The One You Feed Page 4

  “I’ll find you another farm to work on, or maybe you can go to the mines. Guys stay in the shacks there all the time. Not like you need much anyway.”

  “I got a job,” Ronny said.

  The truck slowed. “Where?”

  “Collyn’s Trucking. Said I could load trucks until I get my license.”

  “You can’t read well enough to write the fucking test.”

  Ronny sunk lower in his seat.

  “What a load of shit. Willie put you up to this?”

  “No, I got the job myself,” Ronny lied. “I knew you’d be mad about Willie not sending my money, so I found something else.”

  “Won’t last long.”

  Ronny relaxed. Probably the amusement at the idea of his son trying to pass a test killed his fury.

  “Gotta read shipping bills,” Warren continued. “You can’t load the shit if you don’t know what’s supposed to go on.”

  “I can read some.”

  “How much is some? Your name?”

  “I can read enough.”

  Warren snorted.

  Ronny wanted to smash his face off the steering wheel. “I’ve been practicing. I can do it.”

  “Practicing my ass. The goddamn school couldn’t teach you. Do you expect me to believe a retard can teach himself?” Warren slowed as they came into town. He shook his head. “It’ll do for now. Where you going to stay in the meantime?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a motel.”

  Warren turned down the dead-end road toward their house. The truck jostled and bumped over the ruts. Ronny held onto the door to steady himself. “A motel? Really, Mr. Moneybags? I don’t think so.”

  Ronny stared at the houses as they passed. Dirty, rundown, and tiny. They grew worse as they neared their own. Most of the properties were sided with mismatched materials: grey siding, faux brick, and yellowing stucco, the front yards a mess of garbage and patchy grass.

  A flash of pink caught Ronny’s eye. He watched as a skinny girl, her bleached blond hair in a ponytail, walked a large dog down the cracked sidewalk. She paused at the traffic lights to adjusting her cotton candy-colored bell-bottoms while the dog took a huge shit next to a hydro pole.

  “I’m going to call Collyn’s and see if there isn’t something we can work out for you,” Warren said. He got out of the truck as he spoke. “Maybe they’ll let you ride with someone. I used to have a rider now and then. Maybe some old guy needs a grunt to do the heavy work. You got a name of someone I can talk to? Know who your supervisor is?”

  “I’ll figure out something, Dad. Don’t call anyone.”

  Warren cuffed the back of Ronny’s head. “You telling me what to do now? Maybe I need to remind you who is in charge in this house. It ain’t you.”

  “Sorry. I just wanted to spare you any trouble. I’ll sleep wherever. I don’t really need a room or anything.”

  Warren opened the door and pushed Ronny in ahead of him. The familiar aroma assaulted his nose: smoke and salami mixed with stale sweat. His mother didn’t like opening the windows; it brought dust inside. Ronny set his bag next to the door and waited. He knew better than to go sit down without being told to. His mother didn’t look up from her seat at the table.

  Arnie came down the stairs, his weasel-like face contorted into a mocking grin. “Well, look who’s home. Can’t even manage shoveling shit, eh retard?”

  Ronny glared but didn’t respond. Fighting with Arnie in front of his parents only got him more abuse in the end.

  “What the fuck are you doing home?” Warren asked. “I thought you had to work today.”

  Arnie walked to the sofa, slumped down, and rested his feet on the coffee table. “Gerald gave me and Tom the weekend off. We finished the Lake Simmon job early.”

  “Get your feet down,” Ethel scolded from the kitchen where she sat with her coffee and the newspaper.

  “Sorry, Ma.” Arnie winked at her and moved his feet.

  Had it been Ronny, he would’ve been punished. Not Arnie, Mama’s kiss-ass.

  “He isn’t staying long,” Warren said. “I’m calling Roy. If he’s still working at Collyn’s, I’ll see if I can’t find somewhere to put him for now.”

  Warren went to the cupboard over the sink and took out his tobacco can. The thing stunk worse than the cattle yard. His dad would spew long wads of spittle and chewed tobacco into the can, before replacing it on the shelf with their dishes.

  Ronny’s mother hauled herself up and lumbered across the kitchen to rattle around at the stove before turning to get leftovers from the fridge, groaning as she bent to pull a covered plate from the bottom shelf. Always leftovers on the weekends.

  “Dad, I’ll deal with it,” Ronny said to his father’s back. “I don’t need you to go calling people for me.”

  Warren snapped the lid on his can and turned. “It’s done, boy.” Squinting, his idea of an intimidating glare, he pointed a tobacco stained finger at him. “And you’ll do what I tell you, hear? I’m going down to Marshall’s to use the phone. By tomorrow, we’ll have this straightened out. You better hope we can find a guy who doesn’t give a shit if you’re retarded or it’s the mines for you.”

  Arnie snorted.

  Ronny clenched his fists. If he spoke, he’d get a whipping for sure. Ignoring his brother, he nodded to his dad and went out the door. He walked around the side of the house, not sure where he’d go, only wanting to get away from his family. He stared at the woodpile, which hadn’t shrunk since last month when he’d put half of it into the shed out back. Nice of them to save the rest for him.

  Warren slammed the front door and came around the side of the house. “Don’t you ever turn your fucking back on me.”

  The sound of his dad’s voice weakened Ronny’s legs. Torn between running and knowing he would have to return anyway, Ronny stopped. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled through clenched teeth. “I thought you were finished with me.”

  “I was finished with you a long time ago. Fucking useless cunt you turned out to be.”

  Warren’s voice was loud enough that Ronny knew old Mrs. Newman was doing more than watching through her curtains. She listened to every word. He could handle his father bawling him out, but he hated other people witnessing it.

  “Yes, sir,” Ronny mumbled. He shuffled his feet in the dirt, wishing he’d changed from his work clothes. Sweat coated his back and his shirt clung to his skin. The wind picked up blowing dust and leaves around.

  Warren walked to the truck and opened the door. “Don’t you go nowhere. Grass needs to be cut. Once you’re done, you can go on up and patch the back roof. Been leaking. I’ll be a couple of hours at best. With any luck, you’ll be out of my hair by tonight.”

  As he drove away, the old truck careening around the corner before disappearing, Ronny spat out the grime the truck’s wheels had spun up. With any luck his dad was right. He’d be gone tonight and never come back.

  CHAPTER 6

  August, 1970

  When Garrett stopped Dana on the way to the store—picking up things for her mother—she said a quick hello and tried to scurry past him.

  “Hey, why do you always do that?”

  “What?”

  “You’re always rushing,” he said. “Never looking at people. What are you so afraid of?”

  “I have to go,” she muttered. “Mum needs some stuff and I have to make supper before she gets home.”

  Garrett frowned. “Why can’t your mom make supper?”

  “She’s working.”

  “What are you doing Friday?”

  “Um, I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.” Dana wished she had a cooler answer ready. Everything she said sounded lame.

  “I was thinking,” Garrett said, “I like talking to you. Maybe you could have dinner with me at the restaurant.”

  “Your restaurant? I mean, your parents’ restaurant?” Dana’s cheeks flamed. Why was she such a nerd?

  “Yeah, Dad said it would be okay.”

  “Sure, if
I’m allowed.” She moved to walk away.

  Garrett held her arm once more. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell them.”

  “Why not?”

  “I know they rely on you, so maybe they might find something else for you to do. And Marcus hates me, so…”

  He was right. Her mom probably wouldn’t let her go, even if Garrett’s mom and dad would be there. “I’ll see what I can do. What time?”

  He smiled. “Whenever you can get there is fine.”

  “Okay.” No one had ever smiled at her that way; as though they liked her.

  Later, when she mentioned it during homeroom, Tanya jumped at the chance to help her, almost as excited as Dana. In the past, Tanya had pestered her all the time about boys, explaining that she had to learn to talk to them or she’d be a lonely spinster. Tanya already had a steady boyfriend. They even touched each other; a detail that made Dana’s skin crawl. Would Garrett want to do that? Probably not. He liked her, but not like that.

  —

  Dana lugged the second pooh pail of the day down the hill, excitement fluttering in her chest. The air had cooled as evening approached. She glanced up to follow the sun dipping into the horizon, splashes of pink and lavender melting into a cloud of amber. She felt energized, and for a change, didn’t mind doing her chores. For the first time, she had a date. A real date. She hadn’t told anyone but Tanya.

  “Where are you going?” Marcus called from the house.

  Startled out of her reverie, Dana almost dropped the pail. She glanced back. He stood on the front step, a dark shadow against the dusty white siding of the house. She turned and continued down the hill.

  His footsteps were loud on the gravel driveway. “I asked where you were going.”

  “Dumping the pail.”

  “I’m talking about later, when you’re supposed to be at Tanya’s.”

  She set the bucket down and turned. “What do you mean?”

  Marcus stood just feet from her, hands on his hips. She was in trouble.

  “Tanya is with Josh,” he said. “I just saw them.”

  “She’s going home soon.”

  He moved closer. “You are the worst liar.”

  She backed away.

  “Going out whoring, eh?”

  Dana took another step back, the edge of the hole beneath her shoe. “Shut up. Mom told you to stay away from me.”

  He moved closer. “No, Mom told you to stay away from me.”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t need to do anything, because you won’t lay a finger on me.”

  Marcus was close enough now he could reach out and touch her, and he did, to brush her hair from her face. “I might. Maybe two or three.”

  Dana didn’t move, but felt the familiar tightening of her stomach. Behind the old green shed they couldn’t be seen. She glanced at the patches of dirt and dried grass in the empty lot beside them, weighed her chances of running, and decided he’d catch her anyway.

  He grabbed her arm.

  “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I should tell Mum where you’re really going.”

  “I told you where I was going.”

  “You’re lying. You’ve met a guy, and you’re going to show him what big brother taught you.”

  Dana didn’t answer.

  Marcus laughed, loosened the grip on her arm, and slipped his other hand around her neck. He leaned close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.

  “You can go see your little boyfriend, and you can let him do what he wants. Maybe he’ll feel your tits.” He moved his hand down her chest and squeezed her breast.

  Dana tried to pull away, but his grip was like steel.

  “Would you like that? Maybe he’ll kiss them like you let me do. You like it when I taste your little titties.”

  She couldn’t breathe. “Stop.”

  Marcus moved his hand again, this time to the waist of her jeans. His hand cupped her crotch. “Will you let him touch you here?”

  “I’ll scream,” she warned.

  Marcus pressed his hand against her, forcing her to step back. “You won’t let him go all the way though. I know how you like to tease, but you don’t like that. Remember how you cried?”

  Dana tried to stay calm. If she didn’t react, maybe he would get bored.

  “You can go,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone, but you be ready for me later.”

  “No.”

  He let go of her arm. “Yes.”

  Dana stumbled back and knocked the pail. She watched in horror as the brownish liquid spilled all over the ground, covering the only pair of shoes she owned. The pale green canvas darkened as the slop, cold and wet, seeped between her toes.

  “Now that’s a shame.”

  Dana picked up the empty bucket and stormed toward the house, Marcus’ laughter echoing in her ears. He was right. She should’ve killed him.

  “See you tonight,” he called.

  Dana kicked her shoes off and hid them under the bright pink peony bushes growing along the front of the house. Just inside, in a corner of the tiny porch, was her mother’s cleaning bin. She took a rag from the bin and then went back outside to dip it into the rain barrel at the side of the house. Barely holding back the tears, she wiped the slop from her feet.

  After tossing the dirty rag behind the peonies with her shoes, she picked up the empty bucket. Once inside, she ran upstairs, threw the bucket in the bathroom, and then ran to her room. The lamp in the corner by the window gave off little light but the gloom of the dark space suited her. She wished the darkness would swallow her up.

  “Dana?” Jan whispered.

  “What?”

  Jan sat on her bed, a book in her lap. “Aren’t you going to Tanya’s?”

  “I dumped the pooh pail on my shoes.”

  Jan snickered but grew serious when Dana rolled onto her back. She stared at the chipped paneling. Bea had been at it with a pencil and carved her initials into several of the grooves.

  “You can still go, silly.”

  “They’re my only shoes.”

  Jan stood and walked to Dana’s side, the floorboards creaking as she neared.

  “What about Mum’s shoes? They should fit you.”

  “She’d never let me borrow them.”

  “There’s shoes in the attic she doesn’t wear anymore.”

  Dana turned over. “Really?”

  “Yeah, me and Bea sneak up there sometimes, so no one can find us.”

  Dana wondered who no one was, though she had a pretty good idea. She climbed off her bed and went into the hall, pulled the frayed rope hanging just outside her parents’ door, reached up, and dragged the ladder down.

  She hadn’t been in the attic since Marcus found her there a year ago. Ignoring the memory, she climbed up. There, right next to the little opening, was a box of shoes—older than she was, but in good shape. She rummaged through the box until she found a pair of plain black flats. They looked more like old lady’s shoes, but they’d have to do.

  Jan waited for her as she climbed down

  “They’re a little big,” Dana said.

  “I’d hate to see you give up your date.”

  “I’m going to study, with Tanya.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Jan turned and went back to their room, closing the door softly.

  Dana went to the bathroom, pulled off two long strips of toilet paper and stuffed them into the toe of each shoe. She slipped them on. Perfect fit. Sort of.

  When she ran out of the bathroom and down the stairs, she had almost forgotten Marcus.

  CHAPTER 7

  It took all week for Garrett to work up the nerve to ask if he could bring a girl for dinner. He waited as his dad considered his answer while counting the till money.

  “Who’s the lucky lass?” he asked.

  “Dana Parson.”

  His father burst into
laughter. Cursing himself, Garrett clenched his teeth.

  “Jesus lad, why would you want to associate yourself with that lot?” Luke pocketed the cash from the breakfast shift.

  “I guess I just kind of feel sorry for her. She’s a nice girl.”

  “How many kids they got now anyway?”

  “I don’t know, at least ten.”

  “Ten? Annie should learn to cross her legs, eh?”

  Garrett smiled, as he was expected to do. He ran a finger over the dent in the top of the bar, caused by his mother’s head—a dent Garrett thought should have killed her.

  “Sure,” his dad shrugged. “But don’t go falling for the likes of her. She’s trash. Probably got dollar signs in her eyes.”

  The dinner rush was on. They had a bar and a full dining room. Paneled walls with matching tables and booths, the chairs covered in dark green leather, nearly every seat occupied. The restaurant had grown over the past few years and Luke no longer had to work the bar or the dining room. Instead, he sat in the office and drank Crown Royal until it was time to lock the doors. One of the waitresses hadn’t shown up, so his Mom worked the tables. Garrett’s fists clenched at the sight of her hunched shoulders.

  He walked to his favorite table next to the window. It was the best seat to watch people on the street and he wanted to greet Dana before his dad did. Outside, Mr. Grady, the pharmacist across the road, turned the sign in his window and switched off the lights. A woman stood waving toward his retreating back, hand on the door peeking in. Garrett shook his head. Old Grady wouldn’t let her in; she’d wait a long time, just like Garrett waited. Dana wasn’t going to show. Why did he care? She was weird. A freak. Everyone said so. She had two friends that he knew of, and she never spoke or looked you in the eye.

  The bell over the door tinkled.

  Dana shuffled in. Her pants were a little too short, the knees patched with denim that didn’t quite match, and her shoes a little too big. Who could blame her for seeing dollar signs? She didn’t have a dime.

  She would be easy to train, Garrett thought. Already did as she was told. His dad would see that and change his mind about her. Gold-digger or not, she’d make a good wife someday. Garrett waved. Dana smiled and scurried over to his table.