Devils Unto Dust(65)

“Fine.” Micah pulls out his rifle, and Pa takes a step back. My mind goes white and blank, and for I moment I think I’m going to see my brother kill my father.

“Easy,” Ben says.

“Micah, stop,” I say, moving in front of him. “Just. Stop.”

“Why?” Micah asks, and his eyes are too bright. “This is what we came here for, right? Come on, Will, be honest for once. We both knew he wouldn’t have the money. We both knew he wouldn’t come home. We came out here to kill him.”

I open my mouth, but no words come to me.

“See?” Micah laughs. “You’re not even gonna deny it.”

“Micah, stop this,” Pa says from behind me. “Think about your ma.”

“Shut up,” Micah yells. “You don’t get to talk about her, you lost that right a long time ago. You wouldn’t even help her . . . Willie had to do it. It should’ve been you, Pa. It weren’t supposed to be her.”

I flinch, feeling the memory bite. It was the last thing she asked of me, the only thing I had left to give her. I didn’t even look away when the gun went off. I owed her that much. It eats at me, every day it gnaws at me, even though it’s what she wanted. And that’s why I can’t allow this to happen, not because I can’t lose Pa, but because I can’t lose Micah. It would tear him up inside, and I won’t let that happen.

“Micah,” I say, and he looks at me with dead eyes.

“It weren’t supposed to be you,” he says hollowly.

“And this shouldn’t be you,” I tell him. “This ain’t on you, Micah.” I pull the rifle out of his hands, very gently. I look beyond him, to where Ben stands. He meets my eyes and nods at me, just once, before I turn and aim the rifle at Pa.

“Willie,” he says, putting his hands out.

“Give me a reason not to,” I say.

“I’m your pa.”

I shake my head. “Not good enough.”

Pa swallows hard, and gives me a ghost of a smile. “Your ma wouldn’t want this. You look just like her now,” he says.

After all this, that’s what undoes me.

“No, I don’t,” I say. “I don’t look anything like Ma. I look like you. I’m just like you, in fact. Bad luck follows me and I blame everyone but myself. And I’m a coward, like you. Because I can’t even do what I oughta do.”

I lower the gun, my hands trembling.

“That’s my girl,” Pa says.

I turn the rifle in my hands and smash the butt into Pa’s forehead. He drops like a stone, falling face-first into the dirty hay.

“Find some rope,” I order Micah.

Micah complies wordlessly, and I roll Pa over onto his side so he doesn’t die in his sleep. A line of blood trickles down his forehead, and I try to pretend he’s not my father, that I didn’t do this to him.

“I’m sorry, Pa,” I say to his sad, gray body. “You’re coming with us, one way or another.”





52.


We leave Pa where we found him, his hands tied and the rope looped through a hook. Even if he wakes up, he won’t be sober enough to get himself out of it.

Micah leads the way back to Mrs. Keen’s, taking long, angry strides that leave me lagging behind with Ben.

“He all right?” Ben asks me, watching Micah push past a stranger and turn the corner, his shoulders tight.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Pa has a way of gettin’ to him.”

“I can see that,” Ben says. “What about you?”

I shake my head. “I just wanna get this done.”

We get back to the house and I slowly climb up the steps, my legs heavy and uncooperative. I trudge through the parlor and into the dining room, where Micah is picking at the food still spread out on the table. I’m so tired, but I sit down across from him while Ben goes to find Curtis.

“You want to talk about it?” I ask.

Micah drops a piece of chicken and rubs his greasy fingers on his pants.

“Oh, now you wanna talk?” he asks, reaching across the table for the decanter in the center. “’Cause earlier you slammed the door in my face.”

Micah pours himself a sizable glass of what stinks like whiskey and I frown.

“I said I was sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re sorry, Pa’s sorry, everyone’s sorry.”

“I know you’re upset,” I say, gritting my teeth. “But you don’t understand.”

“Of course not,” he says, taking a huge sip and grimacing. “I’m only your dumb little brother, how could I ever understand?”

“Micah—”

“It’s all up to you, right? You make all the decisions, and it don’t matter what anyone else thinks or who you’re gonna hurt.” His voice cracks on the last word and he lifts his glass again.

“That’s it,” I say, shoving myself up. “You want to sit here and bellyache, fine. I’m going to bed.”

“Go ahead,” Micah calls after me. “Run off and leave again, Will, just like Pa.”

I storm past Curtis and Ben as I go, ignoring their questions and concerned faces. Micah can tell them what happened if he’s feeling so damn chatty. I barricade myself in my room, making sure the door is locked before I curl up on the bed and wrap my arms tight around my shoulders.