“What a shitshow,” Mom says, talking more to herself than to me.
The church doors swing open a few minutes later, and my dad exits, shaking Jayce’s dad’s hand before giving him a heartfelt hug. Guess he’s back in heaven now, too.
What do I have to do?
Chapter Ten
Boredom Buster
It’s been two weeks since Jayce’s funeral, and life around the house has returned to normal. My mom went back to work, confident I can be alone now, and my dad, well, he only takes time off for funerals or emergencies, which there have been a lot of the last few months. We are falling back into our regular Monday-through-Friday family routine—breakfast, work, dinner, bed, repeat.
During the day, I work on my crafting projects for the upcoming craft fair. Ever since I saw the charred remains of Jayce, all I could think about was, why couldn’t they bleach them—at least make them white again? That’s what gave me the idea to do natural art items. I take an animal’s bone, simmer it in a pot until all the flesh falls off, then soak it in dish soap for a couple of days to degrease it, and then use peroxide to get it clean and white. Of course, I have to do all this in the garage because after my test run, my mom wanted to kill me. The house smelled bad, and the thought of having an animal’s carcass in a pot on the stove grossed her out.
I glue the last piece of baby’s breath on the wood platform holding the skull of a raccoon surrounded by moss. Coming out of its wide-open mouth is a baby spider plant. I call this pieceScarce, since when food is hard to find, raccoons eat various grasses. Well, at least that’s what the internet says.
The back door slams, and seconds later, Boozer barrels into my room and dives on my bed. He shakes himself off, casting a shower of dirty water across my bedroom, dotting the walls. “Mom!” I yell, glancing at the clock. Is it after five already? Poor Boozer, I haven’t taken him out since this morning.
Mom rounds the corner and peers over my shoulder. “That’s creepy.”
I glare up at her. “Boozer just shook wet dog droplets all over my room and on my art.”
She sighs heavily. “Well, it is raining out, so it happens. I’ll grab a towel and dry him off.” Her eyes scan the other nine natural death art creatures lining my desk and dresser—a mouse, rabbit, opossum, even a skunk. “Well, at least there’s no human ones,” she says with a sarcastic tone.
“Not yet,” I say matter-of-factly as she walks out of my room.
The floor vibrates, and there’s an audible thud as Boozer leaps from the bed and trots after my mom.
My mind wanders to Mastyx and his actions at the funeral. Why did he protect me? I know inside my head I was asking for help, but he’s the last person I imagined coming to my rescue.
Tomorrow is my very first craft fair, and I’m nervous but excited. Either people will love what I’ve created or stick their nose up at it. It doesn’t really matter to me, I’m just happy to get out of the house and spend a Saturday without my parents hovering.
I rub my forehead, a headache creeping its way across my brow. Tonight, we’re dining out at a local restaurant. People around town say they have the best fish fry around. I wouldn’t know. I don’t care for any seafood. I always order chicken tenders or macaroni and cheese. My parents don’t mind, since it definitely costs a lot less.
No one talks about what the doctor at the hospital found after performing the rape kit. I imagine they couldn’t wrap their head around it, the internal burns, the scarring. Perhaps they don’t want to upset me by telling me I will never have children. Sometimes I wonder if their silence is an effort to force me to come to them, to open up to them first. I won’t do it.
Ever.
I can’t. I’m having a hard enough time holding myself together and maintaining my composure every time I glance at a calendar, trying not to obsess over the next fast-approaching full moon.
My dad pops his head through my open doorway. “You about ready, kiddo?”
I glance at the creation in front of me. “Yep. Just finished.”
He disappears back through the opening, and I follow him, the faint sound of the phone ringing downstairs growing louder as I descend the steps. My mom picks up the house phone, and her face shifts from cheerful to concerned to downright irritated. She rolls her eyes at my father, covers the receiver with her palm, and whispers, “It’s mom.”
He stands in front of her, waiting patiently for her to hang up the phone.
The wrinkle in her forehead deepens as the phone slams onto the cradle, and she says, “She’s wandered off again. That was the sheriff in the next town over. They found her standing in a cornfield wearing nothing but her robe for God’s sake.”
I stifle a laugh, and my mom’s eyes dart to mine, burning a hole through them. “This isn’t funny, Contessa.”
Oof. When she uses my whole name, I know it’s serious.
“You’re going to have to take the car away from her now. The home has shuttles and drivers who can take her to the store and to her appointments when we can’t,” my dad says, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Can we go eat before we go get her?”
She shakes her head, a tiny smile creeping in the corner of her otherwise stern face. “No, we can’t just leave her there. I told the sheriff I’d get her and bring her back to the home myself.”
He purses his lips and blows out, making his lips flap together before letting his arms fall to his sides. “Okay, well, I’ll stay here with Tessa and order in while you go take her back.”
