And that’s enough.
For now.
CHAPTER 2
We order dinner, my mother holding her tongue when I ask for extra sour cream and butter on my baked potato. Isabel keeps the conversation fun and civil. Colbert is on his phone half the time, talking about surface leases and per-barrel crude prices, along with a long conversation with someone about buying a cutting horse that costs more than what most people make in five years.
“Now.” He lodges his cell phone into the front pocket of his jacket. It’s the kind ofnowthat says, ‘This is serious, so listen up.’
He reaches over and grabs Isabel’s hand in one of his, then mine in the other, bringing the four of them together in the middle of the table as my mom sits up straight, arms crossed, and I feel an ambush coming on.
“I need to let you girls know that—” He clears his throat, tossing a look at Mom, then back to us. “I knew this day would come, I just didn’t know when, but Cutter, my…” He pauses, and I hate that he has to think about what to call him. “…myson,as you both know, has been away paying his debt to society. Well,we got notice that he’s been approved for parole. Now—” He releases our hands and holds his up, lowering his voice just in case, God forbid, anyone should overhear. “He’ll be meeting me outside in about...” He punches his fist forward, then twists it so the face of his Schaffhausen watch is visible. “Five minutes, actually.”
His demeanor darkens, and my mother throws back the last of her second martini.
From the corner of my eye I catch the movement of an enormous man in black jeans, a denim shirt, and a tan felt cowboy hat stepping into the traffic on Main Street, a car honking as he walks straight forward without stopping, stepping up on the curb just outside the club’s restaurant, and my heart feels like it’s going to break through my chest and shoot through the glass.
He’s here.Cutter.
He looks tired and so much older, I barely recognize him.
But that’s not all. He’s bigger. Thicker. He’s grown a lumberjack-style beard that covers his cheeks, chin, and under his nose. He’s changed so much since those early days, I wonder what else life in prison might have changed.
He’s… What? 34 now? And I’m nineteen. I’m sure I’ve changed a lot, too.
Colbert pushes his chair back. “You girls stay put. I’m doing what’s best for him. I’ll get him started, but he needs to figure out his life before I allow him back into ours.”
With that, he’s out the door, grabbing Cutter by the elbow to drag him somewhere more private, I’m sure. But Cutter jerks away, his eyes barely slits as the two Houser men square off rightin the middle of downtown Bremmer, for God and everyone to see.
My mother’s face turns as white as her teeth, eyes darting around the dining room to check who might be watching the family shame standing outside the window.
Shame. If she only knew.
The snow is starting to blow sideways in a thick white curtain now, sticking to Cutter and Colbert’s hats and jackets.
“Girls—” My mom starts, but I’m already on my feet.
“I’m going to say hi to my brother,” I snap, all the years of them talking badly about him, when I knew the truth and never spoke up, coming to a head.
“Sadie! You will sit back down this instant.”
“Me too! I wanna meet him!” Isabel is on my heels as I stomp toward the door, jabbing my coat check ticket at the woman behind the half door.
I’m re-wrapped in my scarf and jamming my arms into my coat as I shoulder through the door, grabbing for Isabel’s hand, my mother flustering a few steps behind us.
Outside the door, the flakes bite at my cheeks as I tug Isabel next to me, watching my father shove a thick white envelope at Cutter. His voice is muffled by the wind, but I catch the tone and the words as I slow our approach. When Cutter’s eyes connect to mine, the whole scene feels surreal.
“Get yourself a place. A job. A car. There’s enough there for you to get on your feet, but you stay out of Bremmer. I’ll send you more every month, you have my word, but it’s on the conditionyou stay away from us. You get on that bus wherever it’s going and don’t come back until you’ve proven you can live a righteous life.”
The diesel from the bus idling on the other side of the street drifts through the scent of pine and winter.
“Righteous?” Cutter scoffs. “I went to prison for stopping someone from hurting a child. Nothing more righteous than that, Colbert.”
My dad shakes his head. “You broke his neck with your bare hands, after you broke each of his fingers, and I won’t mention the other parts of him you kicked so hard they burst. That’s not justice, that was torture, and the law agreed.”
“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Cutter snaps his tongue against his teeth. His eyes are harder. Shoulders broader. Arms thicker. But that’s not all. Whatever softness I remember about him, it’s turned to stone.
I’m frozen to the sidewalk, Isabel stuck to my side as I clench her shoulder, hating myself for not stepping forward, for not saying all the things that should be said. For not being stronger.
