Burned (23 page)

But Then Things Got Tough at Work

A big gathering of Yucca Mountain protesters was expected at the capitol the following week, when Department of Energy

representatives met with the governor.

That Friday evening Dad hit Johnnie

early, trying to dull the edge.
Goddamn

protesters. Reminds me of the seventies.

Who do those shitheads think they are?

I can't believe I said a word, dared to express an opinion. "It's called

free speech, Dad. It's guaranteed in the Constitution, you know."

Dinner table babble fizzled as Dad

put down his fork.
No one has a right to question the government, missy.

Especially not those liberal loudmouths.

Damn the new Pattyn! She flat

wouldn't take the hint. "Do you know

how many tons of radioactive crap

will move through Carson City?"

477

"Crap" was Aunt J's term for it. Dad was suitably impressed.
Did I hear you

say "crap"? What kind of voord is that for a daughter of mine to use?

I should have stopped. I didn't.

"Crap is exactly what it is, Dad.

Tons and tons of poisonous poop, traveling right down Highway 395."

Dad pushed back from the dinner table, jumped to his feet.
I will not tolerate

that language from you. You will respect

me and all the things I stand for. . . .

I really don't know what got into me, but I brought my eyes level with his and said, "Not if one of the things

you stand for is Yucca Mountain."

478

Dumb Idea, Oh Yeah

In one very quick movement, he came around the table, grabbed my hair, pulled

me out of the chair, tossed

me to my knees on the floor.

I could hear the girls scramble, suffered a hot wind of Johnnie WB.

You little buch. You live in my

house. Eat my food. I'm not

putting up with tjour shit anymore.

He pushed my head against the floor and my face scraped

dirty linoleum. That was the best of it. Because then his fist

began to hail against my back.

You will remember who 1 am.

You will remember who I am . . .

remember who I am.

His mantra feil, rhythmic

accompaniment for his drumming.

479

Finally, he tired, or he could

no longer resist Johnnie's call.

I just lay there, afraid to move, hoping he'd

missed everything vital.

480

J
ournal Entry, Sep15

Okay, I was really stupid.

Spouted off to Dad.

And boy did he give me a major

reminder about manners at the dinner table.

I'm lying here on my stomach because my backfeels mushy and 1 know it must be a mess.

It doesn't really hurt, thanks to the eight aspirin I took.

That's probably enough to kill me. Wonder if

aspirin dulls the pain of its killing you.

Jackie helped. me to bed, iced the worst of the bruises.

Mom just sat glued to reality TV, like it could

be half as good as the very real show in the kitchen tonight.

481

I'm trying hard to despise

Dad for what he did to me.

But part of me thinks I deserved

it. Besides, compared to other

episodes in the Stephen

Von Straften saga, this chapter was nothing.

482

Dad Took Off Hunt

In the dark of the next morning.

I heard him go. Once the aspirin

wore off, I didn't get much sleep.

It sort of surprised me that he'd

head off into the hüls, with

Mom so close to her due date.

But Mom insisted she wasn't

ready to go into labor yet.

And I guessed she should know.

At least I didn't have to look at Dad, make him breakfast, bring him ice cream.

In the afternoon Jackie took the girls outside to play while

Mom indulged in a nap.

I used the time to sneak a call to Ethan and tell

him what had happened.

483

I got his voice mail, so didn't admit more than how very much I loved him.

Then I called Aunt J, not to detail my destruction, but to hear the voice of someone who cared.

484

Easy Enough

Come Sunday to find things to despise, starting with

Bishop Crandall, sitting up front, defining at least three of my favorite swear words. He

should want to help me, help any

woman condemned to a man's fist.

I looked at Sister Crandall, all gray and wrinkled like a rhinoceros, and

I wondered if she had ever had to come to church propped up by a half-dozen aspirin. Other

women passed my seat.

I assessed each, seeking signs.

This building, disguised as a house of worship, was rather like a hive. A backward hive, for honeybees, at least, have the good

sense to worship the female that gifts

them all with life. They do not hold their drones in such high esteem. But

485

here, in this hive of hornets, the males

flitted flower to flower, pollinating and stinging and injecting their poison. I

hated everything this place stood

for, except the one thing it claimed--and miserably

failed--to represent:

my Heavenly father.

486

My Earthly Father

ReTurned from his trip very

late that Sunday night.

He pulled Jackie and me

out of bed to help him

unload a five-point buck from the top of the Subaru.

Gutted but not skinned, the deer from behind looked merely asleep.

But when we came around in front, death was everywhere-- in the thick

crimson ropes and spatters on the hood, Windows, and doors; in the repulsive perfume leaking from the animal's gaping belly;

486

487

and in its frigid stare. Oh, most

definitely, death was rampant there.

I staggered a few steps away from the car and vomited foreboding.

488

By the Time I Got Up

For school the next day, the buck had been neatly

butchered, wrapped, and stacked into freezer-size

packages. The hide, head, and other detritus were bagged and left for the trash

man. Dad's speed and skill with a butcher knife were straight out of a novel:

The Silence of the Fawns.

Just another reminder to keep my mouth shut about

Friday night. I sat in class, pulsing pain as my muscles

struggled to heal themselves.

Around me the everyday

sounds of classrooms and hallways--laughter, locker

doors, feet skids on polished

wood--echoed. It was all so normal, all so right. And

I could relate to none of it.

489

In the past I'd

always felt possessed. Neglected.

Unloved. School had offered

escape from home's daily

suffocation. But now I felt

marked. Branded. Abused.

Those scars would follow

me there from home. School

would never again gift me with haven. It became just

another chore, something to get over with. Veiy soon.

489

490

D
ad Fired the Next Volley

Three weeks later.

It was only Thursday, but Johnnie accompanied him through the kitchen door, up the hall, and into the bathroom.

The two of them found a flood of toilet water.

A plunger revealed the culprit--a sanitary

napkin, become quite

unsanitary by that time.

It belonged to 'Lyssa, just past thirteen and never instructed in correct

disposal methods. But it could have been

Jackie's. Or mine.

Dad called all three of us into the hallway.
Which one of you did this?
Spit

dribbled from his mouth and his red eyes were rimmed with anger.

491

And when I dared look up into them, I found the hunger of the cougar.

'Lyssa crumbled. But before she could own-up,

I lied. "I did. I'm sorry."

492

T
he Cougar Pounced

And this time I had no

Ethan to save me from his lethal

claws, shoot him down, dead and harmless. A

vicious

paw Struck the side of my face. The nasty

slash

tore a pierced earring from its lobe. A second blow

caught the other ear, smack where

sounds went in. It made

me

reel, but I managed to keep

my feet, despite the clanging.

At the moment I lifted defensive

arms, Dad caught my

throat, held tight, applied pressure.

And as his calloused hands

closed tight,

493

I barely heard his snarl, betraying absolutely

no pity

You don't know what sorry

is, little girl. But you will.

494

When He Was Finished

The only thing I was sorry about was Coming home in the first place.

I could barely hear, through the throbbing

quicksand in my ears.

I could barely swallow through the puffing finger

marks around my neck.

I could barely taste, beyond the bulging of my tongue, the coppery flavor of blood, crusting

my gums.

But I wasn't sorry

I stepped forward.

'Lyssa might have died.

495

And as I crawled off to bed, a couple of very important

things forded my soupy mind.

The first was how much easier it was to hate my dad that night.

I'd said nothing but "sorry."

The second was, flushed or not, the Kotex probably should

have been mine.

August. . . August. . . ?

It had been almost seven

weeks since my last period.

496

Jackie Tried to Comfort Me

In bed that night, but all I could do was cry.

And I couldn't even tell her the real reason why.

I couldn't be pregnant, could I?

(Could!)

If I was, what would

Ido?

(Would it even

Would Ethan do the right

thing?

(Was getting married the right thing?)

Even if he would, would

Mom and Dad let me?

(Would they rather have

me a Single mother?)

Even if they'd let me, is that what I wanted?

(Cönsidering my whole

take on marriage and kids?)

If I did want to and they

said no, what then?

496

497

(Could we sneak off somewhere and do it?)

Was I pregnant?

(Of course I was.)

Would Ethan marry me?

(Of course he would.)

Was there a way around

Mom and Dad?

(Of course there was.)

So was that what I wanted?

(Of course I was.) (Of course he would.)

(Of course there was.) (???)

498

I
Couldn't Go to School

The next day

(I looked like I'd crawled off a battlefield), so I had plenty of time to think about it.

The more I did, the sicker

I became. Just my luck, one reject Condom and the end of my life--

one way or another-- was well within sight.

And then, out of nowhere,

Mom's water broke.

She made a hasty phone call to Dad, but he was busy with a bomb threat and couldn't get away.

After seven babies, this

one was destined to come

fast. Mom's contractions were immediately strong and close together. She

started to panic, when I

volunteered, "I'll drive you."

498

499

As Mom grabbed her bag,

I loaded Georgia into her car seat, then climbed behind the steering

wheel. Mom did think to ask if

I really knew how to drive, so on the way to the hospital,

I told her the whole story.

Why not? At that point I had

nothing much to lose.

When we arrived, she asked

me not to go inside, using some

excuse about not wanting

Georgia there, and the girls needing

someone to come home to.

But the real reason was obvious.

At hospitals, people ask questions about kids with swollen faces.

500

Driving Home

I thought how easy it wquld be to just keep on going.

Except I had Georgia.

Except I had no money and the van was riding near empty.

Except it would change

nothing. I still had decisions to make if my fears proved correct.

Except I needed to talk to Ethan before I made any

decisions. And I couldn't tell

him I was pregnant until I knew for sure.

Except I really, really

needed to talk to him right

that very minute before I went

completely crazy about The Way

Things Were--incomprehensible.

501

Now Dad Believed

A good Mormon woman

should have to ask her husband for money. Even grocery money was supposed to be a Joint decision.

But Mom had a secret cash stash, funded by
singles
and small change,

"borrowed" from Dad's pockets

when he and Johnnie passed out.

Like everything in her life, her cash

jar was chaotic. I was pretty sure she had no real idea just how much money was inside. So I swiped a few dollars.

Georgia and I took a little ride to the störe-- and not our usual grocery störe, but one

where everyone looked like strangers.

There I purchased an Early Pregnancy Test.

Good thing Georgia couldn't read yet, and to keep her from asking too many

questions, I bought her a lollipop and a carton of milk for the refrigerator.

502

We made it home just minutes before the first of three school buses dropped off a brood of Von Stratten girls.

I put them straight on their homework.

Then I went into the bathroom, carefully followed the directions, nd within a few minutes I had

my answer, in a little blue line.

503

Pounding on the Door

Brought me out of my semicatatonic

state
.
I scrambled to hide the evidence so Roberta could come in and pee.

On the way past the mirror, I caught

sight of a face and had to do a double

take. Could that battered hag be me?

I looked just like my mom, give or take maybe ninety pounds.

Was that who
I'd
be in a few years?

I had only one person to turn to . . .

okay, maybe two. Aunt J would never

turn me away. But I needed Ethan.

I went into my bedroom and removed the bottom drawer of my dresser, revealing the hollow underneath.

I had discovered the place quite by accident--no one but me ever

moved a dresser to vacuum!

504

This was my personal secret hiding

place, and as I reached for the cell, my hand brushed something

cool and hard and instantly

comforting--the 10mm. Waiting . . .

Just then the front door slammed.

Dad!

505

J
ournal Entry, Oct 7

One of my warst nightmarcs

has come true. I'm pregnant.

I really don't know what to do.

I can't even call Ethan until

Monday. Ethan. God, I need

him so much.

It's kind of weird, because as scared as I am, a part of me is really happy to have Ethan's

baby growing inside me.

A little Ethan, tucked right there.

I need. something beautiful inside, because outside I'm so ugly right now.

Mom brought baby Sam home

today. Oops . . . Samuel. No need to stir Dad's pot. I'm just starting to heal from the last time.

Anyway, Samuel's all red and scrunched up and not pretty at all.

Will my baby look like that?

I don't think so.

506

My baby will be perfect because he's part Ethan, part me. He?

Where did that come from?

507

On Monday

I didn't look so bad, so Dad

let me go to school, with one heartfelt warning,