“What the fuck are we going to do now?”
I looked at the blood around Dad’s head, his open eyes staring up at the ceiling. I thought of all the times I’d worried he was going to kill one of us, all the times I wished he’d just disappear and we’d no longer have to live in fear. I’d thought our lives would be better then, that we’d finally be free.
But now, looking at my father’s body, I was more scared than I’d ever been in my life.
CHAPTER FOUR
We left Dad and the gun in the bathroom and closed the door. In the kitchen, Dani helped Courtney flush the burn with cold water. She was bent over the sink, crying and shivering, her hair and the top of her nightgown wet.
“Maybe she should go to the hospital.” I couldn’t stop staring at the burn on her jawline, a puckered angry mark about four inches long. It looked painful.
Courtney shook her head, splashing water everywhere. “They’ll put us in foster care.”
Dani was pacing the kitchen now, her shirt covered with red splotches, her face and hands with streaks of bright red. She stopped and stared at my shirt, her face haunted. I looked down, saw the drops of blood. My lip felt puffy and I tasted blood in the corner. Dad must’ve split it when he hit me.
She started pacing again. “Shit, this is bad, really bad.”
“Should we tell Walter and Ingrid? Maybe they could help or—”
“No, we have to think.” She sat down. “You’ll be arrested. Maybe us too, if they think we’re accomplices or whatever.”
“Walter might check on us—the gunshots,” I said. The .22 didn’t make a loud shot, but it had echoed with the cast-iron bathtub and the window was open. I imagined him getting dressed, pulling on his boots, searching for his truck keys.
She was nodding. “We have to figure this out fast.”
“I’ll tell the police the truth—I did it.”
My legs felt shaky. I braced my hands against them, holding them down or holding myself up. I wasn’t sure. My gaze flicked to the bathroom door. Everything was so quiet now. The air felt electric, thick. I could smell blood.
Dani was also staring toward the bathroom. I wondered if she was thinking about how she couldn’t pull the trigger.
Her head snapped back toward us, her face grim and determined.
“We should hide his truck until we know what we’re doing.”
“Okay,” I said. We looked at Courtney.
“Okay,” she said.
*
While Courtney and Dani changed their clothes, I ran outside. I didn’t have my license but Dani let me practice sometimes. I climbed into Dad’s truck, moved the seat forward. The truck stank of spilled beer and Dad’s cologne—we’d bought it for him last Christmas. I tried not to notice the small plastic cowboy hat dangling from the rearview mirror, one of his work shirts tossed on the floor, the empties rolling around, the old cigarette pack, one corner of the silver paper folded down. I thought of how when I was little he’d make me animals with the thin foil.
Then I noticed the plastic bag on the seat. Inside I could just see a corner of a yellow box. I lifted open the top of the bag with my finger.
One of the boxes had an image of a camera lens on the front, the other one was film. I squeezed my eyes shut.
Don’t look at it, don’t think about it.
I pulled the truck into a thicket of trees far behind the house, using the moonlight and memory to guide me, scared to use the headlights in case Walter and Ingrid were already coming down the hill. I hesitated, then grabbed the plastic bag and ran back to the house. Courtney was standing by the front door, wearing a fresh T-shirt, a long one.
“Dani’s trying to clean up,” she said. “You should change too, but put on something you’d wear to bed. Make it fast.” She was talking through gritted teeth, her face strained like every movement hurt.
I washed my face and pulled on an old nightgown.
Downstairs, Dani had grabbed a bunch of old towels and placed them around Dad’s head to soak up the blood. Courtney was cleaning the kitchen, putting away the frying pan, picking up the chairs that had been knocked over. I gathered the playing cards and cigarettes strewn across the table while she stuffed Dad’s empty beer can to the very bottom of the garbage can.
We found Dani in the bathroom, on her knees, staring at Dad’s body.
“What do we … what do we do with him?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
Courtney stood beside me. “Should we move him to the back bedroom?”
“He’ll leave blood,” I said.
A vehicle pulled up outside. We stared at each other, our eyes panicked.
Dani got to her feet, ran to the front window, peeked through the curtain.
“Is it the police?” I whispered.
A door slammed.
“Walter,” Dani hissed. “Pretend you’re making tea.” She turned to Courtney. “Don’t let him see the side of your face—sit on the couch in the corner where it’s darkest and turn away.”
We ran to our positions, our feet soft on the floor, while Dani walked to the door and opened it.