Gradually, Josie’s breath steadied and the clanging in her ears subsided. She kept her eyes on the corn above, looking for a ripple or sway that might alert her to another presence. Josie’s mind whirred. Maybe the shooter thought she was dead. She considered lying on the ground in a heap and playing dead just in case he was still looking for her, but that was too scary.
She thought of Ethan and her father and the ugly words exchanged between the two of them. Her father’s terse words kept replaying in her mind: Ethan, give me the gun. And Ethan’s defiant refusal.
Was it Ethan? No. Josie refused to believe it. It couldn’t be her once-sweet brother who taught her how to bait a hook and how to ride a bike.
Josie needed to get her bearings. She had been in this field a thousand times. She could do this; she could find her way out and get help.
A scratchy rustle of leaves came from off to Josie’s right. Josie stopped and stood erect, holding completely still, listening. Clouds curtained the moon and stars, and the field’s shadows bled into one another until Josie couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. Still, she felt a presence some twenty feet away. She hoped, prayed it was her father or mother coming to look for her but deep down knew that whoever was in the corn with her wasn’t there to help.
The dry, whispery sound came closer and Josie pressed her fingers to her mouth to keep from crying out. Blood dripped down her arm and into a puddle at her feet.
Josie fought the urge to bolt. Stay still, she told herself. You can’t see him, so he can’t see you. But then the dark shifted—just slightly. The shadows darkened, and he was right there, just a few feet away, his back to Josie. So close that if she reached out, she could touch him, so close that she could smell the heat coming off his skin—the not so unfamiliar scent of sweat and body odor. Was it Ethan? Could her brother have been the one who shot her and chased her into the field?
A small grunt of impatience came from the figure and Josie held her breath. The shape began to drift away but then paused and slowly turned around. After what felt like an eternity, the shadow slunk deeper into the corn and disappeared.
Josie let out a shaky breath. He was gone for now.
10
The flowers’ delicate purple petals shriveled and dropped one by one to the ground, then blew away. Now prickly green nettles sprouted in front of the window.
Her mother was still sick, pinballing from the bed to the bathroom, hand covering her mouth.
“You have to get her to eat and drink something,” her father said one evening when he stopped by.
The girl would pull the chair over to the wooden shelf where they kept the food so she could reach the jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. The girl would try to make her mother eat, but she wouldn’t. She would resolutely keep her mouth shut, and the girl would end up eating the sandwich all by herself and wash it down with a cup of water from the bathroom sink.
Her father started bringing thick shakes for her mother to drink. He would prop her mother up in the bed and cajole her into drinking. “Just a little bit more,” he’d urge. “You have to stay strong for the baby.”
Her mother would try and please her father. Would take a few sips and then vomit into the bucket she kept by the bed.
“Come on,” her father would snap in frustration. “Keep trying.” Her mother would push the drink away and curl up into a little ball as if trying to disappear.
One day, after her mother refused to drink what he had brought her, her father went into a rage. “You’re worthless,” he said, grabbing the girl’s mother by the arm and wrenching her from the bed. “Don’t you care about her?” he asked, flicking a hand toward the girl. “Don’t you care about the baby?”
He dragged her mother to the table and forced her into a chair.
The girl pulled a book from the shelf, went to her spot beneath the window, and faced the wall.
Her father pulled a spoon from a drawer and dipped it into the cup. “Eat,” he ordered. Her mother tried to turn her head, but he held her chin and poked the spoon into her mouth. She gagged wetly and her breath came in hitches.
The girl turned the page of her book and recited the story to herself. It was the one about the princess and the pea. Though she knew how to sound out some of the words, she had the story memorized.
After a while, the retching stopped, the crying faded. Her father spoke in low, soothing tones. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? You ate almost all of it.”
The girl looked up from the pages of her book and watched as he gently wiped her mother’s mouth with a washcloth and led her back to the bed. Soon she heard her mother’s soft, rhythmic breathing. She had fallen asleep.