Alone

Chapter 8

Chloe

The reporter goes into the same description they used earlier, and I look over at Riley. She is staring gloomily across the room, but Peter is looking across at me as he opens his mouth and asks Riley, "Do you have a milk cow?" He grins as she turns to look at him. "Yeah. Actually we have four. Two are always milking." I lose my train of thought. "What do you mean, always milking?" She turns to look at me, half amused. "We milk two while the other two are pregnant, so we always have milk." I flush a little, feeling stupid. "Oh." Irritated at her for making me feel dumb, I ask sharply, "I suppose those cows made the marks on your back, too, right?" She stares at me without changing her expression. "Sure, why not. How come your mom left you in South Branch? Didn't she love you?" I freeze. Riley is aiming to hurt and manages it. "My mom loves me very much. Where's yours?" Our voices are rising, but there is no yell from below yet. Suddenly Riley's expression does change, and her defiantly raised head drops. She turns toward the window before she answers in a whisper. "She died. Nine years ago. She's buried in Colorado. That's where her family is." I look at Peter, but he is staring wide-eyed at Riley's blood-stained back. Someone downstairs turns the radio off and all three of us swivel toward the ladder in the sudden silence. When no footsteps start up the rungs, Riley grabs her book and climbs carefully up the ladder to the top bed. Peter picks up his book and steps quietly across to the pallet, leaving me standing alone by the darkening window. I finally go to the bottom bed, leaving my book on the floor under the window. None of us speak as the daylight fades to dark, and Peter keeps his book propped up in front of him even after it is too dark to read. I finally slip under the comforter and let my eyes drift shut.

Riley

I lie awake long after Chloe, and then Peter, retreat into sleep. The reporter's "Unanswerable question" echoes in my head. Am I really better off away from Dad? Not here, obviously, but not home, either? If I got away from Joe and Tom, would I head back to South Branch? Back to Dad? Has it gotten so bad that Mom would want me away from him? I lay awake pondering my life until the windows start to show pale gray against the black of the walls. Just as I'm about to finally drift off, noises from downstairs jerk me back to awareness. The familiar squeak and rattle of someone stoking up a wood stove makes me ache for home, despite the question I've been wrestling with all night. I crawl quietly off the bunk and carefully step across to the ladder. Soft snores from the bottom bunk and the pallet tell me that Chloe and Peter are still asleep. I crouch next to the hole, wincing into the darkness at the pain in my back. I feel bad now for being so cruel to Chloe last night. It's been a hard couple of days and I should have had more patience. A sudden flare from below flashes up through the hole, momentarily lighting the loft. The light steadies as one of the men below sets something hard on the table. I stay back from the edge, not wanting to be seen as Joe speaks from below. "Any of them up yet?" Tom doesn't answer aloud but after a second, Joe speaks again. "Get breakfast on. I'm going into town for a while." Tom whines when he answers, the noise irritating and loud. "How come I have to stay? Do I get more than half the money for staying?" Slow footsteps cross the floor, then Joe speaks quietly. "Fine. You go to town and I'll stay here." After a moment of stunned silence, Tom asks tentatively, "Really?" Joe says calmly, "Sure." Then he suddenly shouts and Peter wakes with a start. "Just as long as you aren't expecting any money from this project!" Peter jerks upright, blinking furiously. The door below slams, and after a minute, I hear the Bronco fire up outside. As the roar of the engine fades away, Peter rubs his eyes as Tom mumbles and clatters pans on the stove. I muffle a groan as I stand and step carefully across the room to Peter's pallet. As I approach, he scoots to one end so that I can sit down. I settle on the blanket, stretching my legs out in front of me. For a long moment, we both listen to Chloe's soft breathing from the bed. I finally ask, "Has your dad always been like this?" I turn to look at him in the dim light, but he doesn't look up as he answers. "I don't know. I never met him before last year." I look at him for a minute before speaking, surprised. "Really? How did you not meet your dad?" He raises his head, but still doesn't look at me, just stares through the dim light with a faraway look in his eyes. "My mom raised me. They never got married, but she put his name on my birth certificate, so when she died, I had to come live with him." Without thinking, I speak. "What was your mom like?" He finally looks at me, pure sadness in his eyes. "She loved me." The simple, quiet answer takes me by surprise, shoving me back into memories of days not spent in pain and fear. The words seem small, frail in their painful truth, and silence falls momentarily over the small cabin. After a moment, Tom bangs something on the stove below and breaks the silence, pulling me back from a warm kitchen filled with the smell of baking bread and Mom's perfume. Even after nine years, sometimes the memories burn like fire, more painful than Dad's strap. I shake my head to rid myself of the thoughts and Peter turns to look at me. I speak softly into the dimness of the loft. "You miss her?" The reply is almost too soft to hear, and so full of pain that I can't look at him. "Every day." Silence fills the loft for a long minute, the only sound the soft sigh of Chloe's breathing. Finally Tom yells from below, making Chloe wake with a start. "Come eat!" Peter doesn't jump like he does with his dad, just shakes his head like he was a million miles away.

Chloe

Riley and Peter are sitting together on Peter's pallet when I wake to Tom shouting from below. We eat breakfast in near silence, the usual tension decreased by Joe's absence. When we finish eating, Riley stands without being told and starts to clear the table. Before I stand to help her, she has all the dishes in the sink and has started washing them. As I go to stand beside her, I notice a look of intent thought on her face as she handles the heavy stoneware plates. I pick up a towel off the counter nearby and take a dripping plate from Riley. The weight of it is comforting in my hands, especially when the distant rumble of an engine becomes audible. Peter is still sitting at the table, and when I glance back at him, he is staring at the door with a ferocity that surprises me. Riley holds out another plate to me and I reluctantly put down the one I am holding. By the time the Bronco rolls to a stop outside, we have finished washing and drying the dishes, and are putting them away. By unspoken agreement, we leave the plates for last. In the final moment before Joe enters, Riley resolutely grabs a plate off the stack. Remembering what Joe can do, I lack the courage to openly defy him. We both turn to look as Joe slams the door open, then shut behind himself. He laughs when he sees the plate in Riley's hands and her pale, determined face. "What are you going to do, brat? Break it and stab me to death?" His amusement seems to hurt Riley more than the belt did yesterday, making her draw in her breath and flinch away, even though he is across the cabin from where we stand by the sink. Peter, sitting at the table between us with his back to Joe, slides down in his chair, cringing. Suddenly fortified with anger, I reach behind me and snatch a plate for myself. Peter looks up in disbelief when my voice rings through the small space. "Not if you let us go. With a phone." I've completely forgotten about Tom, but before I can even look at him, Joe is chuckling darkly again. He unbuckles his belt as he starts across the cabin toward me. I stand frozen, unable to even raise the still-whole plate in my own defense. Riley's inability to watch other people suffer unfreezes her. I see her move out of the corner of my eye and tear my eyes from Joe in time to watch, open mouthed, as she slams the plate against the heavy wood of the counter behind her. The crash stops time for a long minute, and we all stare as the shards of the shattered plate scatter across the wooden floor. Riley steps in front of me before Joe starts moving again, holding a large piece of stoneware in front of her. The conviction in her face stops Joe long enough for me to scoop up another piece off the floor, dropping my own plate in the process, and step up beside her. I am so focused on Joe that I don't even see Peter moving until he speaks. "Don't move!" Peter's voice is frantic, bordering on lunatic. Joe turns, his belt still dangling from his fist. Peter is behind Tom, who is standing frozen. A piece of the broken plate is clutched in Peter's hand, held tight against Tom's throat.