Chapter 7
7
I hadn’t given a second thought to what time it was, but as we waited in line for food, the aches had started to become unbearable. The exhaustion weaved its way through my body as pain shot up my legs and lower back. I rubbed my chest with my palm in a back-and-forth motion, applying more pressure each time. Everything had become unbearable. The noise. Them. Mason and Grady cracked some jokes, laughing boisterously along with the girls. The second time I called Mason’s name with no response killed the last of my patience, and I grabbed his arm, pulling him to the side.
“Jesus Christ! What?” he asked, yanking his arm back. “You hungry or somethin’?”
“I’m tired, Mason. That’s what.”
“Last time I checked it was only eleven-thirty. We have one more ride, and Grady wants—?”
“Mason, I wanna go. So, you’re either gonna take me home, or I’m gonna go on my own.” I turned away.
“Oh, yeah, ’cause you’re gonna find some good Samaritan willing to drive you an hour back home?”
“I’ll figure it out. Either way, I’m goin’. I can’t keep up. My feet are tired, and it’s loud here.”
“God, that’s so like you, Grace,” Mason said, exasperated, following behind my quick steps. “You say you’ll be fine. Then you get all bent outta shape. And you get all whiny. You get all—?”
I stopped and looked back at him. “I get all what? Tell me. Tell me how I’m supposed to be feelin’ when you’re so self-centered and so oblivious to how goddamn tired I am! I’m exhausted! I’m so exhausted I can’t even look at your stupid face right now! This is your baby, too! Or did you forget that already?”
“Man, when did you become so high strung?” he asked. “I liked you better when—?”
“You wanna know when? The moment your lousy dick got me pregnant! That’s when!”
A few people close by glanced over with wide eyes, covering their mouths to muffle their snickers.
“You know what? Fine. Go ahead! Go fucking hitchhike! I don’t care!” Mason threw his arms up in the air and stormed off.
By the time I had come to regret my outburst with Mason, I was sitting outside a small security trailer. Maybe I already had come to regret it the moment I walked away from him. If it wasn’t for my pride, I would still have a ride home. If it wasn’t for many things—things I could easily blame my baby girl for that brought me to this very moment. Though I was regretful, I was also relieved. To be away from the crowd. Away from all the noise. Away from them. A shiny red glimmer of light prompted me to look away from my belly and to the little girl by my left side. Her red shoes swung back and forth as she played with the ends of her strawberry blonde pigtails. Every few seconds she’d glance around and scratch her rosy freckled cheeks. I smiled and looked ahead, only to catch her big green eyes now watching me, full of life and curiosity. She smiled brightly.
“ Hi.”
“ Hi, there.”
“That a baby in your belly?” She pointed.
My hand slipped over my stomach. “Yeah, it is.”
“A boy or a girl?”
“ Girl.”
“Good. Boys have cooties.”
“Lulu!” a woman called out, running over. “What did we tell you about running ahead like that? I’m sorry if she bothered you,” the woman said apologetically, grabbing the girl’s hand before I had a chance to speak.
Lulu glanced back and then up at her mother. “But ... but she looked sad, Momma. I just—?”
“Lulu, be quiet. I’m so sorry,” the mother said sincerely just as the father standing beside her picked Lulu up.
As I watched them walk away, it felt as if someone had punched me in the gut, the same way my mama must have felt when I asked her why she was so sad. It hit deep. So deep I knew it left a mark. Reminding me of the many wounds that were left open and fermenting. That led me to wonder if I’d ever been good at hiding my pain with a smile. The last thing I’d ever want was for my own child to see me in pain. To know it was easy to fake a smile. A shuffle and a gruff voice made me turn my head, seeing Owen, the other security officer, step out from the trailer. I sat upright.
“Found the kid’s parents, John?” Owen asked.
“Yep, third one tonight. Crazy.” John stepped back into the crowd, surveying the grounds.
“Also, Grace, I got a hold of your father. He’s on his way,” Owen said, wiping the sweat from his forehead before placing his hands on his sides. “Sounds like he’s had one too many if you ask me.”
“I’ll be just fine, Owen. Don’t worry.” I grabbed my bag and sweater. “Have a good night.”
“You sure you don’t wanna wait here? You got a baby and all. Heck, I’ll drive you home. I live out that way anyway.”
“Owen, I’m fine.”
“Well, just take this, will ya? Make me feel better,” he insisted and stepped back inside the trailer. He returned, holding out a bottle of water. “Dehydration is no little matter. And if you need anything, I’ll be right here.”
I took the bottle. “Thank you,” I said. He smiled at me warmly and walked back inside.
Finding an empty bench just outside the entrance, I sighed in relief. I don’t know for how long I sat out there, but long enough for the mud to start cracking along the heel of my shoes. Taking the last sip from the bottle of water, I set it beside me. Every so often, I found myself hoping to see Mason’s group of friends leaving or hoping some kind family would take pity on me and ask if I needed a ride. But soon enough, the sounds grew faint, and hundreds of muddy footsteps from people returning to their cars were now imprinted on the concrete. My knee bounced in place.
Hearing the timbre of a familiar voice, I turned my head. And there he was, twenty-five feet away, talking with the same young woman from before. As a large group of teenagers made their way past me, I saw the perfect opportunity to slip beside them, but just as I stood from the bench, he did a double take and his face fell. My feet stopped. The look in his eyes branded itself in my memory. Never have I witnessed such care and worry in a person’s eyes. And strangely enough, I found myself wanting to run into his arms.
“Grace?” Peter’s concerned voice made me walk briskly in the other direction. “Hey! Hey, what are you—?” He quickly caught up to me. “Grace, what are you doing out here alone? You okay?”
I stopped.
“Pete!” the young woman exclaimed and raised her arms. “We’re about to leave! Milo—?”
Peter turned back to her and called out, “Just give me a second. Grace, what are you—?”
“Just go. I’m fine. I’m just waitin’ for my date to come around with the truck is all,” I said.
He didn’t move but looked toward the parking lot, glancing right and left before facing me. His brows drew together, a hard line forming between them, like he was trying to lift the truth from my head. It was then I wondered: Was he able to see it? Was he able to see the same thing just like Lulu?
“And just how long have you been waiting out here, Grace?” he asked, his voice soft.
I hesitated by the forwardness of his question, uncertain of how to answer and sound convincing. His eyes swept my face, and it was then I knew my silence had answered for me. Knowing there wasn’t a chance to convince him otherwise, I brought my attention back to my swollen feet.
“You and Milo go on ahead,” Peter told the woman. “I’m gonna take her back home.”
I lifted my head.
“Pete, are you kiddin’ me?” the young woman said, irritated, keeping her arms folded. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “You always do this. You always find a reason to ditch us. We were gonna go listen to some music. And you said you were gonna go. You know how upset Milo will be?”
Though he was standing a few feet away, I recognized the caution in his face, reconsidering his own decision. “Just go. I’m fine waitin’ out here,” I said, catching the sudden flicker of disapproval in Peter’s eyes.
“I don’t like that idea, kid.” He didn’t sound angry. In fact, he sounded uneasy. “It’s past midnight—?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop callin’ me that before it gets through your thick head?” I snapped. His face fell. “I’m not some charity case you can use to give yourself a nice ego boost. Now go, will ya?”
His expression softened ever so slightly, but his face remained blatantly shocked. “ Look, I—?”
“Pete!” a man’s voice called out. “What are you doing over there, man? Let’s get going.”
From afar, I could only catch his friend’s scraggly, unkempt beard, dark blue T-shirt, and faded jeans that no doubt reeked of sweat given the heat that still hadn’t broken. He nodded his head at me in place of a wave. Peter turned back at me, all the more hesitant. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and the longer his eyes lingered, the more they deepened with pain. A pain brought by the wrangling of mind and heart.
“Pete,” the man repeated, causing Peter to reluctantly glance over his shoulder once again.
“I’m fine. Just go,” I reassured him, unable to muster the courage to just say it. Take me home . If I did, I’d be allowing him to see the one thing that most people take advantage of.
“ Grace—?”
“I said I’m fine,” I said as his friend walked up to us.
“ Pete.”
Peter looked at his friend and returned his focus to me one last time before striding off without another word. His friends quickly caught up to him. Once they were more than twenty feet away, Peter unexpectedly looked back over his shoulder, catching my stare. I walked away and sat down on the bench with an exhausted sigh. A part of me wanted to go, and that’s what frightened me the most. Pa’s truck backfired in the distance. The urgency and recklessness in which he accelerated told me all I needed to know. It was never the big things that made Pa snap.
It was the little things.
The brakes squeaked to a halt as the tire caught the curb. He climbed out and slammed the door shut; his hair was just as tousled as his clothing. “Get your ass in the truck,” Pa demanded, every step fueled with anger.
Though the voice inside told me to run, I stood there. I saw it. I felt it. He wanted to hurt me. Every bit of me prayed he wouldn’t. Yet that hope vanished just as quickly as I had thought it when he snatched my arm, dragging me with him to the truck. A few pedestrians turned, but no one found the courage or interest to intervene. Using all my strength to fight against him, I planted my feet.
“God damn it, stop fighting me, Grace. I said stop it!”
He backhanded me, but before I could tumble to the ground, Pa grabbed me by the scruff of my dress. His fingers pulled with such force that I cried out from the pressure. He shoved me inside, and I flinched as he slammed the door. Fallen strands of sweaty hair hung over my face, moving with each tremble of my unsteady breath as I watched Pa storm around the front of the truck. He clambered into his seat, and I pressed myself as far as I could against the passenger door, protectively sliding my hands around my belly. It was then, in the side-view mirror, I caught sight of Owen coming to a running stop as we took off. Seeing the lights of the Ferris wheel become dimmer and dimmer, I never wanted to cry more than I did now. Never had I been more regretful of my pride.
The headlights cast a spotlight on the dust floating in the air as the dark and empty highway stretched out before us. But something else lingered in the midst of the thick heat, something causing the little hairs on the back of my neck to stand and my gut to twist. Like the time I picked up something shiny, thinking it was a penny, but instead, it was a piece of glass that cut my finger.
I glanced over. Pa’s wide, frenzied eyes remained fixed on the windshield. Though the thought of walking alone in the middle of night made my feet ache, anything would be better than being stuck with my pa. Nothing was more frightening than an unpredictable man. As the truck’s tires began to settle on the road, so did the dust, disappearing into the blackness. I wished it was just as easy for me. I wished for many things. Like how I wished to never feel the burn of Pa’s hand on my cheek. Now I truly was my mama, and I despised it with every bit of my soul.
“ Pa—?”
“Don’t. Don’t say nothin’. You think you could pull a fast one on your old man, huh? You think I wouldn’t ever find out? I know about your little joyride the other day in that neighbor’s truck. Mrs. Anderson told me all about it. You’re just like your goddamn mother. A dirty fucking liar.”
As painful as his words were, I knew there wasn’t anything I could say to change his mind. Not even the truth could help me at this point. Turning away, I faced the windshield, holding back tears.
“I hate you.”
“Guess what, kid, I don’t like you much either, but I’m your goddamn father, so you’re gonna listen to me.”
“I wanna get out,” I faintly pleaded.
“ What?”
“I wanna get out.”
Pa snorted. “And where you gonna go? You think you can make it without me? You think you’re an adult now? You think you know everything? You don’t have a fucking clue what it takes to be a parent. I do!” he seethed and pointed to his chest. “I do everything! I get up in the middle of the night and drive an hour to pick your sorry ass up! You should be thanking me! You don’t have a fucking clue! I did everything for your mother, and look at how that bitch thanked me! She left us!”
“I wanna get out!!” I yelled.
“Shut up! Just shut up!”
He returned his attention back to the road, his chest heaving. My eyes drifted to the steering wheel. Pa drew a cigarette from the carton and fiddled with his lighter, giving me all the courage and opportunity I needed to grab the wheel and swerve the truck off the highway. The tail end of the truck whipped around as Pa fought to control the wheel. I clenched the sides of my seat and braced myself for the worst possible outcome. Regaining control, he pulled off the road. Hastily unbuckling my seatbelt, I reached for the handle.
“Where you goin’? Hey!”
My body reacted, and I hit him anywhere I could, struggling to push him away as I screamed. Our hands flailed against each other. Pa smacked me across the face. “You don’t fucking run from me!”
An arm suddenly appeared through the open driver’s side window, grabbing the collar of Pa’s shirt and slamming his face back and forth into the steering wheel. His head flung back, splatters of blood lining the dashboard. The door then swung open, and Pa was dragged out of the truck. He pushed himself up from the dirt and stumbled to catch his balance, holding his bloody nose. It wasn’t until the tall, broad-shouldered man stepped in front of the headlights that I realized who it was. I climbed out and rushed over, my frantic eyes going from Peter to Pa. Peter’s face and body trembled with such burning rage it whipped my breath away. So tangible. Like a wildfire.
“I’ll kill you if you ever hit her again, you got that?” Peter threatened in a low voice, his eyes blazing with fury but also promise, making it clear to Pa he meant every word. “You got that?”
Though he had just vowed to kill my pa, a warmth expanded in my belly. Each nook and cranny of my body filled with it. It was something I hadn’t ever experienced with a man. But it was the most exhilarating mix of conflicting but reassuring emotions all at once, and I savored each moment of it because I knew it was real. By the time I remembered to take a breath, my throat had gone dry, and I hadn’t taken my eyes off him. Peter turned toward me but stopped as Pa started to reach behind his back.
“ Pa!”
In one quick motion, just as Pa drew his weapon, Peter’s left arm came down on Pa’s hand, and his right hand struck Pa’s throat. I winced and watched Pa go down. Peter picked up Pa’s gun and tucked it underneath the waistline of his jeans, pulling down his white T-shirt. Pa strained to push himself up, wheezing like a javelina who had been walking the desert for days without any water. Peter stepped closer, and Pa reached into his pocket, taking out his switchblade. With one click it snapped open, and he swung his arm forward. Peter swiftly moved his upper body to the side to avoid the blade and caught Pa’s hand. Pa lurched his head forward, headbutting Peter who stumbled back. That split second was all that Pa needed to strike Peter. I stood wide-eyed as he fell to the ground. He turned onto his stomach and started to push himself upright until Pa’s boot swung itself into his gut.
“Like you’re any better?” Pa spat out a line of blood before swinging his foot into Peter’s stomach again.
“Pa, stop it!” I cried out.
“Going after my kid!”
Pa’s leg went back, readying for another kick, but just as quickly, Peter’s leg swept forward and knocked Pa off his feet, causing him to fall. Peter scrambled on top of him and grabbed Pa’s shirt, bringing his upper body off the ground. He raised his arm and swung his fist into Pa’s face. Fury fueled each strike of his arm, becoming only more powerful. And I felt no fear watching him as he continued to hit my pa again and again. I somehow found peace in his violence. It was raw. Like picking at a scab until the bloody red and pink flesh exposed itself. His face was like that of a mad man. Peter struck one last time, causing Pa’s head to drop onto the dirt. And that’s when I heard it.
It was guttural, something coming from the depths of his being. Peter yelled in blind rage, baring his teeth over my pa like a wild animal. It was magnificent. Pa’s eyes were full of terror as Peter slowly stood upright. Small droplets of blood scattered the side of Peter’s face. I knew it wasn’t his.
But I didn’t care.
Peter turned toward me and halted, strands of hair hanging in front of his face. He remained quiet, his eyes careful, like he was expecting me to scream but also ashamed for ever allowing me to see such a thing. A part of me searched for that scream. To be scared. To be uneasy. But I found nothing. I only found a dozen emotions and a strange sense of safety as we stood there.
A nervous swallow passed through his throat, hesitating. “You okay?” he asked gently.
I nodded, and when I didn’t take a step back as he stepped forward, he seemed relieved. A pair of headlights in the distance caused Peter to look back and then at me. He put his hand on the small of my back and led me to his truck, glancing right and left. Peter’s pace quickened and I stumbled, unable to keep up with his long strides. He opened the door, and I hastily climbed in.
He shut the door and jogged around the truck, sliding in beside me. The engine revved to life and the tires squealed. My back was thrown into the seat as he sped toward the exit and took a sharp left. The truck raced forward as we merged onto Highway 10. And like the truck, my heart raced just as fast. Adrenaline at full force. I looked over. He stared ahead, but every few seconds he’d glance right and left as if he was patrolling, on guard. I then noticed how badly his knuckles were bruised and the thin layer of dirt on his clothes and face. The little specks of blood again.
“ Peter—?”
His cautious eyes flickered over, and he stayed quiet, returning his attention to the road. As much as I wanted to say something, there was an inexplicable feeling that I needed to stay quiet. Not from fear. But for him. Sometimes, in the midst of chaos, people needed silence, to know that they still have some control. All I knew was that no matter how calm and controlled he seemed to be, no matter the words we had ceased to share with each other, he was just as worried and scared as I was.
“By the way, it’s ... i t’s Pete. Not Peter. No one calls me Peter,” he said quietly, still facing the windshield.