Page 17 of Bad Decisions & Back Roads

The McClarys still ran beef.Always had.I could see the black angus out in the lower pasture, at least thirty of them.In contrast, the Hurst family had converted to dairy a long time ago.To me, dairy seemed more elegant and less brutal.It was more of a dance of life and the science of production to make a dairy work, whereas my father’s form of cattle production involved growth and killing.There was still an art to raising the cattle, not that my father cared to perfect it.No McClary on this farm cared if a beef cow gimped around on an abscessed foot for several months, whereas a dairy farmer would spend a buttload on a high producer to make sure her hooves remained healthy.

I pulled in beside Dad’s old Ford truck, the dented fenders catching the light like scars that never healed.My stomach dropped.He wasn’t supposed to be here.This was when he usually went out for groceries, according to Misty.

I killed the engine but didn’t move right away.My pulse ticked up, loud and uneven in my ears.I grabbed the list from Misty, shoved my key fob into my front pocket like a lifeline, and left my purse behind.Less to grab if I had to run.

I didn’t knock.The back doorknob gave under my hand.I stepped straight into the kitchen.Dread hit me when I was assaulted by the familiar smell of flour and butter, the too-clean counters, and the way nothing had changed since I was a kid.Mama stood at the counter, rolling out biscuits like she’d been doing every day for the last forty years.

She stilled when she saw me.A bruise bloomed along the left side of her face, darkening at the edges.Same old shit.Only, now I knew better.That wasn’t normal.It wasn’t something you could explain away.

“Are you okay, Mama?”The question slipped out before I could stop it.

“Of course, dear.”Her hand trembled as she pressed it into the dough, like she needed something solid to push against.“Why are you here?”

Her eyes flicked to the window in warning.

“I’m grabbing some things for Misty.Can you help me find them?I don’t want to be here long.”

“Of course.”She wiped her hands on her apron, already moving, already choosing me.“You shouldn’t have come alone.”

“Who would I bring with me?”

We moved down the hall fast.Misty’s room hadn’t changed since middle school, with its lavender walls and frilly curtains.It was frozen in a version of life where things were still supposed to be soft, even if they never really were.

“Give me the list.”Mama wiggled her fingers, but when I handed it over, she squeezed my hand for half a second like she needed to feel I was real.

“How is she?”she asked, already moving, grabbing a duffel bag from the closet.Drawers opened and shut.Hangers scraped too loud in the quiet.She stuffed clothes and items into the bag.

“She’s having a rough time, but she’s fighting for what time she can get.She worries about you.”I swallowed.“I do too.”

Mama didn’t look at me.“Don’t,” she said softly.“Don’t waste your worrying on me.”Her voice caught on theme.

“There.”She shoved the bag into my hands, breathing a little too fast.Then she pulled me in, sudden and fierce, like she didn’t have time to do it twice.Her hand came up to cradle the back of my head like when I was little.“Go,” she whispered against my shoulder.“Get out of here before he comes up from the barn.”

“Come with me, Mama.”I held on tighter.“Please.I can take care of you.”

Her whole body went still.For a second I felt the want deep inside her.Then she pulled back, hands framing my face, her thumb brushing under my eye like she was memorizing me.“I know you would try,” she said, voice breaking in a way I’d never heard before.“That’s why you have to go.”

“This isn’t right.”

“No.”A faint, sad smile.“It isn’t.”

“Come with me.”

She shook her head, but her hand didn’t leave my cheek.“If I leave, he won’t stop.You know that.”Her voice dropped lower.“I can keep him here.I can manage it here.”

My eyes watered.

“This is my lot, honey,” she said, softer now, like she was trying to make it gentle for me.“But you—” Her fingers curled into my jacket, gripping tight.“Look at how smart you turned out.You get to have a different life.You’re of good blood.And a good heart.Nothing like him.”She pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, then turned me toward the door.“I love you.”

“Go,” she said again, more urgent now.

I slipped out the same door I’d come in.Made it around the corner of the house and stopped dead.

He was there.Jimmy McClary.

For a second, everything in me went still.This was the kind of stillness animals held right before they bolted.

I’d seen him over the years in pictures Misty sent, but I hadn’t seen him in person since that night before I ran to Tennessee.Most kids who ran when they were sixteen didn’t make it.In retrospect, that had been insane.