Chapter 15 Jane
Jane
My leg feels like it’s on fire. I look down, see blood seeping through my jeans.
I grasp the top of my thigh and try to move the whole leg. It hurts, but it obeys. Thank God. Next, I try to bend it. I’m able to do this as well.
Whew.
But when I go to stand, searing pain shoots through it, and I collapse.
In the distance, Cookie’s orange coat is just a blur as she gallops farther and farther away from me.
Shit.
Will she know to turn on Seven Pines? Will she find her way home? Will I ever see her again?
Hot tears cloud my vision, but I blot them away with the back of my hand. I don’t have time to cry. I have to think.
I probably shouldn’t have ridden her bareback; maybe mean old Mom is right.
That damn beamer. I wonder who the hell it was.
Cookie’s never spooked like that before, but then again, no one’s ever driven right up on us.
Cars race past me, but I can’t even think about trying to hitchhike—Pa told me never to do it. Under any circumstance.
But I can’t just sit here, boiling to death.
I grab hold of the fence, hoist myself up.
I hobble forward, able to put a little pressure on my right leg while holding on to the fence.
This truly sucks. Blair and her friend Stacy are supposed to pick me up tonight, take me out to the Circles.
It’s the first time she’s ever come over, given me a ride, and I was really looking forward to it.
I’ve only hung out with them at school and at the swimming hole because I could ride Cookie there, tie her up where no one could see her.
Not that I’m ashamed to ride a horse; I’m just embarrassed that I don’t have a car like everyone else my age around here.
As cool as Pa is, he doesn’t want me driving his work truck at night, especially if he knows I’m gonna be drinking.
Not that we actually discuss all that, but because he’s been letting me have nips of his wine since I was thirteen, he’s no dummy.
Pa could drop me off places, but that would be even more embarrassing than being seen on Cookie.
Tonight was also gonna be my first time to ever go to the Circles, which is basically a clearing in the middle of woods where the teens here party.
After about half an hour of limping, to my massive relief, I see a shiny red truck cruising toward me. It’s vintage, unmistakably Pa’s.
I wave my arms wildly, shout at him even though I know he can’t hear me.
He sees me, though, and slows, crossing the median of the highway, and eases onto the shoulder next to me.
“What in the world, Sunshine?” His shirt is puckered to his skin, wringing with sweat. He looks concerned.
I burst out in tears; I can’t help it.
“How did you even know where to find me?” My voice comes out mangled.
“The horse knows.”
That’s one of Pa’s favorite sayings.
Massive relief. “Cookie? She came home? She okay?”
“She’s like a boomerang. Yeah, she’s fine, only some scrapes. I drove the usual way to the store, and when I didn’t find you, I decided to look down here. What happened?”
“This asshole—sorry, this jerk—sped up to us in a red BMW, rode right next to us. Revved the gas. And Cookie took off and swerved toward the fence, which dragged me off her.”
“Lemme see.”
I stick out my right leg.
“Jesus.”
“Can you stand on it?”
“Yeah, but it hurts.”
“But how bad? One to ten.”
I grit my teeth, put my weight on it. “Five.”
Pa nods briskly. “Okay, okay, lotsa blood, but hopefully it’s not broken.” He scoops me up in his arms, carries me into the passenger seat.
Back home, he pulls right up to the front porch, yells for Mom.
She steps out the door, a scowl stamped across her face, hands on her hips. She narrows her eyes at me.
“Come down from there and help us!” Pa yelps at her.
I wrap an arm around each of their necks so they can guide me up the steps, get me inside.
The cabin feels dark and cool, almost cave-like, after being out in the summer sun. It takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust.
We have a few windows, but they’re small. Pa told me it helps keep the place from being like an oven in the summer. Guess he’s right. We do have AC, but it’s just a window unit, wheezing in the corner.
I spy baby Molly asleep in her crib in the far corner, her chubby thumb plugged into her little mouth.
Mom and Pa lower me into a chair at the dining table. Julia’s sitting across from me, knitting a scarf. She’s always engrossed in some kind of activity. Overachiever, busy bee. When our eyes meet, she smirks.
Cold bitch.
“Ethan, leave us. I’m gonna get these jeans off her,” Mom says. “Julia, put that away and help me, would ya?”
Pa bends down, kisses my cheek. “You’ll be all right. I’m gonna get back to work.” He gestures with his head to the backyard, to his woodshop.
Before he goes, he tucks my hair behind my ear, smooths the top of my head. As he does it, I shoot Julia a satisfied smile. She knows I’m Pa’s favorite and can’t stand it. It’s just another reason why she hates me.
A huff barks out of her. Followed by the sound of her chair scraping against the dirt floor.
“Stand up, lean into me,” Mom orders me.
I unbutton my pants, ease them off my hips, then sink back down into the chair.
Kneeling, Julia slowly peels them off me.
“Ouch!” I yelp.
“Sorry! I’m trying to take it easy.”
It feels like razor blades are digging into my skin with each tug.
Finally, they’re off.
Mom examines me. “Tsk.”
The whole outside of my leg looks mauled, a huge scrape running from my ankle to the top of my knee.
Mom wrenches my leg, moving it into different positions.
“Ouch!” I yell this time.
“Hold steady, I need to see if there’s a fracture.” Mom’s mouth is a flat line. It’s as if she’s put out, even though I’m the one who’s injured.
“Or I could just go to a doctor like a normal—”
“You know we don’t use doctors. At least until we find one who understands our values.” Mom jerks my leg again, sending a fresh hell of pain through it.
“And what are those values, exactly?” I ask, angry at how she’s manhandling me. Punishing me. “That if you have a broken bone, God can fix it?”
“Watch your mouth!”
“It’s not like this was my fault—” I screech.
“Tell me again, why did you have to ride today?”
“Indy needed new socks…” I stop. Those fucking socks must be along the highway somewhere.
“Well, if you didn’t insist on riding bareback, maybe this all wouldn’t have happened. But at least your leg’s not broken, far as I can tell.”
I don’t have to look over at Julia to tell that she’s grinning, lapping this up.
“Well, if I had my driver’s license, like a normal teen—”
“That’s enough outta you, young lady. You know we can’t afford another car. You trying to stress your father out even more?” Her voice is shrill, hideous.
“I know how to drive the truck. If I had my license, he’d let me. I could be added to the insurance—”
“Julia,” Mom says sharply, cutting me off. “Get me a bottle of tea tree oil from the shed, the washbasin, and a couple of clean rags.”
But Julia lingers, her eyes darting between me and Mom. She loves it when we argue, when I get in trouble.
“Julia! Now!”
My sister slowly rises, takes her sweet-ass time exiting.
“Don’t hurry or anything, I’m just in danger of losing my leg.” I cut my eyes at her.
She pauses, shakes her head, but finally heads out the back door.
Mom grips my wrists, squeezes them. “For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice.”
She stares me down, her eyes steely.
“James 3:16,” I shoot back. “I know this verse very well, Mother.”
“Humph. I’m surprised you remembered. Seems to me like you’ve forgotten it. Carrying on about what other teens, so-called ‘normal teens,’ might have—”
I yank my wrists from her grip, but literally bite my tongue. If my leg’s not broken, I’m going out tonight, and I don’t want to push it.
We sit in silence, glaring at each other. Her eyes taunt me, wanting to provoke me, push me. I keep my trap shut.
Baby Molly stirs in her crib, her golden curls damp with sweat against her forehead.
Julia toes the back door open, supplies in hand.
Mom pours the tea tree oil on a rag, then applies it to my leg.
I nearly jump from the chair; it feels like she’s sticking me with a fire poker.
A snicker bubbles out of Julia, and I notice the corners of Mom’s lips slightly lifting, too, as if she’s trying to hide her smile.
“Jesus, Mom, you could’ve diluted it!”
“Not with these wounds! I have to get it clean. Now settle back down.”
At least this time she dips the rag in the washbasin first, then dots it again with the oil. It stings less this way, but still, I can’t get away from these two soon enough.