Page 11 of The Pawn

At the outdoor podium, music starts up, letting us know that the main event is about to start. Pulling out his phone, Wally points out, "We should go soon. Guess we'll have to miss this."

"Oh, horror," Tanner mocks, "you won't be bored to death even further."

I bite my lower lip to keep from saying something rude in front of Mom. A redhead in the audience waves to Tanner, and he heads her way; Lukas wanders towards the shade near the chairs, hands in his pockets, looking a little lost and out of place. I supposed his European parents don't show up to these things.

Mom grasps my arms, biting her lower lip. "Come home as often as you can, okay? Even if it's just for the break."

"I will."

"I'll try to save up money for a plane ticket," she adds, wrapping her arms tight around me, her ribs and clavicles frighteningly prominent as I hold her close. "I've got a new job waitressing at that place near your Aunt Cheryl's house. She and Dan might pitch in, too. Maybe we can bring you home over the winter holiday."

My heart squeezes painfully tight at the thought of her saving up her bills and spare change for me, trying to squeeze together enough money to get me from Great Falls to Wayborne—complete with a layover somewhere between because the Wayborne airport is barely big enough for a tin can to fly through. After Silas announced that he was going to Coleridge, I priced out tickets at over three hundred bucks on a good day, more during the holidays; she'll never be able to afford it. If I get to go home and see her for Christmas, it'll be because of Wally and Ol' Bess.

As we step back, and I look down at her, there's a question that sears in my throat. I open my mouth to say it, thoughts racing, forming and re-forming the words on my tongue. Finally I just spit it out. "And Daddy?"

Wally looks away, trying to give us a moment of privacy as we talk about a painful family truth.

Mom says, "Isn't coming home, sweetheart. At least not as far as I know. The last I heard from your Uncle Joey, he'd gotten a job on an oil rig off the coast of Louisiana. Ten month contract."

Bitterly, I observe, "You didn't say that he'd be sending money home."

"Your father is a complicated man." She squeezes my arms, and I bite my tongue, glad for the pain of the burn on my palm. "He's had a hard time, but I'm sure we'll hear from him soon. You know he loves you."

I want to reach out and push the words back in her mouth, shove them down her throat, and make her choke on them. Daddy never loved anybody he couldn't control, and no one can be controlled long enough to satisfy the dark center in the middle of his heart. If he loves me, it's a dark, wretched thing, and I'd rather she not make excuses for him.

But I can't bear to argue with her when she's doing this poorly. Ever since Silas died, she's barely eaten, and she was already skinny to begin with. Every day a little piece of her gets chipped off, like slivers falling from the sculpture's chisel. Soon there'll be nothing left—and I can't bear the thought of being the reason why.

"Take care of yourself." Looking to Wally, tugging on his jacket, I tell him, "Take care of her."

"You know I will," he says, that Virginia backwater twang in his voice again. Tone rough from emotion, he says, "I'll bring the truck around so you can get your stuff, and your mama doesn't have to walk out to the parking lot."

That's Wally for you: when emotions get serious, instead of saying things or hugging people, he offers to help. He's the guy with the first aid kit in his jacket and the Advil stowed away, the one who always has a spare tire and will jump start the car battery of his worst enemy.

His were the hands that helped me cut my brother down and lay him to rest.

I wish I could bring him along to do the rest of it along with me, but what I'm setting out to do isn't for boys with big hearts like Wally. It's for girls with shriveled, blackened bits of muscle beating in their chest, girls who have nothing to live for but revenge.

He pulls the truck around. I grab my duffel out of the back seat. Mom and I hug again; I help her up into the truck's cab, watching her rub the sides of her arms, cold despite the nice weather.

"Bye Mom. Bye Wally." I pull away before tears can start welling in my eyes. Now is not the time for weakness. "Take care of each other."

"Take care of yourself." Mom puts a hand on my cheek. "I love you."

"Love you too."

Before he pulls away, Wally rolls down the window on the driver's side and adds one last thing.

"You can always come back if you need to." He watches me, the truck idling. Distantly, I hear the Dean on the stage, calling into the mic for everyone to get seated. "Wayborne will welcome you with open arms."

I'm sure it will. But it's not the comfort of home that I need to feel peace. And I'm not sure I'll ever feel comfortable again in that place, after everything.

"I'll keep that in mind," I tell Wally, because he wouldn't understand if I told him why I have to stay, come Hell or high water, until the deed is done. "Drive safe. I should probably go see this thing—I'm already late."

I watch the truck drive away.

I'm all alone now at Coleridge, without Wally, without Mom.

It's for the best.

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