Without Merit

When he finally does turn around, he doesn’t look any of us in the eye. He stares at the ground. “Watching her change from the woman I fell in love with to someone else entirely was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. Harder than trying to take care of three kids under the age of two by myself when her episodes would hit and she’d lie in bed for weeks at a time. It was harder than when she started inventing these illnesses in her head, convincing herself she was dying. Harder than when I had to have her committed, and then lied to you all when I told you she was in the hospital for the cancer she was convinced she had.” He looks up at me and then Honor. He finally rests his eyes on Utah. “She’s not the woman I married. And yes, I know it was terrible of me to get involved with Victoria, but it happened and I can’t take it back. And yes, it’s terrible now when your mother has rare moments of clarity. Because when she does, she realizes what her life has become. What our marriage became. And it’s devastating to both of us. And it’s all I can do to hold her and reassure her that I still love her. That I’ll always love her.” He blows out a shaky breath and wipes his tears away. “Because I do love your mother. I always will. It’s just . . . sometimes things don’t turn out how you want them to. And even though I’m an atheist, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t thank God that I have a wife who understands that. Victoria has lived the past four and a half years in a house with a woman that I am still in love with. She doesn’t question me when your mother needs me. Victoria doesn’t correct any of you when you insult her and insinuate she’s a homewrecker.” He walks to the van and reaches inside for his jacket. “I’ve never told any of you the truth because I didn’t want any of you to judge your mother. But I didn’t cheat on your mother when she was dying of cancer. She was never dying. She’s not dying now. She’s sick, yes. But not in a way that any of us can help her.” He puts on his jacket and zips it up. “I’m walking home.”

He begins to head away from the van, toward our house that’s still over three miles away. He pauses and faces us again. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you kids to have the opportunity to love a mother like you deserved. To think the world of her. That’s all Victoria’s ever wanted for you.” He starts walking backward. “I just had no idea how much you would all hate me in the process.”

He spins around again and starts walking in the direction of the house. I can hear Honor crying. I even hear Utah crying. I wipe away my own tears and try to inhale a breath that will sustain me for more than two seconds.

I think we’re all in shock. It’s several minutes before any of us move. My father is long out of sight by the time Utah regains his composure enough to speak.

“Get in the van,” he says. He walks around to the driver’s side and climbs in, but none of us move. He honks the horn and then hits the steering wheel. “Get in the damn van!”

Luck takes the front seat and the rest of us climb in the back. Before Sagan even has the door closed, Utah is peeling out, doing a U-turn.

“Where are we going?” Honor asks him.

“We’re going to bury that damn dog with Pastor Brian.”





Chapter Sixteen

Pastor Brian’s newer church is much bigger than his old one—the one we live in. I don’t feel so bad that my dad bought it all those years ago. Pastor Brian seems to have upgraded.

Well . . . until he died.

“Hurry up,” Honor says. Sagan is digging the fresh dirt off Wolfgang’s grave. Utah is at the end of the driveway keeping watch. Luck is . . . oh my, God.

“Are you picking your nose?”

Luck wipes his fingers on his shirt and shrugs.

“You’re so gross,” Honor says. She glances at me and mutters under her breath, “I can’t believe you almost had sex with him.”

I ignore her insult. I don’t feel like getting into another fight with her when three out of the five of us are holding the brand-new shovels we bought on the way here. That wouldn’t end well. I also don’t argue with her because . . . well . . . I can’t believe I almost had sex with him, either.

“Got it,” Sagan says. He bends down and starts moving the dirt away from the sheet that Wolfgang is wrapped in. “Luck, give me a hand.”

Luck shakes his head. “No way, man. There’s got to be some bad karma attached to what you’re doing. I want no part in it.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” I bend down and help Sagan dig Wolfgang the rest of the way out of the dirt. Sagan is able to lift and carry him to the van on his own. I open the back door and he puts him inside the van.

“I need to put the dirt back on his grave so no one is suspicious,” Sagan says.

“You’re getting really good at this criminal life,” I tease.

Sagan grins and closes the back door to the van. “Do you find hardened criminals attractive?” He raises his brow, and the obvious flirtation has my heart spinning in my chest.

I hear Honor groan as she passes us. “I hate this already.”

Sagan rolls his eyes and then walks back to the side of the church to refill the grave. When we’re all finally back inside the van, Honor says, “What’s the purpose of this, anyway? Dad hated that dog. I don’t think he really cares where he’s buried.”

Sagan disagrees with a shake of his head. “No, he cares. I don’t know why he was so adamant about burying the dog with Pastor Brian, but for whatever reason, he wants them together.”

Utah pulls out of the church parking lot and flips on the headlights. “I think Dad has always felt a little guilty for buying Dollar Voss out from under Pastor Brian. Maybe this is his repentance.”

“He’s an atheist,” Luck says. “I think remorse is a more fitting word.”

Honor has her hand over her nose and mouth. “Someone please roll down a window. That dog smells so bad, I’m about to puke.”

He really does smell. Utah rolls down both front windows but it doesn’t help. I cover my nose with my shirt and keep it there until we make it to the cemetery.

“Which way is Pastor Brian’s grave?” Utah asks. Sagan points to a grave not too far from the front gate. Utah follows the circle drive until the van is pointed toward the entryway of the cemetery. When he parks, he tells me and Honor to take the front seats and keep watch for them.

“I don’t want to keep watch,” I say as I close the side door to the van. “I want to help you guys bury him.”

Honor walks around to the driver’s seat. “I’ll keep watch.” Utah and Luck walk to the back of the van to get Wolfgang.

Sagan grabs my hand and squeezes it, looking down at me. “Stay in the van,” he says. “It won’t take long.”

I shake my head. “I’m not staying alone in that van with Honor. She hates me.”

Sagan looks at me pointedly. “That’s exactly why you should stay in the van, Merit. You’re the only one who can fix that.”

I huff and fold my arms over my chest. “Fine,” I say, agitated. “I’ll talk to her but I’m not happy about it.”

He mouths, “Thank you,” right before he turns around. I watch the three of them walk across the cemetery to the freshly dug grave. And then I get in the damn van.

When I close the door, Honor turns up the radio, drowning out any possibility of her hearing me if I tried to speak to her. I lean forward and turn the radio back down.

She leans forward and turns it up.

I turn it down.

She turns it up.

I reach over and turn off the van. I pull the keys out and the radio cuts off for good.

“Bitch you,” she mutters.

We both start laughing. Bitch you used to be one of our favorite things to say to each other. She hasn’t said it to me in years.

Utah used to have a friend named Douglas when we were kids. He lived about a mile down the road, so he used to come over all the time when we lived in our old house behind Dollar Voss. The last time Douglas ever came over was the day he accused me of cheating at hopscotch. Who cheats at hopscotch?

I remember Utah getting so mad at him for accusing me of cheating, he told Douglas to go home. Douglas shot back and yelled, “Bitch you!”

The insult might have been more damaging to Utah’s ego had Douglas used the curse word correctly. I was only eight or nine, but even I knew that bitch you was funny enough to laugh at. That made Douglas even angrier, so he balled up his fists and threatened to hit me.

What Douglas didn’t realize was that our father was standing right behind him.

“Douglas?” my father said, causing him to jump three feet off the ground. “I think it’s best you go home now.” Douglas didn’t even turn around. He just started walking as fast as he could toward the road. When he was about fifteen feet away, my father called out, “And for future reference, it’s fuck you! Not bitch you!”