Wuther Page 3

  “You called him?” Heath asked.

  “Like ten times,” said Cathy. “I kept getting his answering machine.”

  “He’s the only person who can set stuff up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s got to check his messages sometime, though, right?”

  “I don’t know. He’s Matt. Maybe he won’t.”

  “We could go find him,” said Heath. “I’ll drive you.”

  “No.” That could end up being disastrous. Matt hated Heath, always had, probably because their father seemed to favor Heath over Matt. She didn’t want Heath around when she broke the news to her brother.

  “Well, we can’t wait around forever, Cathy. There’s a dead body. Arrangements have to be made, and if you need Matt—”

  “Don’t.” She sat up.

  Heath shifted, propping himself up with one elbow. “What?”

  “Don’t call him a dead body,” she said. “It’s bad enough what you did to him. Now that he’s gone, you don’t get to take away the fact he’s still a person.”

  Heath’s jaw twitched. “He was a horrible person.”

  “I know.” Cathy looked down at her fingernails. She’d chewed them all down to the quick. She hadn’t chewed her fingernails since she was a little girl, but she’d somehow started again. She was nervous a lot, she guessed. When the police had come, she’d been afraid that they’d know she was lying about what happened. Every time she told the story, she had to watch her inflection, wonder if she was believable. It wasn’t that she wished her father was still alive, because she didn’t. Maybe that made her an evil person, but she was glad he was gone. “I’m grateful for what you did, Heath. I know you were protecting me. But he was still my dad, you know?”

  Heath shrugged, one of his complicated, elegant motions. “No. I don’t know. He was a monster, Cathy. He hurt you. He killed my mother. He was drunk all the time. He was worthless.”

  “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t talk like that.”

  He met her gaze, and she was trapped in his deep, black eyes. “He deserved it.”

  “You aren’t sorry? At all?”

  “Do you want me to be?”

  She looked away.

  And his arms came around her, his lips at her ear. “I’m sorry it hurts you. I’m sorry that you’re sad. I never want to hurt you, Catherine Earnshaw. I’d do anything for you.”

  She tilted her head back, giving him access to her neck. “Anything?”

  His lips trailed down her skin. “Anything.”

  And the door to her room burst open. “Cathy?” Matt came inside.

  She pushed Heath away, scrambling off the bed.

  Matt glared down at Heath, who was still sprawled out, smirking up at Matt.

  Cathy hugged her brother. “You’re here. I called you and called you, but you didn’t answer. Something happened to Daddy.”

  Matt stepped out of her embrace. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Heath. “The police called me. I know what happened.”

  Heath ran a hand through his hair. “Hi there, Matt. Sorry about your loss.”

  Matt’s face turned blood red. “Get off her bed.”

  “Matt, don’t.” Cathy tugged at his arm. “Just let it go.” She looked over her shoulder at Heath. “You should go. Let us be alone.”

  Heath took his time getting off the bed.

  “What are you going to do now?” Matt asked Heath. “Without my daddy to give you all the toys you want?”

  Heath stood up, straightening his jacket, nonplussed.

  “Things are going to change around here,” said Matt. “I’m going to rent out the tenant house. You want to stay here, you’ll have to earn your keep.”

  Heath raised his eyebrows. “Look, Matt, you’re upset. I’ll get out of your face. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not sorry enough yet,” said Matt.

  1985

  Matt pushed his bike over the trail. He’d gotten to the point where he didn’t let anyone else see his bike anymore, because it was so stupid looking. Everyone else he knew had small, compact bikes for racing and jumping ramps and stuff. Their bikes were black with super-cool spatters of neon green and yellow all over them. Matt’s bike looked like it had come from the dark ages. It was huge. And it was an ugly brown color. He rode it around the farm, but he didn’t let his buddies see it anymore. They ragged him too hard about it.

  He’d asked his dad if he could have a new bike, but his dad never let him. He always said that they didn’t have enough money for stuff like that. But Dad always seemed to find money enough for more booze. His dad cared about drinking way more than he cared about his own son.

  Up ahead of him on the trail, he saw someone else pushing a bike.

  That was weird. Who else even knew about the farm trail besides Cathy and Heath? And they didn’t even have bikes.

  Matt swung a leg up over his bicycle and pedaled close to the figure on the bike.

  He couldn’t believe it. It was Heath. With one of those new, super-cool bikes.

  How did that brat get one? He was only nine years old. He didn’t even need a bike like that. He was still a little kid.

  Heath smirked at him when he saw him coming.

  Matt got off his bike. “Hey, gypsy fuck. Where’d you steal that bike?”

  “Didn’t steal it,” said Heath. “And don’t call me that.”

  “You did so.” Matt propped his bike up against a tree and went over to Heath. “How else would you get this?”

  “From your dad,” said Heath.

  Matt clenched his teeth together. He ripped the handlebars away from Heath.

  “Hey,” said Heath. “You can’t do that.”

  “He’s my dad,” said Matt. “He’s not yours.” He started up the trail with Heath’s bike.

  Heath came after him. “Give it back, Matt.”

  “Eat shit and die,” Matt called over his shoulder. Why did his father always do stuff like this? Why would he give Heath a new bike and not Matt? Matt was his own son. Heath was just some orphan brat who lived with them. Matt hated that kid.

  Heath launched himself onto Matt’s back.

  Matt had to let go of the bike. He ripped Heath off of him and threw the smaller boy onto the ground. “Don’t mess with me, okay?”

  “Give me back my bike,” said Heath, struggling to his feet.

  Matt knocked him down again. He leapt onto the boy and pushed his face into the dirt. “Shut up.”

  “I’m telling your dad,” said Heath, his voice on the verge of tears.

  “Don’t be a baby,” said Matt. He got up and swung his leg over onto Heath’s bike. Then he rode away.

  Later, his father took a belt to him drunkenly, scolding him that Heath didn’t have a family, that his mother was dead, and that they needed to treat him nicely.

  Fuck treating that gypsy nicely. He’d already stolen everything Matt had. And Matt hadn’t had much to begin with.

  1993

  Heath stood next to Cathy, her fingers twined in his. They watched as the casket containing Floyd Earnshaw’s remains was lowered into the ground. It was a sunny day, still warm with late September heat. Cathy was crying, but Heath’s eyes were dry. He’d never cry for that man. Never.

  He wanted to draw Cathy into his arms, hold her close, let her sob into his shoulder, and take all of her pain into his own body. But Matt was already glaring at them for holding hands, and Heath didn’t want to piss the guy off anymore than he already had.

  He didn’t hold Matt any ill will. He was a bit of a prick, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He didn’t understand why Floyd had always sucked up to Heath. Matt took it as favoritism. He thought that Floyd liked Heath better. He was jealous.

  Matt didn’t understand that Floyd’s kindness had been a bribe, buying Heath’s silence about what he’d done to his mother. Heath wasn’t going to tell Matt that either, because his mother’s death gave Heath a motive for killing Floyd. And Heath wasn’t about to hand out a
mmunition to anyone, especially someone like Matt, who already had it in for him.

  Not that anyone seemed to suspect him. No, Floyd was a known drunk. The police bought Cathy’s story without any problem. Accidental death. End of story.

  And Heath didn’t see why it shouldn’t be ruled that. He hadn’t gone in with the intention of killing Floyd Earnshaw. Even when he’d pulled the man off Cathy, Heath hadn’t been trying to kill him. He’d only been protecting her. She was the most important thing to him.

  She leaned into him, and he put his arm around her.

  She burrowed her face into the folds of his jacket. Her shoulders shook.

  Matt’s eyes shot daggers at him.

  Heath glared back, putting his arm around Cathy.

  He needed to clear this thing up with Matt. But what was he going to do?

  * * *

  Heath slung the duffle bag over his shoulder. His clothes were all packed in it. He had two boxes of stuff with him as well. He stood on the porch of the tenant house, the place he’d lived since he was a little kid. There were so many memories here. All of his memories of his mother. But he was leaving.

  Matt was standing at the edge of the porch, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “You can’t do this,” Cathy said. She set down one of the boxes she’d helped Heath pack and went over to her brother. “This is his home.”

  “I have to do this, Cathy,” said Matt. “You have any idea how much debt Dad left us in? This farm hasn’t made a profit in years. We’re behind on the mortgage. Renting to tenants is the one thing that can bring in income.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Then let him stay in the farmhouse with us. He can use the guest room.”

  Matt shook his head. “No, I’m turning the guest room into a playroom for Gage.”

  Gage was the son of the woman Matt had taken up with a few weeks ago. Her name was Fran, and her tattoos looked leathery from too many trips to the tanning bed. Her hair was dyed white-blonde, and she wore too much makeup. Gage was still a baby, too small for a playroom, but Heath knew that Matt would never let him live in the farmhouse. He was getting revenge against Heath, and there wasn’t going to be any way to talk him out of it.

  “You can’t make him stay in the barn,” said Cathy.

  Heath hoisted up a box. “It’s fine, Cathy.”

  “It’s not fine. It’s inhuman,” she said.

  He strode across the porch. “I can handle it.”

  “It’s going to be winter,” she said.

  Heath hopped down the steps. “I’m sure Matt would like nothing better than me freezing to death.”

  Matt chuckled. “He’s lucky I’m letting him have the barn. I should kick him off the property entirely. I don’t owe him anything.”

  “He’s Heath,” said Cathy. “Daddy took care of him. For Mama Galloway. And you—”

  “Listen to you, calling that gypsy bitch mama,” said Matt.

  Heath set the box down. “You just called my mother a bitch.”

  “And I’d do it again,” said Matt. “That’s what she was. My father’s whore. Kept her in that house to fuck her. She wasn’t—”

  Heath punched Matt, driving a fist into his stomach. First one, then the other.

  Matt made a whooshing noise, air pushed out of his mouth, and he floundered backwards.

  Heath made an uppercut. His knuckles collided with Matt’s chin.

  Matt’s head flew backwards.

  Cathy ran between them, pushing Heath away from her brother. “Stop it. Stop it.”

  Matt recovered, roaring. He charged Heath.

  Cathy turned, hands out, stopping her brother. “No, Matt. You can’t. You took everything from him. You can’t.”

  “Get off my land,” Matt growled. “Get off and don’t come back, you gypsy fuck.”

  * * *

  “You shouldn’t have hit him,” said Cathy. They were in the fields, tall stalks of corn all around them.

  “You heard what he said,” Heath muttered. His face was a storm cloud.

  “If you hadn’t hit him, I might have been able to fix it.” She’d tried talking to her brother later, the next day, after things had calmed down, but he was made of stone. And he had a bruise from where Heath had hit him. That wasn’t good.

  Heath didn’t even have his truck anymore. Matt had taken that out of spite or anger or some stupid sense of justice, Cathy wasn’t sure what. So Heath had slept outside in the cornfield last night, but he couldn’t say there forever.

  “He says you can still stay in the barn,” said Cathy. “But he says you have to drop out of school and work the farm, or he’ll kick you out.”

  Heath dragged a hand over his face. “Okay. Fine.”

  “Heath, you need to go to school.”

  “Fuck school,” said Heath. “I cut half the time anyway. Did you bring me any smokes?”

  She got the pack out of her pocket and handed it to him. “You need a diploma. You can’t do anything without graduating from high school. They won’t even take you in the army.”

  Heath smirked. “I’m a lover, not a fighter, baby.”

  “Don’t joke about it,” she said.

  He put two cigarettes in his mouth and lit them both. He handed her one. “I can get that GED thing or whatever. It doesn’t matter. As long as we’re together.”

  She took the cigarette. “He doesn’t have any right to do this to you.” She breathed in the smoke, letting it fill her lungs. “Maybe we should go to someone. Like child protective services or something.”

  “No,” said Heath. “They’d take us away from him. And someone needs to take him away from the farm. We should have this farm, Cathy. You and me.”

  She contemplated her cigarette. “Maybe.” She didn’t guess this was the right time to tell him that she didn’t want to live on this farm, that she wanted to go far away from this place, maybe even to a city. How were she and Heath going to get to a city if he didn’t even graduate from high school?

  He grabbed her. “Look, he can’t keep us from each other. No matter what he thinks he can do, he can’t keep me away from you.”

  She kissed him. He tasted like tobacco smoke. She wound his curls around her fingers. When she was this close to him, it didn’t seem like anything else mattered.

  * * *

  Cathy scuffed her toes against the ground. She was waiting for the school bus in the early gray morning light. The world was misty and cold. She tucked her hands into her pockets and shivered. If Matt hadn’t taken Heath’s truck, she’d be sitting with him inside it right now. He’d put the heat on or take her hands and rub them between his. He’d tell her that he’d keep her warm.

  But Heath was in the fields right now. He’d been working since dawn.

  Matt worked him hard.

  She sometimes saw Heath after supper, when the sun was coming down, wandering back to the barn. Matt would feed him, but he wouldn’t let him eat inside.

  Cathy went to him, but he was always exhausted. She’d lie down with him in the bed they’d set up in the loft of the barn. He’d hold her, kiss her a few times, and then he’d be asleep.

  She missed him.

  A car was coming up the road, something sleek and new and blue.

  She watched as it slowed in front of her. The window rolled down.

  A girl with long blonde hair poked her head out. She had a toothpaste-commercial smile. She was like a cross between Christy Brinkley and Kristy Swanson. “My brother thinks you’re hot,” she giggled.

  She heard a male voice from the car. “What the fuck, Isabella?”

  Not Christy then. She looked like a Christy.

  The girl giggled harder. “You want a ride?”

  Cathy considered. It was cold. She hated the bus. She scampered forward and opened the back door of the blue car. She slid inside. “Thanks.”

  The guy driving the car was just as blond as his sister. His hair was carelessly tousled with gel. His eyes were bright blue. He looked embarra
ssed. “Hey. I’m Eli.”

  “Cathy,” she said, pulling the door closed.

  Eli turned to the road and the car sped off.

  His sister turned around. “I’m Isabella. We’re new.”

  “Um, I figured,” said Cathy. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

  “But you do go to the high school, right?”

  “Yeah, I was waiting for the bus.”

  She smiled. “Good. It would be totally awful if we picked you up, and you were heading to, like, Tulsa or something.”

  Tulsa? Cathy raised an eyebrow.

  Isabella kept talking. “We’re always new. Our father is in real estate. We move someplace, buy up all the land, and then my dad sells it, makes a lot of money, and we have to move again.” She rolled her eyes. “Total drag. But I’ve learned that you have to be assertive if you want to make friends, so that’s why we picked you up. Anyway, it’s Eli’s junior year, and my sophomore year, so maybe we’ll actually finish up school here.”

  “Okay,” said Cathy. She was at a loss to know what to say next.

  “What does your dad do?”

  “Um… he died.”

  “Oh, God.” Isabella sounded mortified. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” said Cathy. “We own a farm.”

  “Oh,” said Isabella. “You want to sell it to my dad?”

  Cathy bit her lip.

  * * *

  “She gets nervous around new people,” said Eli. It was lunchtime. Before Heath got exiled from school, Cathy had always eaten lunch with him. But now, she’d been eating alone. When she saw Eli sitting alone too, she’d thought it only made sense to join him. But all he’d done since she sat down was apologize for his sister. “Which I guess is everybody, because we move around a lot. She talks too much.”

  “It’s okay.” Cathy poked at her lunch, some kind of taco casserole that was oozing red sauce onto her tray.

  “No, it’s not. She made you uncomfortable this morning, and that’s not what I wanted to do.” He had a packed lunch. He was eating a sandwich and a pudding cup. “I probably shouldn’t even have stopped. I mean, you must think we’re both crazy.”

  “No, of course not.” She smiled. “I’m glad you picked me up.”