Maddox is blowingup my phone. I don’t know if that means Kendall returned to the ranch and told him about our spat or if he’s just irritated he hasn’t heard from me yet. Eventually, I turn the damn thing off. Kenny’s mad at me and Maddox will be soon, so there’s no real reason to keep it on anyway now that I’m at work.
I’m praying for a busy night. Busy nights mean lots of tips, and they leave my mind spinning too much to dwell on my own problems. Kenny’s little talk did exactly what she was hoping it would—made me want to lean into the what if's that had been plaguing my thoughts for weeks now.
What if I just told my dad where he could shove the cost of the bills? What if I moved into Maddox’s cabin? I wouldn’t have to tell him about my dad. Maybe I could hide it. What if Maddox and I really hit it off? What if I got to quit camming and maybe even bartending, too? What if I went back to school and actually made something of myself?
But no. Making something of yourself and living in Cedar Creek were two different things that only aligned for Whittakers, with their thousand-head cattle ranch that turned into a guest resort in the summer and autumn months.
In the latest proof that God doesn’t exist, the night crawls. It’s a Monday night, so it was sort of expected, but I’d hoped anyway. That was my biggest issue lately.Hopingwhen it didn’t make sense to.
“What can I get for you tonight?” I ask the person that plops themselves into the barstool in front of me, not even looking up from where I’ve been cleaning the baseboards with a toothbrush just for something to do.
I stand, wiping my hands on the butt of my denim shorts and turn toward the sink to wash my hands, but fear curls in my stomach when I see who’s sitting at my bar.
“Dad,” I acknowledge, pushing myself forward again. I make the water as hot as possible and force myself to keep my hands under it to try and regulate my body’s panicking. “What can I get for you tonight?”
He never comes to the bar. Despite being the most notorious town drunk other than Patrick Clayton, he prefers to drink at home, in peace. Peace being a glaringly loud television that he screams at, roaches that crawl across the floor beneath his recliner, and gunshots going off every night to scare away grizzlies coming out of hibernation.
“The money you owe me, for starters,” he slurs, and my eyes immediately dart around the room at the few patrons mingling about. No one pays him any attention, and now I’m thankful the bar isn’t busy.
“What money? I paid all of this month’s bills already.”
I try to feign nonchalance, wiping down the bar with a nearby rag to avoid having to look at him.
“I didn’t say you owed the fucking bill collectors, I said you owed me!” He grabs my wrist tight enough to make me gasp and I’m quick to reposition myself so our bodies hide his hold from the other patrons and the lone camera. I don’t think Dale ever watches it, but just in case.
He’s right, in a way. Usually, I pay the bills and I leave money for him as well so he can get the things he needs, since he’s outof a job. Granted, the definition of aneeddiffers greatly depending on which one of us you ask. For me, it’s food and gas. For him, it’s beer and blow.
“Dad, we’re in public,” I remind him quietly, finally looking him in the eye. It’s no use, he’s practically gone. He doesn’t care that we’re in public. He only cares about his empty wallet and his version of aneed.
When I was younger, before Mom died, there would be cycles. Every few weeks, he’d get drunk and beat the shit out of us. He’d throw things, yell and scream, punch holes in the wall. Sometimes I was able to hide in my closet and he’d be too drunk to come looking for me, but those were the nights Mom usually got it the worst.
The next day, he’d wake up and act like nothing happened. There weren’t any apologies and we all ignored the holes in the wall and the fact that we were down a dining chair or that the TV was cracked. We’d go to Cattleman’s to eat instead, and then go to the store to replace anything that needed replacing. Mom would get a new necklace or earrings, and I’d get a handful of toys that felt like Christmas presents.
Stupidly, these were always my favorite days. I’d tell myself that as I hid in the closet or as I curled up in a ball as his feet and fists rained down on me. That right then, it was hell, but when the next day came, I’d have a full belly and new toys.
And then the cycle would start again.
There’s not much of a cycle anymore. I avoid being hit by staying away from the house and placating him with my paychecks. When I can’t avoid it, the day after doesn’t bring presents, just bruises and cuts and ribs that still hurt if I breathe too deeply.
This is exactly the reminder I needed to combat those foolish what if’s. Mama stayed in Cedar Creek until it killed her. She believed Dad would change, so she stayed for him, believing every gift he gave her was an apology. When she finally realizedshe’d spent years of her life in a tunnel with no light at the end of it, she added her own light via gunpowder.
I was not my mother. I would not stay in Cedar Creek—not for my father, not for Maddox, and not for a hope and a prayer that life would miraculously work out in my favor for once.
“You think I haven’t noticed you haven’t been coming home as much? I’m not stupid, sweetheart, and I’m not deaf. I hear you’ve bagged yourself a Whittaker man and you’ve been spending your weekends at that ranch. Is that why you haven’t been bringing me my money?” he slurs.
I twist my wrist in his grasp gently, trying to break free without him realizing, but his grip only tightens. I press my lips together to hide my whimper.
“I’m not sleeping with a Whittaker, Daddy,” I promise him, trying to placate him with a sweet, rational tone and the name I called him as a kid. “You know how this town likes to gossip. I’ve been at the ranch because I’ve been helping Kenny study for her exams.”
His eyes narrow at me, but by some miracle, he seems to believe me enough to let go of my wrist. “You were at Cattleman’s with Maddox Whittaker last month, I heard.”
I nod. I can’t outright lie. Several people saw us that night and could’ve reported back to him, could disprove any lie I told, so I had to be crafty. “Yes, sir. We were at Cattleman’s discussing Kenny’s graduation party. Nothing more. You know he’s too old for me.”
He huffs and sits back on the barstool. I grab his shirt before he has to remember the hard way that the stools here don’t have backs, but he bats my hand away, righting himself. “Still doesn’t explain why you don’t have my money.”
“I’ll have it by the end of the night for you, I swear. And I’ll be home more.”
“You’ll stay home tonight and every night for the next month,” he corrects me. “You’re grounded.”
