Burned (10 page)

He said there was trouhle
at school, trouhle with a hoy. . . .

I nodded. "A little

trouhle with both, okay? Is that all?"

She looked me in the eye.

He said your bishop has decided

you're possessed by Satan.

I snorted. "Because

I want a normal life and someone to love me?"

Is breaking someone's nose

normal, Pattyn? Do you think

your young man loved you?

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Okay. Valid questions.

"No, he didn't love me, and that made me . . ."

Angry? Enough to make

you lose your temper and hit

someone eise in the face?

"Hurt. Enough to want to make someone else

hurt too. I'm so sorry."

If you know why it happened, and you're truly sorry,

I doubt you're possessed.

"I'm not possessed,

Aunt Jeanette, and I'm glad

you don't think so either."

Satan has biggerfish to fry, mostly in Washington, D. C.

Now how about dinner?

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Next Day, I Found Out

Aunt J had no expectations regarding my doing chores.

You're a guest. 'Course, ijyou want
to pitch in, l'ni not sayin no.

What else did I have to do?

Besides read, that is.

Got a big patch of weeds needs pullin .

And you can toss chicken scratch.

Pullin' and tossin'. No problem.

Mindless labor, easily done.

I do have a big project on tap for some

time in the next week or two.

Big project? Like digging a pond or raising a barn?

l've got to move a hundred head of cattle.

You ever ridden a horse before?

I did a pony ride once. Round and round in a little circle.

Old Poncho doesn't ask for much.

All you have to do is stay in the saddle.

I figured I could manage that.

How hard could it be?

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Aunt J Figured

I'd better practice a little.

Old Poncho stood like a champ

while she tossed the saddle over his slightly swayed back.

See, you reach under his belly, grab the cinch, put it through this ring, and pull tight.

Poncho gave a little
oomph,
but didn't really complain.

I stroked his nose, watched his whiskers twitch.

Now put your leftfoot into the left stirrup and pull

yourself right on up there.

Except for a tense second or two as my pants stretched

quite tightly at the rear, I

climbed on with relative ease.

Squeeze with your knees, keep

your heels dropped, hands

gentle on the reins.

Knees, heels, and hands in approximate position,

I clucked my tongue to make

him go. Poncho was deaf!

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He 's not deaf, only stubborn.

Give him a little nudge with your heels.

That worked and walking was easy, like straddling a well-worn rocking chair,
plod-ka-plod-ka-plod.

That's it. Pull the reins

right to turn that way.

Pull 'em left to go left.

Poncho performed as requested and I felt just like a cowgirl. Until he started to trot.

You're gonna get whiplash, bouncing like that. Squeeze

those knees harder.

I tried, but nothing I did could

keep my butt in the saddle.

Poncho responded by trotting

faster.
Plop-plop-plop-plop-plop.

Aunt J dissolved into deviant laughter.
Make him stop.

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"Whoa!" I hollered, much to Ponchos amusement.

I pulled back on the reins.

Too much slack.

Tighten your grip and yank hard!

Aunt J shouted.

I yanked. Poncho stopped.

The final bounce planted

my behind in the saddle, bruising my bruises.

Looks like you'll

have to work on that trot!

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J
ournal Entry, June 6

1 rode a horse today!

I've never been sorer in my whole entire life!

I think my butt is majorly

black and blue. (I can't

really see it in the mirror.)

So why am I so proud of myself?

Aunt J said she's proud of me

too, even if my trot does need a little work. She's proud of me

I can't believe she and Dad are related.

We're going to move her longhorns from low pasture to high meadow. Some ranchers

use ATVs or even helicopters to move their cattle.

Aunt J uses horses and dogs.

Just like in the movies.

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I
wonder iI'movie cowboys

ever got sore butts.

1 wonder ifhorseback riding

can gwe me a shapely butt.

I wonder ifl'll ever learn to ride a horse.

I wonder how Mom is feeling.

I wonder if Jackie liked camp.

I wonder if Georgia has stopped

sucking her thumb.

I wonder if Derek and Carmen are still together.

(I wonder if Carmen is pregnant yet.)

I wonder iI'dad misses me at all.

203

The Next Morning

I came downstairs to the aroma of coffee. Really streng coffee.

It smelled delicious.

Aunt J sipped a cup, offered one to me. I shook my head. "No, thanks."

It was a sin.

Considering my recent behavior,

I wasn't sure why coffee worried me.

It was tempting.

Aunt J said it was up to me, but far as she knew, God couldn't care less.

It made my mouth water.

Was it the smell? The idea of giving in to temptation? I hadn't a clue.

It was wrong, and I knew it.

Whatever it was, I crumbled like biscotti, in need of black coffee.

It demanded I try it.

A small sip wrinkled my nose.

A big gulp went down like water.

It was bitter.

Aunt J offered sugar and cream, but I wanted the truth of coffee.

It was the best thing
I'd
ever tasted.

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What Had Happened to Me

Beer. Tequila. Coffee.

Heavy petting, which,

I had to admit, I enjoyed.

What was next? Excommunication?

What if it was? Could I

deal with that? Could my

family? Would they all

be eonsidered outcasts?

Would they hate me

if they were? Dumb

question, right? So, okay, if they disowned me, like Dad had disowned

Douglas, would I get over it, create a solid

existence without them?

Would I find a way to forgive myself, even

love myself, or would

I react like Molly and end the pain completely?

205

After Breakfast

I asked Aunt J if I could borrow a rifle for a little target practice.

Sure. Why not? They're wasting

away in that cabinet

.
Wasting away? "How come?

You must like to shoot."

I do hunt venison once a year.

I don't especially enjoy it.

So much for Annie Oakley.

"Why do you have so many guns?"

Stan collected them, more for show
than use. Extravagant, really.

But they were beautiful.

"What do you mean?"

A
person only needs three guns--
a good hunting rifle . . .

For filling the freezer with venison once a year ...
a handgun for protection, and
a scattergun--for varmints

.
I had no urge to mess with shotguns.

A big one could take your arm off.

You're welcome to borrow whatever.

Take the pickup and make a day of it.

206

Was she crazy? "Uh, thanks, Aunt

J, but I don't know how to drive."

What? Going on seventeen and you still can't drive?

"Dad said if my husband wants me to know how, he'll have to teach me."

207

The Look on Her Face

Was priceless. I'd

definitely hit some kind of a nerve. Aunt J

gave me a nudge toward the door.

Let's go.

An old Ford pickup, circa 1950-

something, loitered in the scattered

shade of the driveway.

Get in. I'll teach you.

I glanced at the classic truck, with bug-eyed headlights above a big

grill and not a ding under the primer.

Don't worry. You can't hurt her.

I doubted that. But the freedom

Aunt J had offered me was a powerful temptation.

Get in. We'll he fine.

I slid under the steering

wheel, hands shaky as Jell-O.

Had no idea what to do next.

Put the key in the ignition.

In it went, like it wanted to be there. One turn and the motor

sputtered to life.

Right pedal, go. Left pedal, stop.

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208

I punched the right pedal.

The engine rewed and roared a protest. Aunt J grinned.

First you have to put it in gear. .

Duh! The gearshift.

How many times had I

watched someone use it?

Right now she's in Park.

Oh yeah.
P
for park,

R
for reverse ... "So what

does
D
stand for?"

And before I knew it, I was.

Drive.

209

We Started Down

A wide dirt track that paralleled the fence line, that paralleled the main road in from town.

Steering came easy enough. turn the wheel, not too hard, and go the direction you Turned it.

The gas pedal wasn't a mystery either. Push

harder, go faster. Let up on it, slow down.

The brakes took a bit of getting used to. Push the pedal easy, slow gently. Stomp? Don't!

After a couple of steering over-corrections and a herky-jerky start or two, I began to get the hang of it.

I was bumping along, thoroughly engrossed in driving a straight line, when Aunt J interrupted.
Stop a sec.

Another pickup, a blue Dodge Dakota, had pulled onto the Shoulder on the far side of the fence.

I braked the Ford to a quick stop, as the Dodge's driver

stood up from changing his flat.
Morning, Ms. Petrie.

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Furnace Lips! That killer cute guy knew Aunt J?

Apparently, she knew him, too.
Hello, Ethan. Everything okay?

It is now,
he said, fiashing that familiär smile.
Next time, back to Firestones. These Michelins can't take afinishing nail.

Aunt J chuckled, then gestured in my direction.
I'd like you to meet my niece Pattyn. She's visiting mefor the summer.

Pleased to make your acquaintance, Pattyn.
His eyes, filled with assessment, drew level with mine.
Pretty name.

I nodded, afraid my voice might stick to my tongue. Aunt

J saved me major embarrassment.
How's your father coping?

Ethan's smile dried up like a summer mud puddle.

He 's okay, I guess. But she left a pretty big hole.

I know she did, Ethan,
soothed Aunt J.
Let me know

if you need any thing at all, and give your dad my best.

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