Page 88 of Road Queens
Also, wherewasDad? She’d like a word. She’d like a whole bunch of words.He’d better be working on the apology to surpass all apologies. And I want ice cream for lunchanddinner, dammit!Her father did occasionally apologize, but never with words. He’d just be extra nice for a couple of days. After this, he’d better be nice for a week.And maybe a pony! Made out of ice cream!
“There. Keep still.” Then blessed coolness as her mother wiped her face with a damp towel. “Don’t worry, I’m using bottled water, not creek water.”
Like she gave a shit. Cass would have wiped her face with dog vomit if that would’ve helped with the blood and pain.
“I must say I’m relieved,” her mom murmured. “I thought you’d dumped out all your father’s bait again.”
Despite the pain, Cass laughed. Five-year-old Cass had felt so sorry for the worms her dad was using to catch trout, she had
(Fly! Be free!)
dumped them out in the garden behind their house.
“Is it bad? Mom?”
“You’ll need stitches, but your eye is fine. I’ll drive you to the emergency room.”
“Dad’s not gonna like that,” she warned, then took her mother’s extended hand and got to her feet. It seemed to take forever to stand, and the unexpected wave of dizziness made her lean on her mother’s shoulder. The adrenaline was starting to ebb, leaving her weak and shaky.
Maybe Dad will make an exception to the driving rule this once. Or maybe he ...
... he ...
... maybe he ...
“Mom?”
That’s ... that can’t be what it looks like. I’m seeing things. The shock or whatever.
Her father was face down in the creek.
To clarify: her father was face down and motionless in the creek. One of the kayak paddles floated beside him. And it was so, so quiet. No birds. No traffic. Just her own harsh breathing and the quiet gurgle of the creek.
“Dad?” Then, like an idiot, she raised her voice. “Dad, are you okay?”
“Come along, Cassandra.” She’d never heard her mother sound so calm and detached. Not even when she was high on Vicodin after Dad broke her wrist. “We need to get that wound seen to.”
Pushed him. She pushed him off the dock, jumped on his back, pinned him with the paddle, and put all her weight on it until he stopped twitching. While I was bleeding and screaming, she was ...
... she was ...
“Oh, Mom,” she moaned. She stumbled and her mother steadied her. “What did you do?”
“Don’t look.”
“Don’tlook? I’ll see this every time I close my fucking eyes!”
“And watch your language. Now come.”
Cass decided to ignore both commands. She pushed past her mother, grabbed her dad’s shoulder, and flipped him over. Water streamed from his mouth as he bobbed. His staring, astonished gaze was a perfect reflection of her own feelings.
She struggled and pulled and splashed and finally hauled him out and up on the bank. She tried mouth-to-mouth as more of her blood streamed everywhere, and by the time she gave up, she and her father’s corpse looked like they’d been in the same knife fight.
Her mother, by contrast, was still the very definition of calm serenity. While Cass labored to save her dead dad, Iris Schmitt packed thefishing gear, folded up the tables and chairs, loaded the truck, then came back down to the dock.
She jingled the keys. “Come along, Cassandra. We’ll get ice cream after.”
Worst birthday ever, and I didn’t think anything would top my chicken pox birthday.
