Her mom and Roy got married when Kasey was in middle school, and her mom was so tough, so staunch about everything, Kasey couldn’t get through to her when she tried to talk her into leaving him. On one hand, she resented her mom for it, for tying herself to a no-good man like Roy, but on the other, it terrified Kasey—thinking of secret reasons why her mom would stick with him. Like there must’ve been something Kasey didn’t know, something she couldn’t ever understand. Maybe when you got to a certain age and had a kid to take care of and you let yourself be sad enough, let grief slice you deep enough, you forgot who you were. Maybe the who you once were escaped through those slits the grief-knife made. So you let people treat you all kinds of ways you never would’ve before, because you just got so tired.
Maybe her mom just got so tired.
Kasey’s mom saved her dad’s truck for her and signed it over on her sixteenth birthday. She didn’t like to let anyone else drive it, because it was all she had left of her dad outside of the farmhouse besides a pair of his old jeans and some of his T-shirts. But when Roy needed the truck, he didn’t ask, and Kasey was scared to say no. Plus, Roy needing the truck meant he would probably be gone with it for two or three days and things would feel normal for a little while.
Until he’d pop up again and ruin everything.
Dumbass put a cloud over that farmhouse, but Kasey felt her daddy there, even now. In those hardwood floors he’d measured, cut, and sanded himself. In that kitchen table he made with his bare hands. She fantasized about her daddy returning from the grave and saving them, taking his house and his family back. She kept a picture of him tucked in front of the permanently lit-up check engine light in her truck. In it, her daddy was young and shirtless. Smiling, shielding his eyes. Sun-kissed—his deep-brown skin even browner from working outside so much that spring she was born.
She never left the picture in the truck when Roy borrowed it; Kasey shut the engine off, put the picture in her backpack, and went inside.
In the kitchen, Kasey tied her hair up, turned her iPod on and tucked it in her pocket, put her earbuds in. Filled a pot with water for the pasta. Rosemarie, Ada, and Caro had pooled their money together and gotten her that iPod for her birthday. Kasey had cried; it was her second-favorite material possession after her truck.
She listened to the Chicks album as the pasta boiled, and she sang along, chopping mushrooms and onions for the sauce. She made meatballs from scratch, rolling them across her palms and carefully setting them to sizzle in the hot pan. Her mama taught her to make meatballs when she was a little girl, told her it was her daddy’s favorite recipe—from The Godfather, his favorite movie. Kasey felt a lift in her heart, thinking about her and her mama having the house to themselves for a couple days, maybe. She was stoked to surprise her with spaghetti and meatballs and the fancy garlic bread she’d just taken out of the freezer.
One of her earbuds was snatched out.
Kasey gasped. Roy, behind her. She hadn’t heard him come in.
“Your mama’s working late tonight,” he said.
“Oh. She didn’t call me—” Kasey began, rabbit-hearted.
“I was just at the store. I just talked to her.”
“Okay…well, I was making us spaghetti dinner, so I guess we can eat it later.”
He moved next to her and started filling up his big plastic cup with water. She was never scared of Roy when she was in the kitchen near the knives; the one she’d been chopping with was right by her pinky on the cutting board. She eyed it and looked out the open window at the sleeping vegetable garden waiting for her to put seedlings in, come May. She’d already started some basil, tomatoes, and sweet peppers under grow lights in the garage next to Roy’s weed plants. Like every spring, she was looking forward to planting berries. Even when the world was a sinkhole, little green sprouts made Kasey feel all right.
She could almost taste the metal of Roy’s sweat now. She wanted to die thinking about him getting on top of her mama smelling like that. Kasey heard them sometimes—the rhythmic thunking of the bed frame against their shared wall.
“I’m taking the truck until tomorrow night, so you’ll have to get another way to school,” he said after he was done filling up his cup and taking some gulps.
“Yeah…okay.”
“Did you put gas in it?”
“Nope.”
“So, you expect me to fill it up?”
Kasey turned the stove burner off and looked Roy right in the eyes for the first time since he walked in. She glanced at his red neck. He’s literally a redneck, she’d say to the girls.
“If you want to use it? Yep,” Kasey said, popping the p out in an annoying way. She was sweating now, and the cool air coming in through the window made the hair stand up on her arms.
Or was it the nasty look on Roy’s face?
“Well, if you can’t fill the truck up with gas, then you ain’t eating no dinner tonight,” he said. He snatched the spaghetti noodles off the stove and poured them down the sink, flicked the garbage disposal switch. It rumbled so hard the glass in the cabinets rattled and shook. He threw the sauce and meatballs down there too, cussing and growling about how hot everything was.
Kasey’s adrenaline tingled and spiked, then her blood went cool. She refused to cry in front of him, so she went to her bedroom to let the tears out. She allowed herself one big scream into her pillow, then she threw a change of clothes in her backpack with her books, left, and slammed the screen door behind her. She walked through the grass until she reached the edge of their property. She heard Roy start the truck engine in the driveway and peel out as she made her way along the path beside the lake, back toward town.
She didn’t have to say a word when she showed up on Ada’s porch crying.
“I’m making lasagna” was all Ada said, holding the screen door open for her. “It’s even better than last time. Now I do a mix of Italian sausage and ground beef. Also, fennel. Did I tell you I started adding fennel?” Ada now stood with her hands on her hips in her kitchen, wearing a ruffly yellow apron. There was a fingerprint of tomato sauce on her cheek; Kasey took her thumb and gently wiped it off. “Oh, and you’re staying here tonight,” Ada commanded. Kasey nodded her okay.
“What can I do? How can I help?” Kasey asked.
“You’re just in time for the layers, girlfriend. Start grating that mozzarella,” Ada said, pointing. “Taylor, set the table for one more. Kase is spending the night.” Kasey took her backpack off, set it by the kitchen door, and washed her hands.
*
The Plum table had a vase of red tulips in the middle of it. Kasey helped Ada make a simple garden salad, and she entertained Ada while she made lemon bars for dessert too. Ada said she wanted to make lemon bars because lemon bars made everyone happy and Ada was one of those girls who really did want everyone to be happy. Ada was easily the sunshine of RACK, and Kasey tried her best not to be the gloom. Even in the dark times, Kasey fought to keep a light inside herself, and it was that light and hope that would give her the wings to leave the darkness behind someday—she knew it. She could feel a faint, pulsing power deep in her heart, burning, revving up.