Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
sierra
OCTOBER, JUNIOR YEAR
The house was uncharacteristically quiet. I sat on the couch watching Jeopardy! with Mom while my father smoked a cigarette and read the newspaper.
Mom had asked him once to smoke outside because she knew the smell bothered me, but he told her that he’d do whatever the fuck he wanted in his house then nearly burned her with the end of his cigarette.
Alex Trebek read a question about a classic literature book featuring a character named Atticus. A question I actually knew the answer to because of the book Hayden and I grabbed for Keenan that one day in the library.
“To Kill a Mockingbird,” I mumbled right before one of the contestants buzzed in and gave the correct answer.
“Good one.” Mom smiled. “I wouldn’t have gotten that one.”
I shrugged. “One of my friends had to write a paper about it for a class.”
The sound of glass shattering and a roar of anger from the kitchen startled both of us, prompting Mom to stand as though she was about to check on my father.
I got up slowly—reluctantly—after she did, not wanting to take any steps. Maybe if I didn’t move, it would be like I was invisible, and he’d go away.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked, her voice soft. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
Something else—something heavier—crashed in the kitchen. It was loud enough that I was sure neighbors or people walking by the house would hear.
“Spencer?” Mom raised her voice in concern.
“When were you going to tell me that you let our daughter prance around at fucking rodeos?” My father came out of the kitchen, holding a newspaper in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette. “Says here: ‘Sierra Bayley, Local Cowgirl, Wins High School Barrel Race.’”
“I didn’t—” The look that flashed across my mother’s face as her head whipped toward me was a mix of betrayal and confusion.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” He took a few steps closer to my mom, his hand shooting out like he was going to either grab her face or slap her.
“Hold on a second,” Mom begged. “Please don’t.”
“Explain yourself then!” he screamed in her face. “I sure as hell didn’t allow this to happen, so I’d better get some answers. Otherwise, you’re not going to like what happens.” He reached out again to grab her arm, but I interrupted.
“I signed up for it. I forged the signatures on the paperwork.” The desperation in my voice seemed to get his attention as I added, “Mom didn’t know.”
After stepping away from Mom and crumpling the paper into a ball, he threw it in the trash then approached me.
“I can’t think of any reason why you’d want to hang around those people.
Probably just busy whoring around like your sad excuse of a mother!
” He was so close. The warmth of his breath tickled my face, and the scent of rancid tobacco hit my nostrils, but I stood my ground, still and unwavering as a statue.
“The only sad excuse of a parent is you,” I spat, knowing my actions would have consequences.
“Sierra, don’t…” Mom warned against talking back to my father, but her words trailed off into nothingness as he drew back his hand.
I braced myself for the hit, but nothing came. Instead, knuckles rapped against the front door.
“Gulch County Sheriff’s Office. Open up!”
My father spun around, stalking over to my mom. “You bitch!” His voice came out in a growl that rivaled the sound of his palm making contact with my mother’s face. “What the fuck did you do?”
Mom whimpered, “I didn’t do anything,” as she pressed her hand against her cheek, the skin already starting to welt.
The knock at the door grew louder and more forceful.
“Sierra,” she gasped, eyes wide with terror. “Get the door, please.” Rubbing her palm against her cheek, she put a hand on his arm. “Spencer, calm down. We have a visitor.”
He made some sort of grunting noise, and my chest burned with disdain for the sorry excuse of a man I called my father.
The two of them disappeared around the corner toward the hallway, presumably so she could get him to calm down so we’d seem like a happy, law-abiding family. I approached the door, plastering on my best fake smile.
“Good evening, officers. How may I help you?” I sweetly asked the Gulch County Sheriff’s Office deputies waiting on the front steps.
“We received a call regarding a possible domestic disturbance at this address. We need to make sure everyone is safe.”
“If someone comes to the door, no matter what, you tell them everything is all right, you hear me?”
All I could do was stand there, frozen in my spot.
“You hear me?” He raised his voice, his face mere inches from mine. “You don’t say anything that could get me in trouble, or they’ll take you away, too. You’ll never see your mother again if that happens.”
“Y-yes,” I squeaked out, squeezing my eyes shut.
“E-everything is f-fine, officer.”
His eyes softened, and he lowered his voice, not to intimidate but to soothe. “You’re not in trouble. We’re here to help. Are your parents home?”
I nodded, lowering my eyes to the floor.
“We need to speak to them, okay? It’s important so we can make sure that you and everyone else are safe.”
I took a deep breath and stepped aside so the officers could come into the house, then called out, “Mom, there are officers here that need to speak with you and…” I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Dad.” Bile rose in my throat even calling him that.
The officers ended up separating my mother and father from each other quickly.
One officer took my mom into the bedroom to talk, while the other took my father outside, going across the street but still in view.
The officer who went with my mom told me to stay put in the living room.
I didn’t know if they’d be talking to me or not, but the thought of being questioned made my chest tighten.
Although the voices in the bedroom were muffled, I could still pick out some of the things they were saying.
“Can you describe what happened before we arrived?”
“Has your husband ever used a weapon against you or threatened you with a weapon?”
“Does he have a gun, or can he get one easily?”
My dad didn’t appear to actually be talking with the officer outside. His arms were crossed, and his mouth was set into a hard line instead.
My foot tapped against the floor, hands wringing together.
The officer said I wasn’t in trouble, but what if I was?
What if they took me away instead of my dad?
What if I didn’t see my friends again?
What if I did see my friends after this happened?
What would Hayden think?
A million questions swirled around in my mind, and my head started to spin, everything feeling light and floaty. I ran my tongue across the roof of my mouth, trying to get the tingling sensation to go away, but instead it just felt like I’d swallowed a mouthful of cotton.
Placing my head in my hands, I tried to think of something else, anything else. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I couldn’t breathe, hiccups rising in my throat every time I tried.
Get it together!
I swallowed the lump in my throat, rubbing my hands against my legs, trying to dry off the sweat before the officer came back.
Breathe.
Blood roared in my ears. My hands trembled on my knees.
I’m dying. That’s it.
No.
I focused on my breathing, inhaling for four beats, holding the breath, then exhaling. I repeated this over and over until my heart rate started to slow and the world around me came back into view.
I’m safe. I’m okay. We’ll be okay.
After what felt like hours, the officer came out of the bedroom with my mom. He told us to wait while he went outside to talk to the other officer.
“Are you okay?” Mom asked, putting her hand on my knee.
I nodded, even though my hands were still shaking a bit. I was putting on a brave face for her, but deep down I was terrified about what would happen.
“What did you tell the officer?” I asked on a shaky breath.
She didn’t make eye contact as she said, “The truth. I told him that we got into an argument.”
I wasn’t sure I believed her, but when I glanced out the window, the officers were putting my father in handcuffs.
“Mom.” I sucked in a breath, pointing outside.
We watched through the windows as the police cruiser drove away with my father. Relief flooded through me at the thought of him spending time in jail, even if he inevitably would get out later.
The feeling didn’t last long.
“Sierra, where’s your wallet?” Mom whispered, still staring out the window.
“What?” My face contorted, disgust rising in my chest. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re going to try to bail him out!”
“Someone has to. W-we can’t just let him—”
“Yes! Yes, we can!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “He deserves to be in jail for what he did!”
She shook her head, as though she was brainwashed by him in some twisted way.
“Mom! You need to leave him! Why won’t you leave him?” My heart felt as though there were claws wrapped around it, trying to forcefully tear it out of my body.
“He’s your father, Sierra!” My mother didn’t sound like my mom anymore. “He’s just frustrated.”
I fought back the scream threatening to rise from my throat. “He hurt you, Mom! What if the next time, it’s worse?”
She shook her head, as if in denial. “It won’t be.”
I blinked back tears, my jaw tense. “You don’t know that.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you, Sierra. I need to go to the police station to talk to them.” As though she didn’t quite know where to go or what to do, Mom looked around a few times. Then, like she suddenly snapped out of it, she grabbed her purse and walked out the door.
Nothing happened that night. A no-contact order was placed, so my mom couldn’t do anything, but because he was charged with PFMA, he also had to wait until he appeared in front of a judge to have his bail and release conditions set.
But three days later, at his first appearance in court, the judge allowed for my father to be released on bond. The no-contact order was lifted after my mom insisted he be allowed to come home, and he gave an empty promise to attend counseling.