1. You made it through your darkest days
1
You made it through your darkest days
Moth
T he smell of burning rubber filled the air as my little red convertible skidded to a stop. I knew that stop sign was there and still almost flew past it. Overgrown corn stalks nearly covered it, and briefly, I wondered how many out-of-towners had missed it altogether.
The cornfields stretched for miles in every direction, waving golden seas that I longed to get lost in—if only I didn’t know better. Seeing them now, I missed the time when I was blissfully unaware of the horror stories about the many people who got lost in Kansas’ unbroken cornfields every year. It was a dangerous maze, but still, it called to me.
The sun beat down from a cloudless blue sky. I already knew by the time I got there, I’d be burnt to a crisp. I could already feel the sizzle and my skin tightening around my knuckles. My freckles only stood out when I tanned, which never happened, given that I rarely saw the world outside of the clinic back home. In the dead of winter, they were non-existent.
After this weekend, I’d be straight-up Raggedy Anne.
The road ahead was a black river, flowing east to west. To the east, I could disappear into the unknown and leave this life behind. To the west, it was a crumbling compass that pointed to the town of Cottonwood Falls. I’d grown up there. My entire life was there. So why did I want so badly to never go back?
Except, I knew why, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I knew why I hated the tiny town, and it’s not just because of the ‘good old boys’ and ‘everybody knows everybody’ cliche. My waking nightmare had happened there. My abduction had happened there. My innocence was lost to the knowledge that men were dangerous and they would hurt me. Their actions had caused me so much pain and damage, in so many ways, that even fourteen years later, I still hadn’t recovered.
Sighing, I inched closer to the intersection, cussing and grumbling as I fought to see past the cornfield.
Damn it! It should be a law that a farmer has to plant farther away from the road. How many people have died from this?
Finally, I saw past the waving stalks. One way, and then the other. All clear.
Sucking in a deep breath, I whipped the steering wheel to the left and slammed my foot down on the gas.
Out here, I could drive as fast as I wanted.
Out here, I could feel the wind tearing through my golden brown hair. I’d clipped it up to keep it out of my face when I’d first left, but now? I reached up, grabbed the clip, and tossed it into the back seat. I knew my hair would be tangled when I got there, and I would be annoyed later when I had to brush it out, but now ?
Now I wanted to feel it.
I wanted to feel anything but this dread in my stomach, churning and sloshing, until I felt like I may need to pull over and puke.
Truth be told, I wouldn’t be coming back at all if I didn’t have to. I would have stayed far away from this town for the rest of my life if I could have.
It was just this morning, at work, when I got the phone call. I’m a vet in a low-cost clinic, and I was finger-deep in the back end of a pug when Amelia stuck her head in the door.
“Nessa, it’s your dad.”
“Tell him I’ll call him back! I’m a little busy!”
“He’s gone, sweetie. He died.”
I apologized to the client and rushed out of the room.
When I spoke to the coroner, it was pretty straightforward. Dad had a heart attack and died in his recliner in front of the TV.
As morbid as it was, I had a feeling that was how he would have wanted to go.
A tedious man, he’d made his arrangements years ago. Now all I had to do was drive the three hours to Cottonwood Falls and attend the service, take a week to go over his affairs, tie up loose ends, and work on selling his old farmhouse.
Easy, right?
It didn’t feel easy.
I didn’t wanna step foot back in this town. I didn’t wanna pass the little blue house on Main Street, where I’d spent thirteen fun-filled days and nights tied up in the basement. And for what?
No good reason was what for. All the psychopath had ever said was, ‘I wanted to make him happy’ .
Who the fuck was ‘him’, and why did that have anything to do with me?
Was it some kind of satanic sacrifice? Was he planning to bleed me like a pig and offer me to the dark lord?
Whatever. Didn’t matter. That was behind me and soon enough, this town would be too. All I had to do was get through this weekend, and I would never have to see this hick town ever again.
Another stop sign.
Groaning, I slid to a stop, looking both ways. Thankfully, this one wasn’t an apocalypse of corn, and it was easy to see. Grassy fields grew unkempt on each side of the cracked, weed-eaten blacktop. Turning back, I caught sight of my face in the rearview mirror. My nose was already burnt, and the freckles stood out like a handful of mud thrown at my face. My cornflower blue eyes were bloodshot and red-ringed from crying, and the lack of sleep last night hadn’t helped the matter.
Turning away, I got my eyes back on the road and hit the gas. Up ahead, I could see the scarred green sign welcoming me to Cottonwood Falls. I pulled a face and wrinkled my nose.
Oh goodie. I was so glad to be home.
I crossed over a bridge, my eyes naturally drifting to the right. This was the ‘famous’ Cottonwood Falls, our sad attempt at a waterfall. It was a tiny dam that rose maybe a foot out of the water, but it was still fun to sit by in the summer. Too bad I wouldn’t have time for any of that.
I took the first road to the right, Main Street, careful to keep my eyes on the road and not on the houses. It was a short drive, but Main Street became Lake Street, and a couple of miles down, it turned into dirt and gravel. Another right turn and I could already see the long, narrow driveway between a cow field and a horse pasture. Sadly, my old horse, Gunner, had died years ago, and dad hadn’t bothered to get another. The thought made me sad. I’d grown up with Gunner, and it wasn’t gonna be the same, seeing the field empty.
I took a left this time, and I pulled down the driveway, slowing to a crawl. The driveway had always been pitted and broken with huge, water-holding potholes, and who knew what they’d do to my car? I didn’t need a flat tire or broken something or other out here in the boonies. I passed beneath the shadow of the old elm, and my childhood home came into view.
The minute I saw it, I wanted to cry. It was over a hundred years old, and it showed. It needed a lot of work. I couldn’t imagine that much had been done to it since I left for college six years ago. My dad wasn’t in the best shape, and without Mom, I don’t suppose he cared all that much. The red brick had faded to dark russet and autumnal orange, and I could see the dirt and grime on the windows from the driveway. The front porch sagged, the wooden floorboards sticking up here and there. The stained glass over the front door was so dusty and dirty that I wouldn’t have been able to see through it even if it wasn’t ten feet off the ground.
Even if I hadn’t been here in a long time, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to have it as a place to run to if I needed it. It was like my safety net was falling out from under me, and there was nothing I could do about it. Sighing, I threw my car into park and yanked out the key, stuffing it into the front pocket of my cut-off jean shorts. I reached into the back seat to grab my duffel bag. I had another two suitcases in the trunk, but those could wait.
Parked off to the side, close to the old, broken-down horse barn, an old red Chevy stood among the weeds. A tall, rugged country boy leaned against the tailgate, his hat pulled down over his eyes to protect them from the sun. He was your quintessential cowboy—flannel, big belt buckle, hat and all.
I rolled my eyes.
“I didn’t know I was pulling up to a new season of Yellowstone,” I called out, flashing him a smile.
“Oh hardy har,” he called back, stepping through the weeds as he made his way over. “So funny, Nessie.”
I stuck out my tongue and kicked the door open, stepping out onto the gravel. Stepping up to me, he handed me a pair of house keys on a rusted ring.
“Got these from the coroner,” he said. “You okay?”
I shrugged.
I could feel the emotions rolling around in my throat, like a prickly ball.
“I mean, I guess,” I said. “As good as I can be.”
He shrugged.
“Dad would want you to be okay,” he said. “He never liked to see you sad.”
Barrett had been my friend since high school, when he moved here from out of town. Why his mom had chosen to bring him to a hick ass town like this one, I’d never know, but I was grateful just the same. He had been the new kid, and I had been the popular girl. We weren’t your typical friendship, but something about it just stuck.
Now, all these years later, we still talked almost every day.
“I know I shouldn’t be sad,” I said, squinting up at him. “He isn’t in pain anymore.”
“That’s true,” Barrett said, flashing me a warm smile that lit up his green eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not, ya know?”
I shrugged, and we moved towards the front porch. My flip-flops slapped over the rotting boards as I moved up to the door and slid the key into the lock. I jiggled the knob, and in a couple of seconds, it popped open and the scent of nostalgia wafted out, hitting me in the face with memories. Damn it.
Tears were slipping from my eyes when I stepped over the threshold. I couldn’t sniffle them back, even if I tried.
It was exactly how I remembered, down to the lamp on the end table, and the coffee table strewn with empty beer bottles, bottle caps, newspapers, and medication bottles. The couch was the same worn floral that was older than I was, and the curtains were the same warm orange. The rug in front of the old analog TV was worn and moth-eaten in places, but it was yet another memory to suffocate me.
“What time’s the service?”
“9 A.M,” I said with a sigh, dropping my bag near the bottom of the stairs. “Bright and early. Only dad would do some shit like that.”
“Well, he was a cop,” Barrett said. “They’re hard-wired to be hard asses.” Reaching up, he pulled the Stetson off his head. When he tossed it down onto the coffee table, his tawny hair had taken on the dictionary definition of hat head, and I couldn’t help but snort.
“I wonder if he’s got some whiskey in the freezer,” I asked, turning towards the kitchen.
“I’m sure he does,” Barrett called after me, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “He’s a cop.”
When my eyes cracked open the next morning, my head was pounding. My phone, in its glittery teal and purple case, vibrated and buzzed on the coffee table, screaming at me to get up. I wanted to chuck it across the room. Instead, I picked it up by its purple rhinestone strap and silenced it.
Groaning, I forced myself to sit up.
Too much whiskey, too many memories. We’d stayed up way too late, telling stories and talking about old times, and fuck, I was regretting it now.
I’d fallen asleep on one end of my dad’s couch, and when I looked up, Barrett had fallen asleep on the other end, sitting up, with a beer bottle clutched in his hand and tilted dangerously into his lap.
I barked a laugh, and he jumped, sloshing beer across the front of his unbuttoned flannel.
“For cripes’ sake!” he muttered, leaning forward and plopping the bottle down on the table. “What fuckin’ time is it?”
“7:30. Time to get ready. ”
“At dick hair in the morning?! Count me out! I ain’t no female. It doesn’t take me an hour and a half to get ready.”
He grabbed his hat and pulled it down over his eyes.
Men.
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my bag on the way up the stairs and hurried into the bathroom. This room, like all the others, hadn’t changed. The room had the same weird, pukey peach color that my mother had insisted on having in the 80s. My father had never bothered to change it. The decor was seashells and seahorses—all beige—with a shower curtain to match.
Damn, I loved that woman, but her taste was simply gaudy.
Throwing my shorts and white tank off, I slid into the shower and washed what I lovingly liked to call my important parts—the ‘its.
Tits, pits, and slits.
After I was clean, I pulled out my little black dress and threw it on. It was a simple, knee-length swing dress with capped sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Dad really would’ve liked it.
I blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that had sprung in my eyes, and slipped into my dress. Pulling eyeliner and mascara out of my bag, I did what I could, opting for a simple, tiny winged liner and some light mascara. I wore it because it was the right thing to do, even knowing I’d end up crying all of it off by the end of the day.
I did it for dad. He would have liked it.
By the time I exited the bathroom, it was 8:00. I made my way downstairs carrying my sleek black pumps, and when I looked into the living room, Barrett was already up, a new, cold bottle clutched in his hand, his green eyes squinted against the early morning light.
“Barrett. It’s 8 in the morning.”
“You know what they say.” He looked over at me with a shrug. “Hair of the Dog and all that.”
“I’m pretty sure the hangover is from the entire bottle of whiskey we split, not the cheap Bud Lights my dad bought because it was ‘better for his heart’.”
Barrett grumbled a reply that I didn’t hear as I stepped into my shoes and made my way towards the mirror in the hall. I looked… nice. A far cry from my normal sneakers and scrubs, but a little change was good, right?
At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the church parking lot. Barrett had insisted we take my car because he’d never been in a convertible before. We parked near the back of the lot and made our way into the building.
Inside, it was small, nearly the size of my living room back home. A small town only needed a small church, after all. There were three rows of pews, a pulpit, a confession, and the rest was fairly open. It was jam-packed with people. Most of the town had to have been here.
“Wow,” Barrett said, looking around. “He was a popular guy, huh? ”
He’d changed into a simple black suit, black Stetson, and silver bolo tie. He looked handsome.
“Of course he was,” I said, and I could feel pride swelling in me. “He was the chief of police for over thirty years. Everyone loved him.”
“That they did.”
A deep baritone sounded behind me, and I turned. I’d recognize Sheriff Banner anywhere. After all, he was probably the only black man who lived in Cottonwood Falls. Small-town Kansas wasn’t exactly ripe with diversity. He was tall, with a shining bald head, a neatly trimmed goatee, and rich brown eyes that could pierce right into the soul of any criminal, and pull out the lies.
“Hi Sheriff,” I said warmly, smiling at him. “How has it been in Cottonwood Falls?”
“Good, good,” he said. “Quiet.”
“Quiet’s good.”
“That it is, that it is. Don’t be bringin’ any of those big city problems with ya, Nessa.”
I forced a laugh. It sounded fake, even to me. I cleared my throat.
“No problems here. I keep to myself.”
“Course you do. You’re a Harper,” he said, clapping me on my shoulder as he slid past me. “Excuse me, I’m gonna go pay my respects.”
I watched him weave through the crowd, making his way to the front. The entire police force had to have been here, along with the Chase County fire department. Turning towards the pulpit, I recognized almost every face .
I could pick out the white wispy hair of Brad Coleman, one of my dad’s cop buddies, and beside him, I noticed Dale Watchman, the fire chief. All the firefighters wore their Class-A uniforms as a show of respect. I saw Carl Lee’s silvery blonde hair. He was easy to pick out in a crowd. He always reminded me of that one Russian guy from that Rocky movie.
“Everyone’s here,” I said, and Barrett nodded.
“Yep, Principal Lewis is over there, too. Next to Tommy. Remember him?”
Of course, I remembered Tommy. He was the one who saved me when I had been taken. I looked across the room and spotted him. He was the typical attractive firefighter—dark, slicked-back hair, brown eyes, broad shoulders, and a 5 o’clock shadow.
I remembered him well.