by Laura Cartee
The sky is blue. So blue that it burns my eyes. And big. Huge. Enormous. So big. I watch a lone bird soar up, up, up until it’s out of sight. Lucky bird. I sigh as I watch my younger brother, Thad, toddle into the small, neat garden that my mom keeps for our family. He creeps along the edge of the garden slowly and carefully, testing out his newfound skill. He’ll master walking soon enough and then he will really be a handful! There isn’t much of anything to do around here. Not for a teenage girl, anyway. Well, besides helping my mom weed the garden. It’s not a huge garden. It’s just big enough for a few rows of vegetables. My mom carefully plants vegetables to can or keep fresh, so we always have a nice supply of produce. In the summer, it boasts ripe, red tomatoes and long, yellow squash. In the fall, we always had giant pumpkins and other seasonal veggies. Otherwise, though, it was just a garden. When I wasn’t helping my mom weed the garden or watching Thad, I liked to lose myself in one of my well-loved classics. I’d read these books so many times now that I could relive the plot lines in my head while I’m doing my daily chores.
“Thad—Don’t.” I walked over to where he was gleefully tossing handfuls of soil into the air and reached down to scoop him up. “You know that Mom doesn’t like it when you do that.” He reached for my face and firmly smacked my cheek, smearing dirt all over me. I groaned but give him a big smile as I set him outside of the fence. Our kind and beautiful mother is usually fair and even tempered, but she’s protective of this garden. She never allows me or Thadeous to play between the rows. She says it’s because we lived so far outside of town and the garden is our main source of fresh produce. We did occasionally get a treat when Dad brought us fresh strawberries or blueberries from town when he came home from a business trip. He hasn’t taken a business trip in a while though, now that I think about it. So, it’s been quite a while since we’ve had any fresh fruit.
Today is a hot and humid day, considering we’re still in early May. I heard low rumbling in the distance and looked over the distant mountains to see dark purple clouds undulating across the horizon. I groaned to myself. As much as I would have loved to snuggle on the couch with a throw and a good book, there was still plenty of time for work to be done. Storms popped up all the time out here and we could usually judge how long it would be before a distant gully-washer would make its way to our doorstep. It looked like I had about forty-five minutes before the rain would hit. That gave me plenty of time to get the rest of my chores done.
My days consisted of milking cows in the morning, gathering eggs, and changing the hay in the mule stalls. I also hauled water from the old well that was on the property before we were; just a spigot that stook up out of the dusty earth in the back corner of the property. Some of the well water went to the animal troughs and changed daily. Some of it went to my mom so she could keep the garden watered, especially during the drier days. In the evenings, Mom read aloud to Thad after dinner and Dad and I would retreat to separate corners. I would work on my school work or read, and Dad would immerse himself in one of the newspapers he picks up on his trips into town. He had so many newspapers. I often wondered why he keeps them instead of just throwing them away because he used to keep them in haphazard stacks that I’m sure drove Mom insane. Mom never complained though. She was always keeping the peace. I even asked him one time why he had so many newspapers, but he just ignored the question and distracted me with a question about my newest favorite book. I guess the answer as to why Dad always kept all those old newspapers will remain a mystery. Just one of the many layers of my dad.
Dad is the reason we moved out here, actually. We used to live in a quiet subdivision, on a cul de sac. I used to go to a tidy, little private school and Mom only gardened for fun. Her begonias were certainly not necessary for our survival. There were kids in my school that I was friendly enough with, but at the age of 10 I had not yet managed to forge any meaningful friendships. So the day my dad came in the front door, ashen and shaking, and demanded that we immediately pack whatever we could get our hands on, I was mostly surprised and worried about Dad.
We left that evening and drove for hours. When we finally stopped, Dad chose a roadside motel that seemed to house more roaches and bed bugs than actual people. The saggy beds looked waterlogged and I crossed my fingers that they were dry. It was hard to tell in dimly lit room. The next morning, I woke up before the sun was even out the next morning because the springs were digging into my back. I looked over to find Mom and Dad, but the ratty comforter that the shabby double queen room sported, was noticeably flat.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows to look around the room and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the outline of two figures at the end of my parents’ bed, crouched on the floor. My breath caught in my chest and I slipped over the side of my bed to tiptoe closer. The figures were my parents, of course, but in a position I had never seen them in before. Mom was kneeling beside Dad, who was squatting on the balls of his feet with his head bowed, murmuring. Mom whispered quietly, soothing as if he were a small child. As I watched, Mom raised her head to look at me and when our eyes met, I felt my stomach sink. I had never seen her eyes so sad and desperate before. She didn’t speak to me, but the look she gave me said, all too clearly, “Dad is okay right now, because I’m here. You get back in bed.” I nodded silently and slipped backwards when Dad’s head rose suddenly. His eyes were on me and I braced for—anything. But he was looking through me, beyond. He nodded to something Mom whispered and allowed her to lead him to his side of the bed. She tucked him in and his eyes flickered shut, peaceful, as if the last half hour had never happened.
The next morning, my dad’s eyes held the same twitchy, anxious glaze from the night before. “We can’t stop, Linda”, he said to Mom. “We have to keep going until he says we can stop. Then we’ll be safe, I swear. I promise that I will keep you and Amelia safe.” I remember the frenzied look in my dad’s eyes in that moment, and it scared me. I didn’t understand at the time, but Mom a year or so after this, she explained to me that an ‘old buddy’ from Dad’s past had popped up out of nowhere. Apparently, this buddy was bad news and Dad was worried that his family would got in the tangled webs of drama from his past. Even when it was explained to me, I didn’t really understand. As far as I knew, Dad had always worked in some kind of marketing field and Mom made it sound like he used to have the secret life of a spy or something like that.
After that incident in the motel, we drove on for days and in circles for what seemed like weeks. Each night we either slept in the car or, if Mom could scrap together a bit of cash, in crappy motels. At this time I was almost eleven years old and, honestly, this seemed like a huge adventure. I made it a game in my head to guess where we would stop each night and took advantage of all the time in the car reading and rereading my favorite classics. I couldn’t imagine life getting much better than that.
Then, one day, Dad stopped the care on the side of a deserted highway in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming. Without a word, he started marching out into the weeds. I looked at Mom, confused.
“Is this it? Are we done?”
Mom just nodded her head and smiled a relieved, tired kind of smile. She turned towards Dad’s retreating figure and said, “Come on.”
About a mile from where we pulled over that day, Dad decided to build our new home. He joked that he was forming it from the dust of the Earth and breathing life into a new land. In truth, I didn’t know much about getting land and property and all the legal things that go along with that. All I knew was that one day we were driving and driving and driving, and then the next day we found a new beginning. At first, I was pretty upset about there not being a school close enough for me to attend in person. I’ve always loved school and learning and wasn’t ready to just give it up! As always though, Mom was on top of things. She found correspondence courses that would send the material I needed by mail, and I was able to work at my own pace and, eventually, earned my high school diploma from home.
Soon after our new house was built, Thadeus came along. He was most definitely a surprise, but a welcome one. In my opinion, at least. It was nice to have a little buddy around. Mom doted on him and spoiled him absolutely rotten, and even Dad was happiest when he was playing with Thad.
And so, life continued on. I took my correspondence classes and excelled, Thad thrived and grew into his big personality, Mom became, if not an accomplished gardener at first, a successful gardener, and Dad—well, Dad was Dad. Once we were settled in our new home, he dropped the crazed look he had carried during those weeks of chaotic driving. He still muttered to himself though. He started pacing our property too, wandering off into the distant, dark woods for hours at a time. It became such a habit of his, that I can’t actually remember if that was a behavior I’d always known that he had or not. He also stopped smiling as much. His face was always tense, as was his posture. Almost as if he was waiting for something bad to happen. Honestly, the only time I ever saw him smile was he was playing with Thad.
My father used to be an adventurous man. Before I came along, he and mom would travel all over the world, experiencing new cultures and celebrating life by living. Mom has told me many stories of their travels. She often said that Dad is afflicted with an incurable case of wanderlust. For example, when they traveled to India they would travel for days on the back of a motorcycle. At night they would sleep in the tall, soft grass on the side of the road, staring up at the stars and talking about anything and everything all at once. Another time, in Egypt, Dad had convinced Mom to travel by camel for one of their semi-planned excursions. Mom said the experience was an unmitigated disaster and she would never ride a camel again. Apparently, they have a bad attitude and spit too much. I wish I had the chance to meet my dad the way he was back then. From the way Mom talks, he was funny, had an easy smile and an easy-going nature. I don’t know for sure when he became moody and recalcitrant. He was more likely to snap at one us than not. He was always off on some other world, thinking about the future and, apparently, preparing for the worst.
As spring turned to summer, the winds ushered in much hotter weather than we were used to. We were not used to our summers being so hot or humid as that summer was turning out to be. One afternoon, I was sitting outside, daydreaming about owning an inground pool and enjoying an occasional breeze if one happened to drift by. Over the imagined shouts of laughter from me, Thad, and Mom splashing around in my dream pool, I heard a throaty rumble in the distance. I looked up, surprised. We never had visitors out here and that was most definitely the sound of an engine.
Our driveway is directly off the main highway and our house is situated more than a mile away from the main road. Aside from the mail carrier dropping off daily advertisements from town or bills addressed to my parents, no one ever drove down our driveway, accidentally or otherwise. My dad was standing a few yards away, near the garden, and without noticing the rigidity of his profile, I could feel the tension roll across the property, almost crushing me in its wake. This visitor was not welcome. Dad stood, motionless. Only his eyes moved, following the motorcycle’s path towards the house.
“Dad, who is that?” I called out. I attempted to break his reverie and ease the tension that had built so immediately, but Dad didn’t answer. He just continued to watch the motorcycle as it drew closer and closer to the front yard.
“Mom.” I called. “MOM!” I panicked when she didn’t answer immediately. I heard the shoop shoop shoop of her terrycloth slippers when she ran around the corner of the house, eyes wild.
“Amelia, what!?” She cried as she ran towards me. Irritation and concern colored her tone as she came to a stop.
I pointed across the yard to the oncoming motorcycle, “Someone is coming up the driveway!” My eyes were glued to the distant face of the rider. As he drew closer, I could see that he was wearing leather riding gear and a helmet with a face mask. The front of the helmet was embossed with “Doug-the-Thug”. Mom placed her hands on my shoulders to hold me in place as the strange man on the motorcycle comes to a stop and takes his helmet off, shaking his long hair out. The dirt under him was speckled and discolored by the sweat and “Doug-the-Thug” looked around ruefully, eyes squinted against the glare of the sun.
“This isn’t Laramie, is it?” He looked at Dad ruefully. Dad didn’t answer him; he just continued to stare at the man. The friendly smile on Doug-the-Thug’s face dropped slowly and he twisted his hands together and took a small step back.
Mom spoke up then, “No.”
Doug kept his eyes on Dad as he walked backwards towards his motorcycle and mouted the bike.
“Thanks. Sorry for the intrusion, folks. No harm meant.”
With a roar of his engine and a puff of oily exhaust, “Doug-the-Thug” and his motorcycle retreated down the driveway, back the way they came. Mom, Dad, and I remained outside, frozen in place. I didn’t dare break the silence. There was an awkward tension in the air that had not disappeared with Doug-the-Thug, and it felt wrong to break it. But then we heard Thad start to cry in his crib, and Mom moved as if to check on him. She paused, though, and looked at me.
“Amelia, will you please check on your brother? I need to speak with your dad real quick.” I nodded and tried to smile, but the muscles in my cheeks had stopped working correctly.
I had just settled Thad down with a sippy cup of juice when Mom gently led Dad to his recliner in the front room. She stepped away and brought back a cool washcloth to lay across his brow. Dad’s eyes had lost that wild, dangerous look that had possessed them when the motorcycle appeared, but the stillness with which he held himself was disquieting. His gaze seemed to shift in and out of focus as he stared into the fireplace at the flickering flames of our small fireplace. Mom and I ate our dinner quietly with no discussion of the visitor. Instead, Mom asked questions about the books I had just finished reading and we both laughed about Thad’s new obsession with feet. We successfully skirted around the one issue I wanted to discuss the most.
As the Mom could hear my question. “Was that guy on the motorcycle Dad’s ‘old buddy’ from way back in the past?” Mom sucked in a sharp breath, stunned with my direct question.
“No. It wasn’t. As a matter of fact, you dad’s old buddy hasn’t shown up in years.” Then she muttered, to herself, “He might after this though.”. Her teeth leave deep imprints on her bottom lip as she considers distant thoughts outside of my grasp.
“What does that mean?” I asked, but she interrupted and told me not to worry about it. It didn’t matter.
It was Thad’s bath time, so I helped Mom clear the table and ran the water for his bath. Through all the bedtime preparations, Dad never moved. We heard him mutter under his breath, but the sound was too low to be made out clearly and caused Mom to purse her lips with worry.
After that day, Dad’s mental state began to deteriorate. He wasn’t bed-ridden, although there were many days he never left his room, not even for meals. In fact, he never ate in the kitchen with us anymore. I could see the toll this took on Mom, who I’m sure never envisioned her life would end up like this. Once, when I passed their room on the way to hang sheets in the closet, I heard him repeat the same string of sentences to himself, over and over again, like a mantra.
“He said it would come on a bloody horse. But he said you were safe. You are supposed to be safe. Everything is fine. He said everything is fine. He said it would come on a bloody horse. But he said you were safe. You are supposed to be safe. Everything is fine. He said everything is fine He said it would come—“. I held my breath as I listened to him repeat the lines to himself. Maybe he was reassuring himself? But of what?
He lasted like that for weeks. I barely ever saw him eat or drink, and he didn’t say a single word to anyone other than himself or, presumably, Mom. And then, one day he just bounced back. He started taking care of the animals again and would speak to me as if nothing ever happened. He played with Thad like he used to before we moved and, at first, I was skeptical this new normal would last. But one day he was excitedly telling Mom about a new litter of he found under the shed a couple of days before and I felt the fear I had been carrying with me fall off my shoulders and looked forward to a new start.
Aside from the new change that seemed to have come over him, Dad still did one thing regularly that caused Mom and I deep concern. Once, every couple of days or so, Dad would wander off alone into the deep, dark woods at the edge of our property. The small forest was strangely appointed, and seemed to have been planted on purpose many years ago. I couldn’t see a discernible path, but there must have been one, because the thick brambles and root-strewn forest floor looked nearly unpassable. I worried that Dad would wander off into the woods one day and just… never come back. I could tell that Mom worried about him too. She tried to dissuade him a few times, but Dad just laughed jovially and said he’d be back soon before he strolled off through the back door, across the lawn, and straight into the woods, without pause. I tried to follow him once, but an uneasy energy seemed to pulse like a heartbeat that grew louder and louder the closer I got. I couldn’t bring myself to cross into the threshold of darkness that quietly promised to swallow me whole and never let me escape.
On my walk back to the house that day, I decided to let it go. It came to mind that Dad probably took these walks to clear his mind and that this might be the only thing keeping him sane right now. It’s decided then. Mom is happy. Thadeus is happy. I’m happy. And, most importantly, Dad is happy. So, Mom and I would our swift, silent conversations with only the concern in our eyes allowed to speak between us every time dad went for an evening walk. We would leave our concern unspoken, because once it is verbalized a problem becomes very, very real.
The hot months passed quickly and soon we were striding into September. Thankful for the break in the heat, Mom made thick, hearty soups several nights a week to help combat the chill the crept through the house on the night air. Dad, Thad, and I were overjoyed each time a new soup offering appeared on the table. Just before dinner, one chilly autumnal evening, the uneasy contentment that had been fostered in us by my dad’s changed attitude began to crack.
Dad finished tucking the cows into the barn for the night with plenty of extra hay to help them combat the frost that was expected the next morning. He had walked into the kitchen, whistling to himself and pulled Mom into a tight hug before he planted a lingering kiss on her cheek. She looked at him with a happy, content smile and snuggled more closely into his grip.
“Linda. I’m going to take a walk before dinner. I shouldn’t be gone too long tonight.” Mom and I had grown so used to this statement now that it no longer caused more than a brief concern. I just smiled at Dad’s happy tone and continued to peel the carrots that Mom had asked me to manage that evening.
“I need to have a quick conversation with him, though, so I might be out a little longer than usual.” I stiffened and caught Mom’s sharp intake of breath at his words. My stomach dropped as I think about the normal, happy few months we had just enjoyed. Is that happiness over now? Has Dad’s ‘old buddy’ from the past finally gotten back in touch with him? What does that mean? Trapped in my thoughts, I missed when Dad left the house and the sharp click of the door shutting made me jump and jostled me from my despair.
We plated and finished dinner in silence. Thadeus was, thankfully, oblivious to the tension in the room and Mom was able to get him settled in his crib soon after he ate. Mom walked back into the kitchen and scrubbed her face wearily when she glanced at the clock. An hour passed. Then two. Then two more. Then, the door burst open and Dad walked into the kitchen and stopped just inside the door with his hands on his hips to smile at us. “I’m sorry that took so long guys. I had to discuss a few important details with, uh… a friend. But everything is squared away, and we can rest easy!” Dad’s eyes flashed with excitement and his manic mood only worked to make me feel more uneasy. Mom shifted, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she walked over with a large bowl of stew and a hunk of warmed cornbread for Dad’s dinner.
Well, I’m just glad you’re back. Here, I hope you’re hungry.” Dad grinned and shoveled the food in his face, faster than was probably necessary. I tried to force myself to relax, but worry refused to go away and I stood in the kitchen doorway awkwardly.
“I’m going on to bed. Glad you’re home safe, Dad.” Dad returned my grace with a brilliant smile and I turned to climb the stairs to my room.
I had finally drifted off when I a flash of lightning glared through my window and a house-shaking rumble of thunder followed closely after. I listened to the stillness between thunderclaps closely to be sure Thad didn’t wake up scared of the storm. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be bothered by the storms. Instead, I heard what sounded like a muffled argument beneath the floorboards. Mom’s raised voice was clear and panicked for a moment, before Dad’s low, deep rasp shushed her. The rain lashed against the windows and between the patters I could still hear my parents’ voices, muffled and urgent, as I fell back into a deep, fitful sleep.
BOOM
I’m startled awake again as another loud thunderclap rattled the windows. It didn’t seem to be raining anymore though, so the storm must have started moving on to the next town over. Thad started to cry this time and Mom yelled to me from the bottom of the stairs.
“Amelia, can you check on Thad and see if you can settle him down again, please?”
“Okay, Mom. No problem.” Sleepily, I rubbed my eyes and tried to wake myself up more fully. “Did you hear that last bit of thunder? It sounded really close!”
“Yeah, I did. Try to get him back down before he wakes your dad up, hon. I’ve got to go check on something outside before I can go back to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I groaned and rolled out of bed. In my bathrobe for comfort, I tromped across the hall, but caught sight of Mom and stopped at the top of the stairs.
“What’s that?” I asked, causing Mom to jump violently. Mom turned back towards the stairs, adjusting the odd lump in her pajama pants pocket. She took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her chest, right above her heart.
“Don’t scare me like that!” she whisper-yelled at me, furious. “It’s just the pistol. I thought I might have to chase off a wild animal or something and I wanted to be prepared.”
I nodded. That made sense, of course. “Oh, well, be safe out there.”
“I’m sure it’ll be just fine, hon. Better safe than sorry, right?” Mom’s grin faltered as she turned back to the door, and I turned around to enter Thad’s room and check on him. Thad had already calmed back down, so I patted his back gently a few times, and tiptoed back out of his room. I slipped back intro my bed and snuggled back into the covers, ready to reenter the dream I had been jolted from so rudely by Mother Nature’s hissy fit.
The next morning erupted bright and cheerful. I could hear the twitter of birds and smelled bacon being fried in the kitchen. I bounded down the stairs, all tension from last night forgotten, but I paused when I saw that Dad’s chair was empty.
“Where Dad?” I asked quietly. She smiled at me from the stove in a reassuring way, though her eyes were drawn and wan. Probably from their argument last night.
“Dad is out tending to some of the cows after the storms last night. He said there were a few things that needed to be repaired this morning, and he wanted to get an early start.”
I nodded. That made sense. Of course Dad would want to start his chores early when he knew there would be extra work caused by the storms. Mom fed Thad pieces of bacon and eggs while he chattered happily in his difficult to understand baby chatter. I carried on a one-sided conversation with Mom about that latest math worksheet that had given me issues. Between the two of us, there was a an almost false, forced pleasantness that permeated our conversation. Mom’s eyes glistened in the light and were a little puffy, as if it she had been crying before I came in the room. She also seems more tired than usual too. I think back to their argument last night. Dad’s situation with his ‘old buddy’ must have gotten really bad, but I’m sure Mom would tell me if something were really wrong.
After breakfast, Mom listed the chores she needed me to complete for the day.
“Also, Amelia, would you mind keeping Thad away from the garden for a bit today? I know it adds more to your list, and I’m sorry, but your dad bought me a lovely rose bush last time he went to town and I want to plant it today before it gets much colder. It’s a little delicate at the moment and I would prefer to not have any little hands helping out, if you know what I mean.” I grinned and agreed before I turned to occupy Thad while Mom escaped outside to plant her bush.
That afternoon, while Thad settled into his nap, I Mom still in the corner of the garden, smoothing the dark soil around a robust bush with healthy, dark green leaves.
“Would you like help finishing up?” I asked her as I climbed over the fence. She jumped a bit, but smiled at me, relaxed.
“No. No thank you, hon. I’m finished. I was just getting lost in my thoughts.” I reached down and hugged her, brushing some of the loose dirt from her sleeves.
“Have you seen Dad yet?” I asked. She stiffened and coughed harshly.
“Are you okay?” I looked her over, concerned. She just waved me off before she answered.
“I’m fine. I’m fine. Just breathed in a little dirt by accident. And no. He’s not back yet. He’s probably going to be later than usual this time.”
Dad never came back from his morning chores that day. Or the next. Or the day after that. In fact, it’s been a year now. Thad is speaking in full sentences and has graduated out of his Bumbo seat and highchair. Mom said I could start my own little flower garden this Spring, if I want to. I’ve gone through the stages of grief for my dad’s departure. I decided that he must have taken a walk to clear his mind after chores that morning and just forgot to come back. It’s sad, but Mom, Thad, and I are all still together, and I guess I’m thankful for that. Also, I know that if he ever makes his way back home, he’ll find that everything is the same as he left it. The sky is the same. The grass is the same. The cows and chickens are the same. In fact, besides Thad, the only thing that has changed during the year he’s been gone is the rose bush that Mom planted in the corner of the garden the day he left.
About the Author:
Laura Cartee is a visiting English instructor by day and a passionate reader and writer by night—often after her two kids are finally asleep and the house settles into quiet. She lives in Central Alabama, where she spends her free time dreaming up imaginative literary challenges for her characters to overcome, usually with a strong cup of coffee in hand. She holds a Master’s Degree in English from Jacksonville State University and an MFA in Creative Writing from Southern New Hampshire University. Her work has earned multiple accolades, including several writing contest wins sponsored by Jacksonville State’s Writers Club, and has been published in their literary journal, Something Else. Between teaching, parenting, and writing, Laura makes the most of her long daily commutes by devouring an impressive amount of coffee and podcasts—ranging from education and lifestyle to true crime and cryptids (especially when those cryptids are up to no good).