We have a few windows, but they’re small. Pa told me it helps keep the place from being like an oven in the summer. Guess he’s right. We do have AC, but it’s just a window unit, wheezing in the corner.
I spy baby Molly asleep in her crib in the far corner, her chubby thumb plugged into her little mouth.
Mom and Pa lower me into a chair at the dining table. Julia’s sitting across from me, knitting a scarf. She’s always engrossed in some kind of activity. Overachiever, busy bee. When our eyes meet, she smirks.
Cold bitch.
“Ethan, leave us. I’m gonna get these jeans off her,” Mom says. “Julia, put that away and help me, would ya?”
Pa bends down, kisses my cheek. “You’ll be all right. I’m gonna get back to work.” He gestures with his head to the backyard, to his woodshop.
Before he goes, he tucks my hair behind my ear, smooths the top of my head. As he does it, I shoot Julia a satisfied smile. She knows I’m Pa’s favorite and can’t stand it. It’s just another reason why she hates me.
A huff barks out of her. Followed by the sound of her chair scraping against the dirt floor.
“Stand up, lean into me,” Mom orders me.
I unbutton my pants, ease them off my hips, then sink back down into the chair.
Kneeling, Julia slowly peels them off me.
“Ouch!” I yelp.
“Sorry! I’m trying to take it easy.”
It feels like razor blades are digging into my skin with each tug.
Finally, they’re off.
Mom examines me. “Tsk.”
The whole outside of my leg looks mauled, a huge scrape running from my ankle to the top of my knee.
Mom wrenches my leg, moving it into different positions.
“Ouch!” I yell this time.
“Hold steady, I need to see if there’s a fracture.” Mom’s mouth is a flat line. It’s as if she’s put out, even thoughI’mthe one who’s injured.
“Or I could just go to a doctor like a normal—”
“You know we don’t use doctors. At least until we find one who understands our values.” Mom jerks my leg again, sending a fresh hell of pain through it.
“And what are those values, exactly?” I ask, angry at how she’s manhandling me. Punishing me. “That if you have a broken bone, God can fix it?”
“Watch your mouth!”
“It’s not like this was my fault—” I screech.
“Tell me again,whydid you have to ride today?”
“Indy needed new socks…” I stop. Those fucking socks must be along the highway somewhere.
“Well, if you didn’t insist on riding bareback, maybe this all wouldn’t have happened. But at least your leg’s not broken, far as I can tell.”
I don’t have to look over at Julia to tell that she’s grinning, lapping this up.
“Well, if I had my driver’s license, like a normal teen—”
