Gun Shy(96)

“The Lord doesn’t tolerate that kind of insubordination, and neither do I,” he ground out, bringing the belt down onto my lower back, the slap felt like a sting at first before turning into a slow burn, growing hotter and hotter as he took out the anger he felt toward the world on me. Blow after blow.

Thankfully, I wasn’t there.

After that first strike, I felt no pain. My mind wandered to the letter from my mom. The keys. The deed to land I never knew she owned and left for me.

I found myself smiling through the pain.

Father struck me for the last time, pushed on my shoulders and sent me falling to the floor. I landed on my hands and knees on the kitchen tile facing the cabinets.

“Get dinner on the table in twenty minutes,” he demanded like a king commanding one of his servants. He threw his belt to the floor. “Pick that up.”

He stomped back to the living room, taking with him whatever sick satisfaction he got from disciplining me. No matter how many times I heard how the Lord required the frequent discipline of women throughout my life I’d never believed it.

I never believed any of it.

I placed my hands on the countertop and used the leverage to pull myself to my feet. I picked up the thick bank envelope and suddenly became very overwhelmed with a feeling I wasn’t familiar with that must have come with my newly formed defiance.

Power.

My shoulders shook and I turned my back to the living room, covering my mouth to prevent any sound from escaping, but again, it was too late.

“Quit your sobbing. She’s gone. There is nothing we can do about it now but pray,” My father called out from the living room.

He didn’t know that I wasn’t actually sobbing. Especially, since I was too busy laughing.





THREE





SAWYER





It was my birthday. While most young women turning twenty-one (outside of the church of course) would’ve been out celebrating the milestone with friends and family, my plans didn’t involve presents or parties.

Mine involved something much, much different.

Escape.

Rusty and Blue had been exactly where Mother had said they would be in the storage unit. It took a lot of sneaking around to get to them, and was mostly done while father was attending the men’s service and thought I was in the women’s center helping prepare the after- service meal.

Rusty and Blue were both...old. However, when I turned the key for the first time and Rusty roared to life I squealed with joy. After a week of teaching myself how to drive a manual in the parking lot, I still wasn’t great, but I could manage.

I didn’t have time for great.

The front door slammed shut, my spine jolted with unwelcome awareness.

He was home early.

“Get down here, Sawyer!” Father’s deep voice called up the stairs. “The deposit from last week was never made.” I heard him opening and slamming drawers in the kitchen, rustling through the contents.

Instinctually, I froze as if my lack of movement might make him think I wasn’t really there. My heart was beating so hard and so loud that I was afraid he was going to hear it through the closed door of my room. I held my breath for a few beats. Blood rushed to my ears, burning them as if the walls of my room were on fire.

If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now.

I pushed the building panic down deep inside, and resumed hastily shoving whatever clothing was within reach into a backpack.

“I know you’re up there! Answer me, girl!” Father yelled out. This time there was a discernable slur in his words. His heavy footsteps hit the stairs. The smell of liquor wafted under my door just as he thundered onto the landing. “Once you remember where you placed the church’s money you’re going to face the harshest disci-pline of your life.”

He thinks I misplaced it.

I snapped thick rubber bands around the ancient pink shoebox in both directions and shoved it into my backpack.

The door handle jiggled, and my fingers fumbled as I tried to zip my bag without crushing the box. When it finally gave way and I was able to zip it all the way shut, I slung the backpack over my shoulders.

What sounded like a balled fist connected with the door. Twice. The third bang came with the sound of wood splintering. “Sawyer, you open this fucking door right fucking now!”

Jogging over to my window I slid the slow moving thick pane of glass open with a grunt. I was sitting on the ledge with my legs dangling over the side when the door flew off the hinges and fell with a thud into the room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Father barked. There was a slight sway to his step and I knew he was more than his usual weekday-drunk when he stumbled sideways into my dresser, sending picture frames crashing to the floor.

I lowered my feet onto the roof below. It was angled so in order not to fall off the narrow space I turned sideways and shuffled toward the back of the house.

When I reached the edge, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the ladder I’d stowed under the corner of the overhang was still there.

I lifted it up and lowered it down to the grass, the muscles in my arms trembling under the heaviness of the metal ladder.

There was a commotion behind me followed by the sound of Father’s boots shuffling over the rough asphalt of the shingles.

There was no time to check the sturdiness of the ladder. It shook each time I placed my foot on another rung. Father stumbled toward me, reaching the edge of the roof while I was still only in the middle of the ladder.