profile. He was magnificent. Dark hair covering his forehead, his jaw flexed, strong and chiseled, his skin an olive tone. He was chewing on the corner of his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth as he concentrated.

  “Might want to save it,” I said, placing my hand over his thumb before he struck the lighter again. “You really believe someone will find your truck and come look for us?”

  “Absolutely. My father will be pissed. I’m not there to watch Mason. Mom works on Saturdays. Besides, I’ve never stayed out all night without telling them. They’ll know something’s up. They’ve probably already conjured up all kinds of tragic things that happened to me. They’re probably freakin’ ‘bout now.” He took on a deeper voice, his fathers. “Son, be prepared!” Then mumbled under his breath, “I thought he was crazy. Not so much now.”

  “I doubt Momma will notice Evie and I are even missing,” I said sighing. “She doesn’t even notice us when we’re standing right in front of her.”

  He glanced at Evie still asleep on my lap. “I can’t imagine her not missing you two.”

  “Our mother just thinks about herself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she’s drunk more than she’s sober, gone more than she’s home. Her boyfriend is a real dick.”

  Clay choked, coughing. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t expect that word to come from your pretty mouth.” He gestured over at Brooke asleep on the floor. “I expect it from her, but not you. You’re better than that.”

  “Frank will miss me, though.”

  “Frank?”

  “Momma’s boyfriend.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about it. I’m curious, what is it about this Frank that makes a nice girl like you talk trash?” Clay glanced over at me and all the color bled from his face. He cracked his knuckles between clenched teeth. “He doesn’t—”

  “God no!” I lie, suddenly appalled that I even brought Frank up. “Everything about Frank is nasty and hairy.”

  Clay relaxed and laughed. “Hairy?”

  I shuddered. “Yes, hairy.” I covered my face with my hands. “God he is so freaking hairy. I don’t know how Momma stands it.”

  “Why is she with him?”

  I gave it some thought. Why was Momma with Frank? I answered as honestly as I could. “I don’t think she believes she deserves any better.”

  “What did she do that was so awful to deserve being with a hairy prick?”

  “Live, I think.”

  He raised a brow. “What’s wrong with living?”

  “She’s not very good at it.”

  “Most of us aren’t.”

  I looked down at Evie, so innocent. She looked a lot like Momma, beautiful.

  After a few moments Clay said,” I have a confession.” He avoided eye contact and seemed to have trouble finding his words. My stomach lurched. I had no idea what he was about to tell me. “Mason has this tutor.” He focused on his hands, his thumb over the lighter but not striking it.

  “Ok,” I drew out, confused. What was he trying so hard to get out? Did he have secrets too? What were they? Would he even confide in me? I wanted him too. I wanted him to trust me enough. I playfully bumped my shoulder against his and smiled. “You can tell me. I won’t say anything, to anyone, about your brother. I promise.”

  “It’s not about Mason, not really.”

  “Then what’s it about?”

  Our gazes met. “You,” he simply said. My heart skipped a beat. Me? My mind raced with possibilities. Clay went on, his cheeks splotchy with color, “Sometimes I help out, make sure Mason gets to tutoring. He goes every Tuesday after school, to the library. I noticed you there a couple of times with your sister.”

  My face grew hot. I knew perfectly well what Clay was talking about. The next door lady momma manipulated into bring us home after school every day worked as a librarian at Evie’s school. I always helped Evie with her homework while we waited. I tried not to make it obvious that I watched Clay but I sucked at pretending. He knew I stared at him.

  How embarrassing and pathetic.

  “I’m—” I rushed on to tell him how sorry I was and to explain. Last thing I wanted was to make him uncomfortable or feel stalked. That was not my intention. I wanted to tell him how seeing him every day made it easier. How seeing him was the high point of my day. And how my fantasies about him were an escape and made me happy and hopeful but I was terrified he wouldn’t understand. I had no idea he was there waiting on his brother to get finished with torturing. I couldn’t tell him that though. “Really?” I acted shocked and lied, “I never saw you.”

  Our gazes held. To look away would make me appear guilty. My pulse quickened.

  “Well,” he said, “I saw you.” Several moments passed, then a corner of his lips edged up into a grin. “Your sister wouldn’t be still. She’s always all over the place, restless. She was drinking sprite and eating barbeque chips and—” I covered my eyes with a hand and shook my head. “Evie knocked over the can and sprite went everywhere.”

  I remember that day well, remember how horrified I was and how I prayed Clay hadn’t notice.

  “You didn’t freak out,” he continued, “You didn’t get mad. You stayed calm. You’re always so patient with her wiggling and not staying in her seat. Even when she spilled her drink. It was cute watching you get all flustered though.”

  He paid attention?

  “What are you saying,” I asked. I wanted to know so I wouldn’t overact and start thinking or hoping things that weren’t true. I wanted to be sure that the butterflies…he felt them too.

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sp; Clay took a breath and turned his head toward me. “I’m saying I like that about you. That even when your sister is being a major pain-in-the-ass you still don’t lose your cool.” I could feel him staring at me. “Not everybody is like that,” he added.

  I was so embarrassed when Evie spilled her drink in the library, and hoped Clay hadn’t seen me asking the woman at the desk for paper towels. I smiled. I couldn’t help it. For someone to say they like your screw ups, your goofy and unrehearsed moments…well, it’s pretty amazing.

  We sat in complete silence for what seemed like forever.

  Clay cleared his throat and broke the silence by changing the subject. “Don’t worry,” he said. His head rested against the wall, his eyes shut. “We’ll go home today, Mill.” His hand slid to rest over mine. His hand was warm “I have no doubt David’s parents have already called the law.” He moved closer. He smelled good. “Don’t tell him I told you, he’d beat my ass, but David’s curfew is ten o’clock, even on the weekends.”

  I softly laughed. “I can’t imagine anyone telling him what to do.”

  “Oh, believe me, his parents tell him plenty to do. They’re strict as hell. David’s family takes football very serious. They have no doubt David will go pro. If he loses the leg—”

  “Hey, I can hear you spreading lies about my family. Curfew…” David flew into a coughing fit. “I’m my own free man. Why you want to go telling her that bullshit for?”

  Clay removed his hand from mine. “You wish you were free,” he joked. “Face it, your parents own you, buddy.”

  David grabbed at the crotch of his jeans. “Suck on this why don’t ya.” Brooke reached over and whacked him. “Ow! Have some sympathy, can’t you see I’m dying here.”

  “You’re not dying.” She yawned and stretched, her pierced belly button visible under her cropped shirt.

  David groaned as he pushed to a sitting position. He dragged himself to the wall and set his back against it. “Come on, somebody find the truck already. I’m ready to go home.”

  “And what if they don’t?” Brooke asked.

  Emily’s gaze lifted from where she was huddled. She rubbed absently at her arms.

  “They will,” Clay assured us.

  I released a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Clay couldn’t be wrong.

  “Hey, Em, how you doin’? You hanging in there?” Emily chewed a fingernail, refusing to acknowledge him and his mauled leg. “I’m not going to hold it against you, babe. I know you hate the sight of blood. I’m okay though. No need to be concerned.”

  “Does she look concerned?” Brooke pointed out.

  “Dammit, you’re awake. I hoped you would sleep right through until we get out of here.”

  “And I was wishing the same thing.”

  “I’m going to let that one slide, you did come to my rescue earlier.”

  “Only because I knew we were next if we didn’t scare them off. Otherwise, I would gladly have sacrificed you for the team.”

  David chuckled. “Ever the snotty cheerleader.”

  “So,” I jumped in. “How long do you think it will be before someone finds the truck?”

  “They know we’re missing by now,” said Clay. “They’re looking.”

  “I’m curious,” Brooke said. “Did anyone tell their parents where they were going?”

  “I told mine,” Clay said.

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “Really, Emerson?”

  “You know I always tell them where I’m going in case something happens to Mason.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I reasoned.

  Clay lowered his head. “Except I just said Traphill.”

  David leaned forward and unwrapped the strip of cloth covering the bite. Dried blood made the cloth stick to his flesh. The stiches oozed. I turned my head, unable to look at the wound.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Someone from town will see the truck and know whose door to come knocking on. Hopefully the old witch has lots of money because I intend to sue.”

  “Man, I don’t think you’re going to get any money out of her. I doubt she has any. Have you taken a long hard look at this place?” Clay said.

  “The bitch is going to pay somehow for letting her dogs use me as a chew toy.”

  We all laughed. I was glad to see David feeling okay, despite his wound.

  The second floor grew hotter as the day grew older, the sun cooking the old tin roof and us inside. Only the broken windows provided relief when a breeze happened to find its way into our torture chamber. We were roasts in an oven, sardines in a can. The day dragged on. My tailbone hurt from sitting. Evie had awakened and played with the rocks from her pockets. Thank God for small distractions.

  “I’m hungry,” Evie said, tipping her head to look up at me.

  “I know. Me too.”

  “When are we going home?”

  “Soon, Evie. Soon.”

  “What’s that sound?” David asked. He was stretched out on the floor, his bad leg elevated. He’d grown paler; his forehead was covered with sweat, and he was in pain. He lifted his head.

  Clay raised up on his knees and peered out the window into the yard. We all heard it then, the old tractor rumbling.

  “Is she leaving?” Emily asked. “Can we go now?”

  “Come on, man, don’t keep us in suspense. What’s going on, Clay?” asked David. He was struggling to get closer to the window.

  Clay pressed a finger to his lips and motioned for us to keep quiet. I moved toward him on my hands and knees and glanced out the window. The tractor was idling in the middle of the yard. The woman stood right below us beside a tall cross made from fat sticks, under the long limbs of an oak tree. She stripped down to her undergarments, her back thin and bony, every vertebrae visible, her spine curved. She dipped her hand in old tin bucket and sloshed water onto her bare arms.

  “What the hell is she doin’” Brooke muttered.

  “Bathing,” Clay replied.

  “Outside?”

  “Can you keep it down,” Clay told her.

  “That’s just freaky,” Brooke said.

  “Even freakier she’s standing right beside a grave.” David had made it over to the window. He was just able to rest his chin on the sill and peer out.

  Brooke rubbed her hands over her upper arms. I heard her muttering the word “freaky” over and over.

  “Shit,” David cursed. “Please, don’t let grandma take off all her clothes.”

  The woman peeled off her dingy undergarment as if she heard David’s curse. She plunged a bristled brush into the bucket. Suds flew into the air. She scrubbed her front side; her elbows jutting out with the effort; she scrubbed her thighs, her back.

  David slapped a hand over his eyes as if they had been singed. “Jesus, I wish I hadn’t seen that.”

  The woman loosed her feet from the rubber boots and stood flat footed in the dirt, shaded by the old oak. Her ankles were skinny; I could see bones under loose flesh that was pale and paper thin. I could see her every rib. She looked starved and ravished with disease.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman muttered. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I’ll get them out! I understand. They want to steal what you worked hard to obtain. I won’t let them. I promise. I won’t let you down again. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Got to get all the ugliness off. Got to get cleaned.”

  “Who’s she talking to?” I asked.

  “Whoever’s buried in the ground,” Clay told me. I heard Evie inhale sharply, and wished I hadn’t asked the question, wondering if whoever was buried there had died at the hands of the woman.

  She came and went all that day. Sometimes she rode her tractor. Sometimes not. Sometimes she just checked and rechecked every corner of her property. She worked the garden, swinging a heavy hoe. She never once came to check on us. It was as if we were sitting in a pressure cooker that was fixing to blow its top. Each hour became more miserable than the last. “We need water, please,” we shouted from the upstairs windo
w.

  Neither happened. The woman completely ignored us. She worked the garden swinging a heavy hoe and never once came to check on us, except for the one time she came to reopen the door we’d shut. Her dogs kept us in line.

  There was a constant knot in the pit of my stomach that only worsened as the day wore on.

  With still no sign of rescue, we grew intolerably restless that evening. We heard the sputtering of the woman’s tractor leave the yard and fade into the woods. We heard it return. We knew her whereabouts didn’t matter. The dogs were keeping us here, guarding us from where they gathered at the foot of the stairs, the doorways, the porches.

  “What in the world?” Clay was standing at the window. We heard an engine roar and shut down, and gathered around Clay to look out the window. Clay’s truck was hitched to the back of the tractor. The tractor labored; coughed and spit, its motor grinding. I swear the beast was as over-worked and worn out as the woman. But both refused to give in. Spine made of steel.

  We watched in horror as the woman struggled with getting the truck into the barn. I was almost certain it wasn’t the first time she had towed in an abandoned vehicle. She slowly climbed down from the seat of the tractor long enough to shut the wide doors of the mouth of the barn, hiding our best chance off the Keller’s land.

  “I think we need weapons,” David told us. “To use on the dogs if they try to get in.”

  “Think you can defend yourself with that leg?” Clay asked David.

  “If I can’t, I know you will.”

  ****

  I felt guilty invading someone else’s life. His life. The woman’s father. What kind of man must he have been to have created a creature like her? A monster himself, no doubt. The lock on the chest was meant to keep us out, but there we were prying it open.

  Anyone could break a lock.

  I felt the lock was meant to suggest to the intruder, us, to make the right choice. To stay out. To not open the tomb. We had no right. But we opened it anyway.

  The inside of the chest smelled of cedar. Musty. In it were old military medals from some war, a harmonica, black and white photos of people probably long dead and gone. There was a handmade quilt with yarn stitching, an American flag folded tightly in a triangle, a razor attached to leather and bone, a pocket knife, and money, but oddly shaped, probably from Europe.