Mama and Pop are sitting on the couch when I storm into the living room. Their hushed voices fall silent, turning their heads toward me. I haven’t spoken a word yet, but I already feel my courage slipping. My hands shake at my sides. I swallow past the growing lump in my throat, trying to keep tears from forming.
“Hi, honey,” my mama greets me cautiously. Her words are soft, unsure. “Didn’t think we’d see you today.” My pop grunts in agreement but looks back at the television. He’d watch paint dry if it meant not looking me in the eye after our last argument.
“Neither did I,” I reply, trying to mask the resentment in my tone. “But I can’t keep moping around. I need to let dead things staydead, right?” My jaw tightens, and I cringe, panicking and overthinking my chosen words. My statement makes Pop’s head snap back to me, anger flashing in his eyes.Shit. I blew my cover too soon. My mind scrambles to stick to the script.
A ding comes from the oven. Relief washes over my mama’s face as she hurries away to the kitchen.
“Sorry, I just meant…” I sputter, losing my nerve.
“I know what you meant, Jace,” Pop interrupts, his face pinching. “Your disrespectful mouth is gonna git you in trouble, girl. I’d shut it now, if you know what’s good for you.” He frowns, deepening the lines on his face. A cord in his neck bulges, visibly pulsing stronger as his anger rises. I pull my lips between my teeth, holding on to any responses that might digmy hole deeper. Reluctantly, I slink to the recliner and take a seat, slumping down with exhaustion from the small interaction.
Mama comes back to the couch, holding a plate of fresh dinner rolls. She doesn’t look at either of us as she sets the plate on the coffee table. I reach for one at the same time as Pop, and our hands bump together. He snatches his back as if I’ve bitten him, making invisible hurt lash my insides. I hesitantly pull my hand back empty, waiting for him to get his roll before I take mine. My mama sits again, grabbing a roll for herself.
We all chew in silence, Pop finishing two more before speaking. “Can’t keep holing yourself up in that room. There’s plenty to help your mama with around the house.”
I swallow, hands balling into fists. The chewed-up chunk of bread slides uncomfortably down my throat, hitting my stomach like a heavy stone. Chaotic thoughts swirl inside my head as I struggle with the urge to remain silent or continue with my plan. Sweat slicks my palms, and I press them against the chair, wiping it away on the suede armrests. I can barely hear anything above the thundering of my heart, but I manage to blurt out my first demand. “I need you to tell me about Cyrus.”
My mama coughs, choking on the bite she was chewing. Every muscle in Pop’s body visibly contracts, tension radiating off him. His eyes turn to slits, observing me as he drums his fingers on his thighs. “What about him?” he asks sternly. The crease between his eyebrows grows considerably, contorting his face to control his rage.
“I deserve to know,” I say, trying to tread carefully but struggling to keep my voice even. “We both know what you meant the other night, and I deserve to know the truth.”
Mama’s eyes grow big as saucers, her lips a flat line. She bores holes into me with them, begging me silently to toe the line. The look plastered onto her face says to shut my mouth before Pop shuts it for me.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Pop growls, voice rising. A vein in his temple emerges over the tense muscles of his face. His tongue runs along his teeth underneath his top lip, and he draws in a sharp breath, making a wet, clicking sound. “What brought all this on?”
“I’ve taken up an interest in dead men, remember?” I reply coldly, clenching my hands to hide their trembling. My courage builds, escalating to a dangerous level as I grow more desperate for answers.
Pop’s complexion reddens. The cord in his neck bulges, looking about to burst. His cheeks puff out, letting out a long breath. My mama pales, staring at us in horror. It’s too late to turn back now.
“Jace,” he warns, running a hand over his graying hair and shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. “Let’s not go there again.”
“Why not?” I ask, unable to control my shaking body any longer. “Why don’t you ever want to have an actual conversation? You’ve kept things from me my entire life, but I won’t let you keep avoiding this. If you know what happened to Cyrus, tell me!”
“Some things are kept a secret for your own good,” he states, unwaveringly. “For everyone’s good. Now drop it, Jace. You’re upsetting your mama.”
My mama’s eyes, full of alarm, dart to him. I can’t tell how much she knows, but she’s complicit in her silence all the same.
“I’ve had enough secrets!” I shout, the control over my emotions shattering. “I’m tired of it! My entire childhood feels like one big lie. I found your box in the shed.” The admission flies out of me, surprising all three of us.Shit. I throw my hands over my mouth, like I can somehow shove the confession back in. Mama squeezes her eyes shut, bracing both hands on her knees like she’s wishing she could become invisible.
Pop’s face goes from red to purple. His hands ball, knuckles turning white. He looks like he’s about to explode, but he stands, eerily calm, and heads down the hall. It’s not until I hear the creak of my door’s hinges that I realize where he’s gone. My bravery evaporates as panic paralyzes me, winding tight inside my chest and squeezing the air from my lungs. Too afraid to move, Mama and I wait in silence. Eventually, his footsteps thunder back toward us.
The box slams down on the table, the thud echoing in the small room. My ears ring, white spots dancing in the corners of my vision. Pop hovers over the box, breathing heavily. He stares at it as if he can incinerate it with only a look. The boom of his voice makes me jump. “I thought you had more sense than this. Snooping ‘round the shed is another matter, but takin’ my things like they’re yours?”
“You said you got rid of all that,” my mama whimpers, somehow knowing what’s inside before he even opens it. Her watery eyes are full of hurt and betrayal.
“I kept it,” Pop barks, holding a hand out to silence her. “In case I ever needed proof against that bastard.” His fiery stare finds mine, and I shrink back.
“Proof against what?” I croak, blood draining from my face and queasiness souring my stomach. Something inside me knows the answer, any remaining denial draining away. The pieces fit together perfectly, waiting for me to face what’s been right in front of me this whole time.
“You looked in the damn box. Don’t play dumb with me now,” Pop snarls, curling his lip and baring the top row of his yellowed teeth. “And you’d best forget it in a hurry too.”
“Why?” I falter, grasping for any logic in this whole situation. “Why would you do somethin’ like that? Howcouldyou do somethin’ like that?”
He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of nose. A lump bobs in his throat as he swallows. “Everythin’ I did is done now, and I can’t take it back. I never meant to drag you in this, curse you too, but it’s time to drop this. I don’t want you endin’ up like that boy did.”
“Ending up…how?” I choke out, stumbling over my words. I bounce my leg, staring up at the ceiling. He’s still sticking to the edges, avoiding what I really want to know. A fog clouds my mind like a storm rolling in. “Cyrus…”
“Now, Jace...” Pop shakes his head, ready to deflect anything more I have to say. There’s no coming back from this, though, not for any of us.
