Boondocks

Chapter 24: Planting

CROC

Sweat beaded my skin, and my breaths were growls. I noticed every detail of the man beneath me: a scar on his neck, a mole on his temple, the way the shape of his head morphed each time I smashed it against the ground. He was limp; he was dead. He wasn't dead enough.

I stood and gripped his leg, dragging him toward the river. My shoulders heaved. My stomach churned. It felt like a knife was imbedded into the left side of my skull. With a roar, I flung him as far and as hard as I could. He hit the water with a splash, and the gators snatched him limb by limb, wiping him from existence. It would be as if he never were.

But he had been. My knuckles cracked, fisted too tightly. The shots rang in my ears, the past mixing with the present. History had repeated itself, and I should have known better. I should have learned. I hadn't protected her, and now, the babies would suffer. How could I tell them? What could I say? I thought about that as I stormed back to where I'd left them. The whole way, I agonized over the news I'd have to give. That I'd failed. That I'd allowed their Granny Julia to be killed. There was no pretending, no sheltering, no lie I could tell. No words.

"Croc!" Eric called from the branch as I drew near.

I climbed up and gathered them to me, then without a word, I made the descent to the ground. I needed stability. Another moment to think. Time to allow the men to finish planting Julia into the ground, because I didn't want them to see her now. It was better they remember her as she'd been.

I placed them on their feet, crouched before them, swallowed hard. Wide, unblinking eyes watched me like they already knew something was terribly wrong. I finally understood how Pappy must have felt. I'd been smaller than Eve, after all. And he'd been all I had. I imagined how much worse this would be if Julia had been the only person looking out for them. It didn't take much to envision it. All I had to do was remember my own life.

"Pappy has to go sleep now."

I sucked in a breath and took each of them by the hand. "You know how—" I cleared my throat; my voice was too raw. "—you know how, when you've been playing extra hard, you get very tired?"

They watched me, neither acknowledging nor denying. Only waiting.

"Well, sometimes, people who have been playing and working for a long, long time, get so tired they just sleep forever."

"Like Mama," Eve said, her voice solemn.

I blinked. She'd never mentioned her mother before, though Willow had told me she'd been killed. Regardless, I nodded. "Yeah."

They waited again, and my tongue felt suddenly too thick, too heavy. "Granny Julia is sleeping now."

My fault. I should have run faster. I shouldn't have startled him. I should have told Willow to take Julia into the trees. Why had I thought the garden was safe?

I had plenty of scars to show for my mistakes. On my shins, my ankles, my side. I could still remember how bad it hurt when I bent my finger back climbing a tree, and how I'd spent every second of the pain wishing I could undo it. But none of those compared to this. This wound was gaping. This mistake was too big. I wanted to take it back: close my eyes, rewind time, and do it all different.

I expected tears. I anticipated having to hold them as they broke—the way I'd broken—knowing it was my mistake that caused it. But, instead, all I got was silence. Empty, hollow silence, as if they'd lived this moment before. As if they'd expected it.

"Is it time to run now?" Eve asked. Once again, she sounded ancient.

I nodded.

"Then we should go."