Despite the hot morning, Josie began to shiver.
“Where is everyone?” Matthew asked.
Josie looked out the window toward the second floor of the house.
“Up there?” Matthew asked, his voice filled with fear. Josie nodded. “Do I need to call for help?”
Josie nodded again and then turned her head away, resting it against the car window.
Matthew stepped from the truck. The yard was silent except for the insistent tick of the engine cooling down. “Stay here,” he told her as he moved toward the back of the house.
Josie’s grandfather entered the house through the screen door, which creaked and banged shut behind him. Josie remembered screwing her eyes shut as if this could protect her grandfather from what he was about to see.
And even though she covered her ears, Josie still heard his strangled cry, the thumping on the steps, and the crash of the back door being thrown open. She heard the gasp of her grandfather trying to draw air into his lungs and then the wretched sound of gagging and the rush of liquid hitting the ground.
Matthew’s anguished cries filled the air and Josie pressed her hands more tightly against her ears to block out the sound, but it did no good.
Deb Cutter, who was in her yard, a mile away as the crow flies, reported she heard the cries. She looked up from her weeding when the shrieking didn’t stop, and thinking it must be an injured animal, Deb wished to herself that someone would put the poor creature out of its misery. Frightened, Deb gathered up the sheets hanging from the clothesline and took them inside.
Gradually Matthew’s cries turned to a soft keening and then to silence. Josie remembered hearing the screen door creak open again. He was going back inside? Why? she wondered. Why would he do that?
He wasn’t inside for long. Josie heard the truck door opening and the soft snick of it closing again as her grandfather climbed back into the truck. She dared to take a peek at him. He sat slumped in the driver’s seat with his head bent and his weathered, age-spotted hands gripping the steering wheel. They sat that way for what felt like a long time, the temperature in the truck rising as each second passed.
In the distance, a faint, persistent wail bloomed. Sirens. Help was coming.
“Shoo,” Matthew croaked. “What happened here?” He raised his head and his red-rimmed eyes found Josie’s.
“I think they’re dead,” Josie whispered. “Did you find Ethan and Becky?” she asked.
“No, just your…” He let out a shuddery breath. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“I let go of Becky’s hand,” Josie said as if in a daze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The sirens were getting louder.
“It’s time to get out,” Matthew said as he opened the truck door. The blare of the sirens peaked and then abruptly stopped as two Blake County sheriff’s cars turned into Josie’s driveway and parked. “Stay behind me, Shoo,” he said and Josie held on to his belt loop as two men climbed out of their police cars, guns drawn. Once out in the open, Matthew held his hands up.
“They’re upstairs,” Matthew said, nodding toward the house. “They’ve been shot.”
15
The little girl sat on floor while her mother braided her hair. “When I was little, I had hair like this,” her mother said. “My mom used to braid my hair into a fishtail, but I never learned how to do that kind of braid.”
The girl liked hearing stories about when her mother was young, but it was a rare occurrence. Her mother’s parents were dead, and it made her sad to talk about them, so when they were mentioned, the girl savored every word.
The girl was just about to ask what a fishtail braid was when her mother suddenly gave a soft groan. “What’s wrong?” the girl asked, twisting around. Her mother stood and swayed. A bright red stain bloomed between her legs and blood oozed down her thighs.
“It’s the baby,” her mother murmured as she staggered to the bathroom.
“Is she coming?” the girl asked because she was sure the baby was going to be a girl.
“It’s too soon,” her mother cried as she peeled off her shorts and then shut the bathroom door.
The girl stood on the other side of the closed door and listened as her mother moaned and cried out. She was so loud. Too loud. The girl looked anxiously to the door at the top of the steps and hoped her mother’s cries weren’t disturbing her father. He’d be so angry.
“Shhh,” the girl said through the door. “Shhhh.” But her mother’s groans continued, rose and fell like waves. She sat down on the floor, back against the door, and waited, praying for help but also praying that her father wouldn’t come.