of turn, bringing up things I would have talked with Zoey about myself and certainly didn’t want to at that moment. I might have run too. I didn’t even notice Zoey was gone for a good hour.
When Ella called me Daddy, the moment eclipsed everything. She hasn’t done it again since, and when Ella realized Zoey left, she closed up tighter than a clam for the rest of the night.
At least until Mama said she could let the baby goat sleep with her. I still can’t believe Mama let a goat sleep in the house.
“Is Ella asleep?”
Mama nods, then bends to kiss the top of my head. “I’ll check on her before I go to sleep. And the goat.” She sighs, like she still can’t believe she’s letting the thing sleep inside either.
“It’s going to poop everywhere.”
“And my son is going to be kind enough to clean up its mess tomorrow,” she says. “We’ll leave our door open. If Ella wakes up, we’ll know.” She hesitates, standing by my chair for a moment. “We’ll keep an eye on her if you want to drive back to Zoey. It’s only a few hours there, a few back.”
Part of me is tempted. But when I think of the sleeping girl upstairs, I know that I can’t leave her too. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” I say. “I can leave early in the morning to drive back.”
“If you say so.”
I’m not sure it’s the right decision. Part of me wants to tear out of here, sending the gravel flying under my truck’s tires. But I really don’t feel I can leave Ella and be the third person this week to walk out on her. Tomorrow. I can wait. Even if I feel sick, and know I won’t sleep well, wishing I’d gone tonight.
The stairs creak as Mama makes the climb. Sighing, I lean back in my chair and run my hands over my face. Mama and Daddy are getting older, too old to keep running this place. If my brothers refuse to take it over, I know I would rather move here than see it sold off. Would Zoey even want that? One more thing we should have talked about. But if she doesn’t and my brothers don’t, I’d let it go. For her.
Realizing this only makes my regret deepen.
I should have moved quicker. Months ago. A year ago.
Maybe if I had kissed her sooner. Maybe if I’d told her that she made me rethink my stance on marriage.
Maybe I should go to bed.
Tonight, I could sleep in my old bed upstairs. It’s empty and familiar, certainly more comfortable than the couch downstairs. But I know it would smell like Zoey, so I stretch out on the couch, squeeze my eyes closed, hoping I’m not making a huge mistake not chasing her down tonight.
I’m awoken by a sharp jab to my ribs.
When my eyes fly open, it takes a moment to make sense of my parents standing over me, grinning like terrifying versions of the Joker, all the manic but without the makeup and the menace.
“You have to see this,” Mama whisper shouts.
It’s the gray light of almost dawn. I remember this color streaming through the windows from so many days waking up to do chores, watching the way color bleeds out over the sky to announce the arrival of the sun as I filled troughs and feed buckets.
I yawn. “Are you going to make me feed the pigs?”
Daddy rolls his eyes with such force that I swear I almost hear it. “Get up, son.”
I stand, too tired to argue with them, even if I don’t understand why they’re behaving like lunatics. “Is this about the goat? Is there goat poop all over the house?”
“Probably, but who cares about a little goat doody?” Mama waves a hand and shoves me toward the stairs. She has the strength of a bull when she sets her mind to it.
Still trying to shake the vestiges of sleep, I climb the stairs, skipping the familiar creaking ones that I memorized when I was in high school, trying to sneak around. Trying being the operative word. Mama and Daddy were wise to me, and one of them always seemed to be waiting by the door on the nights I tried to sneak out.
Unsure where to go, I check Ella’s room first, still shocked by the transformation of the basic room my brothers used to share into what looks like a cupcake factory exploded. The bed is empty, and sure enough,