Page 24 of Resilience on Canvas

Before the storm, Robert had been someone who Henry had held in high regard, sure. And, of course, Henry had thought that Robert was a fine-looking fellow—the most handsome man he’d ever seen, really. But witnessing how fiercely devoted the man really was... Lord Almighty, this infatuation of Henry’s wasn’t never going to wane. It would be the end of him. Henry could swear to it.

After everyone was finished sharing their stories, it was time to bury Tessa. They all began to toss their handfuls of flowers atop Tessa’s lifeless body, and as Henry threw his onto the pile, a whistling sound broke through their collective silence. Henry’s first thought was that the noise must have come from some kind of half-broken farm equipment owned by one of the neighbors, but then he turned and saw Raymond Davis staggering toward them, two fingers in his mouth, whistling every couple of feet to try to catch their attention. Henry frowned and looked sideways at Robert. Robert’s muscles had tensed, and his face was slowly reddening, his nostrils slightly flared. Both of Robert’s hands were clenched into fists, one of them smushing the stems of the weeds he was still clutching.

“What’re y’all doin’?” Raymond called out before sputtering a loud cough. “Why is our garden covered with a heap of this lousy, useless topsoil that’s been blowin’ ’round?”

“We’re trying to have a funeral here, Pop!” Robert yelled back.

“Funeral?” Raymond tripped on a rock but caught himself before he fell. “Who died?”

“Tessa,” Clara said, though her voice was so small, Henry could hardly hear her.

“Who?!” Raymond said, cupping a hand over his ear.

“Tessa, Goddammit!” Robert hollered. “Now leave us be!”

“Tessa?!” Raymond stopped walking and scrunched up his nose. “Ain’t she a cow?”

Robert muttered something to himself that sounded like “Jesus fucking Christ.”

May turned to face her father, and Henry’s stomach tightened.

“She was my cow, Pop,” she said with tears in her eyes. “It’s important.”

May was still holding tight to a couple of flowers—four dandelions and a little blue flower that Henry didn’t know the name of. He wanted to scoop her up and protect her from whatever Raymond Davis might say back, but he stayed rooted to the spot, uncertain of the role he was expected to play in this.

“It’s a waste of time, is what it is,” Raymond said. “And why’s she dead? None of our cows arethatold yet.”

Clara said, “She, uhm, she suffocated. Durin’ the storm.”

“Suffocated? Puh! Didn’t no one close up the barn?” Raymond took a few heavy steps toward Robert. “Did I raise you to belazyor somethin’? Why’d you leave her out here?”

Robert opened and closed his free hand a few times in rapid succession, like maybe he was trying to release some of the anger that was building up inside him.

And Henry wondered when he would blow his top.When.Not if.

“I wasn’t here,” Robert replied, his lip curling.

“Wasn’t here? What in the tarnation? What kind of brother—”

Robert seized Raymond by the collar, and the flowers he had been holding fell, scattering at his feet.

“What kind of brother am I? What kind offatherare you?” Robert spat, his eyes wild. “Where the hell were you? Drinkin’? Gamblin’?”

Raymond tried to wrestle his shirt out of Robert’sgrasp, but he failed.

“None of yer business,” he snarled.

“Bullshit,” Robert said. “Itismy business. Where are you findin’ the money for that?”

“Let go of me, son,” Raymond said, narrowing his eyes. “Or you’ll be sorry.”

“Sorry? Did you forget that I’m bigger than you now, Pop?”

Raymond bared his teeth like he knew that Robert was right. But then Raymond’s glassy-looking eyes wandered over toward the little ones, and Robert’s face fell. He seemed to know exactly what his father was thinking. Muttering a string of cuss words, Robert released him, pushing his pop back hard enough that Raymond nearly landed on his butt.

Clara sucked in a sharp breath. Her arms were wide and stretched out in front of the kids, forming a shield between them and their father. Henry thought that Raymond might come at her, but he only barked a raspy laugh instead.

“Well, I’m headin’ in,” he said. Raymond ran his hands over his chest, making it look like he was fixing his shirt, though it stayed as wrinkled as it had been when he had first stumbled into view. Then, Raymond smirked up at Robert and said, “It’s stillmyhouse yer livin’ in, boy. Don’t forget it.” And he sauntered off.

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