Dare Me by Rebecca Shea
“Right there. See it?” My father points to the perfectly aligned stars in the dark sky. “The Big Dipper,” he says quietly as not to disrupt the lightning bugs dancing around us in the humid evening air.
We lie on our backs, taking it all in. The endless sky you can see for miles, the crisp summer air tingling at my nose, and the quiet. You can hear everything here on the farm.
I’m beginning to get used to the silence. We moved back to Deer Creek, North Dakota, after my father lost every penny we had in an investment scheme. Everything he’d worked so hard to provide for our family was gone overnight—vanished into thin air at the hands of a so-called friend and mentor. Mom and Dad sold everything to pay off the debts he owed. We went from living a comfortable life, in an upper middle-class neighborhood of Chicago, back to my grandfather’s farm. This was where my mom grew up, and my uncle recently took over after my grandfather passed unexpectedly two months ago.
To say life has been full of changes lately would be an understatement. I pretend not to notice because I’m only thirteen. I’m supposed to believe that my family wanted to move back here, to northeastern North Dakota, for a simpler way of life. Except I’m wise beyond my years and learned to smell bullshit from a mile away a long time ago.
Murphy, the lab mix puppy that my dad gave me today for my birthday, sniffs the ground between Dad and me, and then settles into the cool grass at my feet. “Dad,” I whisper as I lace my fingers behind my head and focus on the Big Dipper he just pointed out.
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“Thanks for Murphy. He’s honestly the best gift I’ve ever gotten. You know I’ve been asking for a puppy for years.” I turn my head to the side to watch him as he stares at the sky. His Adam’s apple bobs ever so gently under the tan skin of his neck, and he inhales sharply before turning to look at me.
“I love you, Saige. I hope you remember that.” His voice breaks. He quickly clears his throat, burying a wave of emotion. “I wish I could’ve given you more.” He reaches out and squeezes my hand. His touch is firm yet gentle, and my normally hormonal self would shrug off his touch, but tonight, I let him hold my hand.
“I love you too, Dad.”
He sits up, leaning over to press a firm kiss to my forehead. Reaching down, he rubs the soft yellow fur on top of Murphy’s head before he pushes himself up from the ground. “Don’t stay out here too late,” he tells me, brushing the freshly cut grass from the back of his jeans.
“I won’t. Night, Dad.”
Dad shuffles his feet across the large grass yard toward the gravel drive and over to the barn that sits downhill from the house. The old barn door squeaks as he opens it and closes it behind him. When I can’t see him anymore, I settle back in to looking at the sky and searching for the Big Dipper again. It’s the one constellation he showed me that I could find time and again.
The metal screen door from the house hisses as it opens, and Uncle Brent bounds down the front porch steps toward me. “Whatcha doing, Piglet?” he says with a laugh.
“Don’t call me that.” I roll my eyes as he stands over me, blocking my view of the stars.
“Sorry, but you’ll always be a little piglet to me.” He chuckles. Brent is only six years older and more like a brother than an uncle to me. When I was born, he said I squealed like a baby piglet when I cried, and that’s where the nickname came from.
“I don’t like it,” I admit.
“I’m sorry,” he says half-heartedly before bending over and scooping Murphy off the ground. “Well, would you look how cute this little mutt is,” he says, rubbing Murphy’s muzzle.
“Dad got him for me.” I look at the fluffy puppy and I already love him.
“What’s his name?”
“Murphy.”
He smiles. “I like it; it fits him. He’s going to make a great farm dog, Saige.”
“He’s not going to be a farm dog. We won’t be here for long,” I snap, sitting up quickly.
Brent side-eyes me but doesn’t say anything. He knows what a touchy subject moving back to the farm has been for all of us.
“As soon as Mom finishes school, we’re moving back to the city,” I tell him as if I know what our plans are. I don’t, but I like to believe this is only temporary.
“Well, y’all are welcome to stay here as long as you need—I mean, want to,” he corrects himself. I know he feels sorry for us and he’s lousy at hiding it.
“Are you going to keep the farm?” I ask, because my mom has been pressuring him to sell it. She says that nineteen is too young to run a farm, that he’s got an entire life ahead of him away from this place. But I know this farm is all Brent really cares about.
“I think I am,” he admits with a smile. “It’s all I know, Piglet. I was raised on this farm, and it was Pop’s pride and joy,” he says. “I’m not ready to sell it, not sure if I ever will.” He sets Murphy down and stands with his hands on his hips. “Plus, I kinda like y’all being here with me.” He smiles at me and digs the toe of his tennis shoe playfully into my hip. I swat at his leg, and he jumps back with a boisterous laugh.
Suddenly, a large boom rings out and my body goes stiff, goose bumps instantly rising on my arms. “What was that?” I ask, my voice shaking with fear. The horses in the barn begin screaming, and it sounds like all-out chaos.