Chapter 4: Burden and Blame

My mother’s voice was sharp as ever. Her grief turning to blame.

I caught the shoe before it hit the wall. Setting it down quietly.

I let the words hang in the air. Watching them sink in.

Her voice was high and brittle. As if saying it louder would make it true.

I scrolled through the state statutes. Reading the law out loud.

Her hands shook as she clung to him. Her voice small for the first time.

His footsteps echoed down the porch. The screen door slamming behind him.

The kitchen filled with smoke. The old clock ticking loud in the silence.

His voice was soft. Almost pleading.

She paced the room. Her voice cracking with fear.

He glared at her. His own fear masked by bluster.

I took a deep breath. Choosing my words carefully.

He lingered on the porch. The smoke from his cigarette curling up into the night sky.

The silence shattered. Their fight was loud and vicious.

My mom was slow to react. But when she did, she scratched and pinched my dad’s face.

The kitchen became a battleground. I watched from the doorway.

I closed the door behind me. Shutting out the noise.

Her smile was forced. Lips stretched thin.

I kept my voice flat. Not meeting her eyes.

The pancakes were cold. The coffee bitter.

First time in twenty-two years!

Their eyes never left me. Watching every bite.

I wiped my mouth. Leaning back in my chair.

She fiddled with her napkin. Voice trembling just a little.

The audacity of it made me want to laugh. I stared at her, incredulous.

I let the silence stretch. Letting her feel the weight of her own words.

Her hand shot out. Gripping his arm. Her eyes wide with desperation.

Her tears were real this time. Carving lines down her cheeks.

Time had not been kind to her. The years showed in every wrinkle.

I weighed my options. Knowing what I’d say wouldn’t really matter.

Her hand lingered on my arm. But I slipped away.

I rehearsed my words all the way to the hotel. My palms sweating.

The lobby was sleek and modern. A world away from our valley.

He greeted me with a handshake. His grip firm but guarded.

His voice was polite. But there was an edge to it.

I kept my voice steady. Hands folded in my lap.

His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowing.

His words were final. The door slamming shut between us.

I smiled and shook my head.

I let the moment hang. Then leaned forward. My voice low.

His shock was genuine. His mouth opening and closing.

I met his gaze. Letting him see the truth in my eyes.

I watched his face soften. The anger giving way to something like gratitude.

Mark Parker’s face was complicated. After a while, he nodded softly.

I paused. Hand on the door. Letting the question linger.

His answer was careful. But I could hear the hope in his voice.

The whole valley turned out to watch. The air thick with gossip and fear.

The reunion was messy. Tears and accusations flying.

The words echoed across the yard. The crowd murmured.

The reunion was messy. Tears and accusations flying.

Secrets have a way of surfacing. No matter how deep you bury them.

She stood at the edge of the crowd. Arms folded. A smug smile on her lips.

Her words were cold. Her glee unmistakable.

I glanced at her speechlessly. Even now, she still had time to gloat.

Her bravado melted in an instant. She clung to the doorframe.

Her voice was shrill. Desperate.

I let the silence stretch. Then spoke softly. Almost kindly.

My father lunged at me. Rage twisting his face.

I leaned in close. My words just for him.

His eyes widened. Shock and betrayal flickering across his face.

She wailed. Her voice cracking.

I lifted my hand. Waving as if she were leaving for a long trip.

The door closed behind them. For the first time, the house felt empty in a good way.

The news spread fast. Some neighbors gossiped. Others avoided my eyes.

He sat on his porch. Shoulders slumped. Cigarette burning down to ash.

His voice was heavy, regret lacing every word. I sat beside him, the porch creaking under our weight.

I didn’t sugarcoat it. He winced, but nodded.

The silence stretched between us, filled with things neither of us could say.

He looked at me. Surprise flickering in his eyes.

He patted my shoulder. His hand heavy with meaning.

The envelope was thick. The money crisp.

He opened his mouth to protest. But I shook my head.

His words hung in the air. Old and tired.

I let the bitterness seep into my voice. The years of pain and disappointment rising to the surface.

He nodded. Finally understanding.

He tucked it into his coat, his shoulders sagging. I stood, ready to leave the past behind.

I let myself laugh. The irony bitter but freeing.

The morning air was crisp. The road winding out of sight.