Tyler is way into this. He stops and examines every footprint, every broken branch, every dropping, like he’s some expert hunter. I’m trying to shake the feeling that I’m back in Iraq. I keep checking for my Kevlar, feeling naked without it.
Mr. Roberts and his buddy went one way. I’m with Tyler. I hope we don’t end up shooting each other in the crossfire.
Tyler taps my shoulder. I look up and see a little herd—three or four deer, just down the slope in a little meadow. They’re too far for a good shot.
“Let’s split up," he whispers. “I’ll head down the hill on the right. You can go straight. If they see you, you'll spook them in my direction.”
“Sounds like a good way to get shot.” I touch my chest again, no body armor.
“I won’t be opposite you, just to the side.” He heads downhill and right.
I head straight down the hill—slow, cautious, trying not to kick up any rocks. The deer don’t see or smell me. I’m almost close enough for a good shot when something spooks them. They take off.
I raise my rifle. One deer goes down. I didn’t hear any shots. It stands, but it’s caught in an old barbed-wire fence. It’s a young buck with little knobs for horns. He’s big enough to be considered game, but not quite an adult.
I raise my rifle level with his head. He turns—rich brown eyes staring back at me. It’s an expression I recognize—the look of a sentient creature who knows his number is up. I peer through my sights at him. The shot would be clean, easy.
I can’t make myself pull the trigger.
Rocks kicked down the ravine spook him. With one desperate tug, the buck frees himself and bounds into the trees.
“What are you doing?” Tyler looks confused and disgusted. “You had a clean shot. Why didn’t you take it?”
I lower the rifle and breathe in. I’m not sure how long I’ve been holding my breath.
I lean against a tree and face him, a little sheepish, a little nauseous. I can’t answer. I breathe again. My heart is pounding. “I don’t feel good, Ty. Let’s go find your dad. You can hunt with him for the rest of the day.”
thirty-seven
Rifts
December 2005
Ihear the argument before I get out of bed—my brother Nate, and our step-dad Steve, going at it. I’m surprised they lasted this long. Last night, Christmas Eve, was tolerable, not pleasant. More like strained with an aching hole. I keep reminding myself that Gage wouldn’t have been here anyway, even if he weren’t dead.
Angel showed up late last night. Her arms were full of presents. She had a kiss for Mom and a hug for Steve and me. Mom and Steve are trying to be tolerant. We all know Angel and Nate are living together. Mom has never approved of “shacking up,” as she calls it, but for the sake of peace she’s keeping her mouth shut.
Ironically, it sounds like “peace” is what they’re arguing about. From what I can gather from the conversation, now more than loud enough to overhear, Angel and Nate want to skip out on Christmas and go to some peace rally.
“Anti-military is more like it.” Steve’s voice is even, but I recognize the calm before the storm.
“This is how we’re choosing to celebrate Christmas. I thought you were Christians—that peace is what Christmas is all about.” Angel's argument might be more believable if she hadn’t already expressed her opinions on the general stupidity of any kind of religion.
Steve loses it, shouting at Nathan, “How can you do this to your mom? You’re going to leave her alone on Christmas and go off to some anti-military rally. How can you go against everything your brothers have fought for? You wouldn’t even attend Gage’s memorial service, but you’re willing to skip out on your family to go against what he died for?”
Nate’s voice is almost as loud. “Don’t tell me what I’m doing to my mom. Not after all that you’ve done to her. After all you’ve done to us. You were never part of this family. You were always out chasing glory, looking for a fight, while Mom took care of everything. And then when you got too old to go yourself, you filled my brothers’ heads with your war stories. You started living through them. You sent them off to die for your ego, and now you have the audacity to tell me I’m not being fair to my mom or loyal to my brothers.”
He pauses, and I hear the hurt and the shock in the silence. He starts up again. “You were never a dad to me, and you were barely one to your own son. Now he’s gone, and you’re still spouting off the same red, white, and blue rhetoric that you filled our heads with when we were too young to know any better. I’ve grown up now, Steve. I’ve learned to think for myself. You can’t keep giving orders and expect me to follow them blindly.”
“Nate, stop.” Mom’s voice cracks. “You aren’t being fair. You’re entitled to your opinion, but I can’t let you treat my husband and theonly father you’ve ever had that way. We did the best we could. We’re all hurting over Gage’s death. We can’t let it destroy our family.”
“Steve is not part of my family,” Nate spits out the words. “I’m sorry, Mom, but as long as he lives here, don’t expect me to come back.”
“Nathan, please don't—.”
I can’t stand the desperation in Mom's voice. I get out of bed. Maybe I can talk some sense into my brother.
The door slams before I make it to the front room. I follow him into the street. “Don’t do this.”
