When I woke up everything was just a little fuzzy and I had no idea where I was, but no panic filled me. I was still tired. “Uh,” I grumbled blinking. What was this this pale thing in front of me? A sheet? No because it was flat out next to my bed. Like a wall. Yes, a wall made of a sheet, that’s what it was. A sheet wall?
I rolled over and looked around. “Oh fantastic,” I muttered as my senses came back. “Just what I wanted to see: a tent and a bunch of crummy cots. Wonderful!” I sat up and my head spun for a moment. A groan escaped me and I clutched my head. “This is going to be great,” I whined. Nonetheless, I rose and walked to the mouth of the tent an listened through the pounding of my head. A bunch of voices, mostly men, some laughter. No trace of Dad’s voice, no one said “Andrew.” All good signs. “Please, please, please,” I whispered as I gripped the curtain. It pulled open slowly, just enough to stick my head out. He wasn’t there. I sighed and smiled just a bit as I recognized some of the faces lounging around. I strolled quietly out and stood behind a relaxed and burly man named Royce with a ridiculous hat on. I pulled his bill so I could see the front.
“Tree Hugger,” I quoted skeptically. He looked up at me surprised. “You loose a bet or something?”
“Trista,” the large man asked bewildered.
“Der,” I said grinning.
“Holy shit, Trista!” In a split second he was up and I was on his shoulder like a potato bag. I yelled. “How the hell are ya?!”
I would have answered had he not began to spin around causing me to both squeal a laugh all at the same time. “Let me go you big ugly ogre!” He practically threw me down as the world continued spinning.
His laugh was the same old bellow he had for years. Royce had been the one with a mustache in seventh grade and a voice change at about ten. “When the hell did you wake up, lazy bones.”
“About twelve seconds ago and now I feel like crashing all over again, thanks to you.”
“Oops,” he said grabbing me and pulling me to sit next to him. Being too rough was not in his vocabulary, he was the reason I had my first broken arm and he was damn proud of it. “Sit you’ll feel better, have some whiskey, that’ll help.”
I gave him a look, “I’m sixteen, Royce.”
“Pshttttt, that never stopped me.”
“You’re disgusting,” I hissed sounding maybe a bit too real. People all over laughed.
“Perhaps,” he said with a shrug.
“Nah, you pretty much are,” came Johnny from across the way.
“But only Trista could say it and not piss you off.” The simple, sweet, reasonable Lawrence came from behind and ruffled my hair. “We missed you Trista,” he said quietly in my ear.
I snorted, “We?”
“Most of these gents are too man to admit it, but it’s true. You’re everyone’s sister.” I flushed.
Another old friend, an half Irish guy named something that no one could remember but was called Bloodhound leapt up and yelled. “Trista!” He charged me and tickled me relentlessly while calling me a multitude of offensive Irish names in a thick accent. Finally, I smacked him enough to stop.
More and more swarmed and welcomed me back. Donnie was right. They had missed me, and it felt wonderful. I had nearly all of my family back now, even if we did have different last names.
Suddenly, someone cleared his throat loud enough to be heard over everyone. I looked back as people shuffled to make way for . . . Andrew, my father, was back. Silence grew as all eyes and minds watched to see just how this would play out and who would end up scared by the time conversation was over.
“Trista,” he said low and emotionless.
“Afraid so,” I mumbled leaning back.
He frowned, “Where’s my wife?”
Donnie stood behind him looking pale and anxious. “You didn’t tell him,” I asked through my voice breaking.
“No, I- I don’t know why, but I, ah, can,” he stuttered. He looked vulnerable, not a good thing with these thugs, but no one said a word. No one could truthfully say the were not afraid Andrew.
I sighed and yet again rubbed the bridge of my nose. “No,” I said bluntly, “You can’t.” When I opened my eyes to look up at him. My brother looked ashamed. “can’t say I blame you though.” I turned to back to Andrew, how to say this? It was the second time in just as many days I had to tell someone about Mom, but this time was cast in a whole new light.
“She’s not here,” is all I said to stall him while I tried to run this scenario in my head every possible way. Most of them ended with me getting smacked, I figured.
“Where,” he demanded.
“Plot 562 at the cemetery by Longston, where she was born. Guess it didn’t seem right burry her so close to the area she last saw you. Driving away with Donnie, the road right next to our town’s cemetery.”
He blinked a few times, “What are you talking about.”
“Mom’s gone, Andrew, buried next to our Grandma Gina we never met.”
His entire face rumpled, “What the hell are you telling me?”
I sighed, annoyed this time, I was so getting hit. “Mom is dead.”
Andrew stared at me. This was the longest he had ever looked at me since I could remember. Out of nowhere he grabbed my arm in a death grip and hauled me to the trees. My back was pressed to the most uncomfortable piece of bark I could ever have imagined as he nearly crushed my arms in his hands. “Do you think you’re funny? Trying to make me look like a fool in front of my people?”
“No I-,” the pain made me wince as he tightened his hold.
“You stop with the lies! Tell me where she is now!”
“Dad,” came a voice from behind. “Let her go Dad,” Donnie said slowly moving towards us.
“Just as soon as she tells me where your mother is.”
“Pops, please just-”
“No,” he roared and slammed me against the tree. My had head spun too many time for one day.
“Dad enough! She’s not lying to you!”
It all fell silent. Andrew looked at Donnie. “What?”
My brother’s head fell, “It’s true Dad, Mom’s gone.”
Andrew dropped me and walked to his son, breathing hard, “But that can’t be . . .”
“It is.”
The man looked confused, then alert, “Did they get to her?”
“Nah, nah, it wasn’t them.”
“Then how,” he whispered, “How?”
“She, she, ah shit. She-” Donnie struggled.
“She took two of your old razor blades from the bathroom and slit her wrists,” I said from behind. “That was the only thing in the house she had left of yours. She just wanted to be close to you those last minutes, I think.” It was true, that’s what the detectives told me, I just had to make the connection of why. His breath was truly labored now. He said nothing for a long time, I almost wondered if he had heard me, but no. He knew exactly what I said, and what I implied. His fault.
My father turned slowly to me and it took all of my effort not to look away. He just stared and the feeling of not knowing what he would do next made my heart go faster with each passing second. I was scared. Scared to my core and beyond, but I couldn’t let him see that.
He charged me, not in the friendly way Bloodhound had, but full of rage and pure hatred. I believe he had every intention of killing me there on the spot and would have, had Donnie not held him back. I jumped up quickly and my eyes doubled at the look on his face, no I wasn’t truly scared before, but now I was. “Dad, stop,” Donnie said in his struggle. He looked at me for a split second, but I already knew what my brother would have said so I took off. Sprinting through trees and jumping over branches and logs. This run was not like my run earlier that day. Oh no. This was out of terror and for what I believed to be my very life. He was going to strangle me or beat me or something. I wasn’t entirely sure what method, but I didn’t really want to find out.
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