Wuther Read online

  She reached over and took away the cigarette.

  “Hey,” he said. “What the fuck?”

  She tossed it out the window too. “I think you should kiss me.”

  His eyes widened.

  She plowed forward before she lost her nerve. “To see what it’s like, you know?”

  “You’re crazy, Cathy.”

  “Like you’ve never thought about doing it,” she challenged him, acting more bold than she actually felt. For all she knew, he didn’t even see her that way.

  He reached across the truck and touched her hair.

  Shocks went through her suddenly. Oh.

  His dark eyes captured her own, deep and endless, like staring into the blackest night, a void that went on for eternities.

  “It just seems right, doesn’t it? Like we’re connected?” she whispered.

  He swallowed. His face inched closer to hers.

  She parted her lips.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers trailing over her cheek. “Cathy. All I think about is you.”

  And then he was kissing her.

  His mouth was hesitant on hers, but he possessed her as well. Just like the way he shrugged, his kiss was a bundle of opposites. Sweet but hard. Slow but consuming.

  And when their tongues touched, she felt herself fall apart inside. She’d never even imagined such a feeling. So pleasant, so pure. So raw.

  His arms went around her, tucked her up against his chest, the smell of his jean jacket all around her, and she fit into him there. Perfect. Right.

  It was like finding the place she’d always belonged, even though she’d never known what it would feel like to belong there.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. She thrust her fingers into his curls.

  He gasped against her mouth.

  And she kissed Heath until the sun was long buried behind the horizon and the sky was full of glittering stars.

  * * *

  Once Heath started, it seemed like he couldn’t stop kissing Cathy. He’d been thinking about it for so long. He wasn’t sure how long. Maybe a year. Maybe more. Maybe since the first time he’d noticed her mosquito-bite breasts, when she was eleven or twelve, and they were swimming in the creek behind the house in their clothes. Maybe he’d wanted to kiss her then.

  Heath didn’t think so. That first realization had just been… strange.

  She was Cathy. He hadn’t wanted to think of her as a girl. Not back then. He hadn’t wanted to think about girls at all. From what he could see, getting into it with a girl was the stupidest thing a guy could do. Girls made guys crazy. They made them do stupid things.

  Like Floyd Earnshaw, for instance.

  Guy’d killed Heath’s mother. In front of Heath. He’d been drunk and crazy and cruel.

  Sure, he’d sobbed over it. Sure, he’d blubbered and apologized.

  But Floyd should be in jail for that.

  He would have been, if Heath hadn’t kept his damned mouth shut. If he and Cathy both hadn’t. They’d been kids. They’d been scared.

  And damned if Floyd didn’t kiss his ass now. He treated Heath better than he treated his own son, Matt. Heath got whatever he wanted. The truck he drove, the new CDs of the bands he liked, the comic books he read. Whatever he wanted.

  And what Heath wanted the most was for Floyd to keep his damned hands off Cathy.

  Which he mostly did, except if he got too drunk.

  Then Heath had to intervene. He’d yank Floyd away from his daughter, tell him to lay off. Always with that threat, Heath’s ace in the hole. You leave Cathy alone, or I’ll tell everyone how you killed my mother, you jackass.

  But Heath lived down in the tenant house, and sometimes he didn’t hear it, or he didn’t know it was going on.

  Cathy never complained, but he saw the bruises. She’d shrug and ask for a cigarette, saying, “I got in the way of Daddy’s fists again, you know?” And then she’d laugh, like it was a joke.

  Heath didn’t think it was a joke. And he wasn’t going to let it last forever.

  He hadn’t had a plan before. But now, with Cathy in his arms, her body small and sweet against him, he knew he couldn’t let her get hurt again. They were old enough. They could keep the farm going without Floyd. Heath was going to turn him in once and for all. No statute of limitations on murder, right? And there was no reason for Floyd to stay here, beating on his daughter and getting drunk night after night.

  When they were little kids, Floyd had served a purpose. He’d allowed Heath and Cathy to stay together. He’d been a legal guardian. He’d fed them and clothed them. (Sort of, anyway.) Now, he wasn’t needed.

  Heath guessed it had happened to him too. He was going crazy over a girl, willing to throw everything out of balance to keep her safe. But it was different. She wasn’t just a girl. She was Cathy. She was his everything. They’d grown up together. They were inseparable.

  And now she was pressed close, her skin so soft under his touch, her lips eager against his. And he was trying his damnedest to say goodbye to her. But he couldn’t stop kissing her.

  He’d managed to pull away long enough to drive back up to the farmhouse. Then he’d leaned over to give her a kiss goodbye.

  That had been an eternity ago. All he wanted to do was kiss her forever.

  The light on the front porch of the farmhouse came on.

  Heath ignored it. And Cathy did too. She just moaned softly, running her hands over his back, making him feel shivery, making him want to pin her down and kiss her harder.

  A banging on the truck’s window. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  Heath raised his head from Cathy and glared defiantly at Floyd Earnshaw. “What’s it look like, Floyd?”

  Floyd ripped open the door to the truck and yanked Cathy out of the cab.

  She stumbled and fell onto the ground.

  Heath leaped out after her. “Hey, watch it.”

  “Watch it?” Floyd grabbed Heath by the collar and slammed him up against the truck. “You shut your mouth, gypsy trash. And you better keep away from my daughter from now on, you hear me?”

  Cathy was tugging at her father’s sleeve. “Daddy, don’t. Just leave him alone.”

  Heath grinned. “I’m not keeping away, Floyd. You can’t keep me away from her.”

  Floyd shook Cathy off like an annoying insect. He dug his fingers into Heath’s neck.

  “Oh, that’s the way,” Heath said, his grin widening. “Why don’t you just strangle me… Daddy?”

  Floyd let go of Heath right away, like he’d been burned.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Heath, shrugging his clothes back into place and stepping away from the truck. He looked over Floyd’s shoulder. “You okay, Cathy?”

  She was brushing herself off. She nodded.

  Man, she was so pretty, it hurt. Heath wished he could touch her again, just one last kiss before he left. But that would be pushing it. He didn’t need to make Floyd even angrier.

  So, he jumped back into the truck. “I’ll pick you up for school tomorrow, all right?”

  “Okay,” said Cathy.

  “I don’t think so,” said Floyd. “Cathy, you can take the bus.”

  Cathy rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Daddy.”

  Heath would pick her up at the bus stop, then. And maybe they wouldn’t bother going to school. Maybe they’d drive to the police station instead, and maybe they’d tell them a little story about what happened to Wanda Galloway. Maybe Floyd would be in custody by tomorrow evening. Heath smiled grimly thinking about it.

  He backed out of the driveway, watching as Cathy headed inside the farmhouse. Floyd shot a look over his shoulder at Heath. It was venomous—full of hate.

  Heath fought the urge to flip the old man off.

  He hoped Cathy would be all right. Ever since her older brother Matt had left for college, Cathy had been alone in that house with Floyd. Heath used to stay up there right after Mama died, but in the past few years, he
found he couldn’t stomach being under the same roof with the man who killed his mother, and so he’d taken up residence in the tenant house, where they used to live.

  Maybe it hadn’t been smart to make out with Cathy in front of the farmhouse, rubbing Floyd’s nose in it. But he hadn’t been able to resist kissing her again. God, kissing Cathy had been so good, more amazing than he could possibly have imagined.

  He was at the bottom of the driveway when he heard Cathy scream.

  As quickly as he could, he put the car in drive and sped back up the farmhouse. He barely put it in park before he leaped out, ran to the farmhouse, and ripped open the door.

  Cathy and Floyd were at the top of the steps.

  Floyd had her up against the wall. He was pummeling her, driving his fists into her stomach. “Why can’t you be a good girl, Cathy? Why can’t you be a good girl?”

  “Get your filthy hands off of her,” Heath yelled, taking the steps two at a time.

  Floyd didn’t stop. “Don’t you know what he is, Cathy? Do you know what you’ve been kissing? You know who you’ve been—”

  Heath tore the man away from his daughter. “You bastard.”

  “You shouldn’t touch her, boy,” Floyd said hoarsely. “It’s a bad business, I tell you.”

  Heath didn’t think. He was full of rage at this man, who had murdered his mother, who was hurting the girl he loved.

  Heath hurled Floyd down the steps.

  Floyd cried out, a keening, rasping sound.

  His body thudded against the stairs. There was a crunching noise.

  Floyd tumbled over himself, head over knees.

  Once.

  Twice.

  And then he was still.

  * * *

  Cathy rushed down the steps to her father’s inert form, screaming the whole time. She knelt next to him. “Daddy?”

  She nudged him.

  It was like poking bread dough. He didn’t move.

  She let out a whimper, covering her mouth with one hand.

  Heath was still at the top of the steps. He stared down at her with his black eyes.

  Cathy put her hand on her father’s chest and shook him. “Daddy. Daddy, wake up.”

  Heath moved forward, lithe as a cat. He began to descend the stairs with liquid grace.

  She stood up, shaking. “You killed him,” she whispered.

  Heath closed his eyes, his sooty eyelashes fluttering, dazzling her even now, in this moment of all moments. He paused on the steps, and he was hesitant again, slumping his shoulders, dropping his head. “I didn’t mean…”

  She couldn’t hold herself up anymore. She fell back into the railing, and the first sob ripped through her body, echoing in the stairwell.

  “He wasn’t exactly a very good father,” said Heath. “He was hurting you. He was using you like a punching bag when I walked in here.”

  She turned on him, suddenly furious. The anger gave her strength, energy she didn’t know she had and she was on her feet then, running up the steps to meet Heath, pounding on his chest with tightly clenched fists. “He was my daddy. You never had one, so you can’t understand. But he was my only daddy, and you took him away from me.”

  Heath grabbed her wrists. “Like he took Mama?”

  She looked down at her father’s twisted body, remembered his rages. Remembered the sight of Daddy’s hands around Mama Galloway’s throat all those years ago. Hiding in that closet with Heath, both of them so afraid.

  She turned back to Heath. “You planned this. You were waiting for this. You wanted to kill him.”

  “No,” said Heath. “No, it was an accident. I wanted to report him to the police. I never… But he was hitting you, Cathy, and I couldn’t take it anymore. No one should ever hurt you.”

  She peered up at him, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Instead he shoved his hair behind his ears and stared at his feet.

  “You did it for me?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. Of course he had. Heath was her protector. Hadn’t he stopped her father before, all those nights when Daddy had gotten drunk and taken his fists to her? Heath wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Ever.

  So, he’d killed her father.

  If she told anyone that, they’d take Heath away from her. And what would she do without her protector?

  “It was an accident.” She nodded slowly. “An accident. He fell down the steps. He was drunk, and he lost his balance.” She looked up into Heath’s eyes, making it clear to him that she’d stick to that story.

  Heath swallowed. “Thank you, Cathy.”

  She cupped his cheek with one hand, his stubble tickling the inside of her palm. And she brought her lips to his—his sweet, sweet lips—and she kissed him.

  His mouth was fierce on hers, his kiss like an uncontrollable whirlwind.

  Her father was dead, but she had Heath. And that was the most important thing. Heath had done more for her than her father ever had. Heath was everything.

  2013

  “My father,” said Linton Galloway, “and your mother were childhood sweethearts. I suppose you didn’t know that?”

  “No,” said Thera. She had defied her father’s wishes and gone to meet Linton at a coffee shop he’d told her about. It was about an hour away, in a little town in West Virginia. She’d thought the drive was pretty, the mountains rising up majestic and blue-green against the sky. Her father had told her that she’d been born in West Virginia, but they’d never visited. Eli said it was a dark period of time in his life, and he had no desire to remember it.

  Linton wasn’t what she expected. He was blond and skinny, with mischievous blue eyes. He looked like her father Eli a little. Linton spoke in a funny way, overly precise, she supposed. He made sure to pronounce all the t’s in every word, which sounded awkward to her.

  “You have to come back and see the house,” said Linton, sipping at his soy milk latte. He’d explained to her that he was lactose intolerant and allergic to gluten, but his father rarely made concessions for his allergies, and therefore he practically starved. He’d turned mournful blue eyes on her, as if he expected her to feel sorry for him, but she didn’t. She felt slightly repulsed by him instead. She’d almost walked out then, but he was her cousin, after all, and they had been sending facebook messages back and forth for months. She wanted to get to know him, and so she stayed.

  “The house?” Thera asked.

  “The farmhouse,” said Linton. “Where I live with my father. And where your mother grew up.”

  She furrowed her brow. “How does your father own the farmhouse if it’s where my mother grew up? Shouldn’t her family have it?”

  “Oh, your mother’s side of the family doesn’t really exist anymore,” said Linton. “Your grandfather, your uncle Matt… both dead.” He smiled a queer smile. “Father says that you wouldn’t have wanted to meet them anyway.”

  “I don’t seem to have much family at all,” said Thera. “Most of my relatives on my dad’s side of the family are gone too.”

  Linton thrust his hand across the table and grasped hers. “That’s why we have to stick together, Thera. It’s just you and me, if you don’t count our fathers.”

  Thera nodded. Something about Linton rubbed her the wrong way. She wasn’t sure what it was. She moved her hand away from his and tucked it under the table.

  “We have so much in common,” said Linton. “Both of us were only raised by our fathers. And our mother and father were in love. We could have been brother and sister, you know.”

  “How do you know that my mother was in love with your father?”

  “Because my father told me so,” said Linton. “He talks about her all the time, especially when he’s drunk. ‘Cathy this, Cathy that. Cathy was the love of my life and I’m a fool for losing her.’ That sort of thing.”

  “How did he lose her?”

  “Well, your father came along and stole her away, of course.”

  Thera raised her eyebrows. “
Really?” She chewed on her lip. “My father never tells me anything about her. He says it hurts too much. And he says that your father—Heath—hates me and wants to hurt me.”

  Linton leaned forward conspiratorially. “Well, I guess they don’t really get along, our fathers.”

  “They don’t?”

  “Think about it. They were in love with the same woman. Probably doesn’t make them best friends,” said Linton. “But my father isn’t angry with you. He wants to meet you. He said I should bring you by the house. You’ll come, won’t you?”

  Thera furrowed her brow. “If Heath loved my mother so much, why did he marry your mother?” She and Linton were cousins because Eli and Isabella were brother and sister.

  Linton became interested in his coffee. “I don’t know much about my mother. I can’t remember her.”

  That was another thing they had in common, she supposed. She and Linton really should be hitting it off. Why didn’t she feel like she should go back to that house, though? Was it her father’s warning? Was she being paranoid?

  “My father says she was a spoiled bitch, and it’s good I never met her.”

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” said Thera.

  Linton shrugged. “It’s probably true. She killed herself, you know. She left me alone on purpose.”

  Oh, how horrible. Thera’s heart went out to him. No wonder he was such a strange boy. Well, not a boy, exactly, she guessed. He must be about her age. Maybe a bit younger. She put her hand back on the table and touched his fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

  Linton’s blue eyes met hers. They were like pools of deep blue water, infinitely deep. She felt like she was falling into them, being sucked down.

  “You’ll come back to the house, won’t you?” said Linton.

  “Of course,” she said.

  1993

  Soul Asylum was playing in Cathy’s room. She was lying on Heath’s stomach. They were both on her bed. He was idly tracing his fingers over her bare arm. She closed her eyes, thinking that it would be too cold for t-shirts soon. Fall would come, turning the leaves brown and crackly, and she’d have to bundle up in thick sweaters. She thought of snuggling close to Heath, and she liked it.