“Joe? What happened to you?”
He touched his lip, bringing a bloodstained finger into his line of sight, and smiled. Staggering farther into the living room, he stopped and stood in front of the framed wooden mirror hung above the couch.
“Damn, he got me good,” he said, turning his head side to side. Joe pressed his fingers against his cheekbone and winced.
“Who did that to you?”
He didn’t answer. He just started laughing like a madman. I hurried into the kitchen, grabbing a rag and running it under cold water. I took a cold beer from the fridge and popped the top off. Back in the living room, I found Joe collapsed on the couch. He took the rag and beer from me and delivered a grateful nod. He swigged from the bottle and then wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand.
Charlotte’s words swirled around my brain. I hope Joe keeps you here permanently.
I took two steps back.
“Where’s Calvin?” He clenched his jaw while he spoke.
“He just ran into town. He’ll be back soon.” I took a seat in the chair kitty-corner to the couch—farthest from Joe.
His bloodshot eyes scanned the living room and landed on me. “Calvin did this.”
“What? When?”
When could he have done that to him? He was with Albert and hadn’t been gone more than twelve or fourteen minutes now.
“When he told Wyatt that I slept with Charlotte.” Joe let out a laugh and took another swig of his beer.
I swallowed hard. I was the one that told Wyatt, not Calvin. I tapped my fingers on my knee and then brought them to my lips, biting on my chipped nails.
Joe shook his head. “I don’t even remember it, really. She came down to the tavern, telling me she wanted to talk, and then she came onto me. I don’t really recall the rest.”
I brought my arms in front of my body, folding them over my stomach. I hoped Calvin would walk through that door because he would do anything for me as long as he thought there was hope for us. Why was he never here when shit was hitting the fan?
“So, anyway. Wyatt came and confronted me earlier today. Told me he knew about Char and me.” Joe laughed. “My brother, the golden boy, turning on me again.”
He lifted his foot and slammed it against the coffee table. I jumped back in my seat ever so slightly. Predators thrived on fear.
“Did he tell you about our parents?”
I nodded. “I heard about the fire.”
Joe laughed again, a forced and terrifying laugh. “There was a fire in this family long before there was one in this house.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “What . . . what do you mean?”
“Our father wasn’t a good man. He was abusive, a drunk. Calvin got away for a few years. I was happy someone finally got out of this town. I stayed and worked this ranch every day. But I kept my distance from him. That left only one person in this house for my dad to abuse: Mom.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I ran my finger over a thick scar on my knee, busying my fingers. I wasn’t sure when or where I got it. Sometimes we don’t even know where our scars come from.
Joe took his foot off the coffee table and chugged the rest of his beer.
I blinked several times, unsure of what to say. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Just welcoming you to the family. I want you to know what you’re getting into. We may have escaped our father’s abuse, but we didn’t escape his genetics.” Joe smiled.
I stood from my chair and carefully backed toward the kitchen. I needed more distance between us.
“You’re scaring me, Joe.”
He jumped up from the couch, holding the beer by his side, his fingers gripping the neck of the bottle.
Joe took a step toward me. “Oh, there’s nothing to be scared of. I’m the only person that’s always been honest with you.”
I backed farther into the kitchen, inching my way to where the phone hung on the wall. “I think you should wait outside.”
“What are you doing, Grace?”
I didn’t answer.
His eyes darkened as he stumbled toward me. I grabbed the phone from the wall and pressed it against my ear. I could barely hear the dial tone.
“What are you doing, Grace?” he taunted.
I backed as far away from him as the cord would give. The coiled cord was already stretched out, and I wondered if this same situation had happened with someone else in this house.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency,” a woman’s voice on the other end said.
“Please send an officer to the Wells’ ranch out on highway 26.”
“Calvin’s taken everything from me. I think it’s time I take something from him.” His lips curved into a sinister smile. He hurled the beer bottle. As it shattered against the wall behind me, Joe wrapped his hand around the telephone cord and yanked the phone. It fell to the floor with a thud, breaking into several pieces.
“I never remembered driving the night Lisa died.” He gazed up at the ceiling like he was trying to conjure up a memory.
I furrowed my brow. “What are you saying?”
“I remember going out with Calvin and Lisa. I really didn’t want to because I’d worked twenty-four hours straight between the ranch and the auto shop. I just wanted to sleep, but it was his birthday. We took my truck to Pine Tavern. That’s the last thing I remember.”
“So, you must have fallen asleep on the drive home,” I said, inching away.
He stared into my eyes, moving his jaw side to side. My back pressed against the wall. It was as far away as I could get from him in the small kitchen. Charlotte’s words sprung to the front of my mind again. I hope Joe keeps you here permanently.
“Maybe. But Char told me something that makes me think otherwise. She said she saw us leave that night.” Joe coughed and blood trickled out of his mouth. He spit it onto the floor and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“What did she tell you?”
He took a couple of steps and stopped when he was just a foot from me. Joe leaned in and inhaled, sniffing my hair. I’m not sure how I smelled to him, but his scent was a combination of desperation and regret, like dark rum mixed with cigarette smoke and sweat. Pulling away, he smiled. His hand reached toward me, and I flinched （mistake）， thinking he was going to put it on me. Instead, he ripped the phone base clean off the wall. It crashed to the floor. Sweat gathered at my hairline. My breath quickened, and my eyes bounced all over the kitchen in search of something to protect myself. The knife block on the counter . . . too far away. My eyes went back to his.
“Don’t matter. Doesn’t change anything.” He shook his head and backed away from me.
“This place should have burned down the first time.”
“Maybe it changes everything,” I said.
He eyed me cautiously, and I thought he was going to reveal what Charlotte had told him, but his face twisted up.
“You shouldn’t have come here, Grace.”
I swallowed hard.
From his back pocket, he pulled out a small plastic bottle. Joe stumbled into the living room and looked around for a moment—almost as if he were taking it all in, one last time. He staggered to the large bay window adorned with thick, floral drapes. His head lolled to one side and then the other before he started dousing the curtains with the bottle’s cloudy-colored liquid.