Shadow Man (Grayson Duet #1) - Catherine Wiltcher Page 0,1
at the bar until closing time.
Ma calls Cash her restless boy. She’s always telling him to stop chasing after a peace he’ll never find. Pa calls him a stupid son-of-a-bitch, and tries to beat the discontent out of him every chance he gets.
I call him lucky.
Lucky that he can see an escape, where all I see are those same broken white fences closing in on me.
We all suffer Pa’s temper, but Ma takes the most of it. If Cash ever makes it past the mailbox at the end of the driveway, it’s gonna be up to me to put myself between her and Pa’s fists. I ain’t going with Cash, no matter what he says, and that certainty cuts me to the core. I made that promise to myself the night Pa broke Ma’s jaw. I ain’t leaving behind something I can’t make right. And I will make it right... Someday I’m gonna be big enough to break his jaw right back. Someday I’m gonna be big enough to buy happiness the old-fashioned way—with blood on my knuckles and a smile on my face.
Cash is stone silent as he takes drag after drag, flicking ash at the ground like he’s spittin’ on someone’s grave. He’s got more of that faraway look in his eyes, and I’m guessing he’s reflecting on that choice I’ll never make. Leaving Ma doesn’t tear him up on the inside like it does to me, but something’s keeping him tied here. Not that he’ll ever share... Cash has a river of secrets running through his veins that start and end with freedom.
“You gotta ride those damn twisters every chance you get,” I hear him muttering.
“But how d’ya know they’re the good ones, Cash?” I ask him. It’s best to humor my brother when he’s like this. “How d’ya know they're not just gonna tear up the ground and shit?”
“You just do… Listen, don’t sweat it, you’re a smart kid, Shadow.” He says it like there’s forty years separating us, not four. “You’ll figure it out.”
Am I? Will I? I watch him grind his smoke into the loose straw. Shadow’s been his nickname for me for as long as I can remember. It's kinda funny 'cos I’ll be what’s left when his shine goes away.
“I’m good for nothing,” I say, dropping my gaze to the tin soldier in my hand. “Least that’s what Pa’s always telling me.”
“Yeah, well, Pa’s full of shit. Why d’ya wanna listen to that drunk old fart for?”
I tense so hard that my shoulders start aching. There’s a note of red in his voice.
More wax drips.
Now I want a twister to come. I want it to sweep everything we hate and fear about Shitsville, Texas, into the next state. I’m done being afraid all the time—afraid of what Pa’s fists are gonna do to us next, of Cash’s looks, of Ma’s hopelessness. My heart feels sore and angry from the minute I wake up until the lights go out again. Every emotion my twelve-year-old mouth can't express gets shoved inside it. I’ve always been short on words, but I feel everything. It’s a constant drip. It’s a faucet that never shuts off.
“Look sharp,” hisses Cash, nudging me as the screen door on the white house opposite swings open. “Incoming.”
“Joey! I need you to make a delivery to Bill’s place.”
Ma’s voice carries clear and strong across the yard. She’s wearing a brown dress, and her blonde hair trails flat and lifeless to her shoulders. If I looked down any further I’d see her feet rooted to this place as deep as mine.
"Sure thing, Ma," I yell back.
Bill’s our nearest neighbor who lives about half a mile away. Ma has a side hustle going on, but Cash and me ain’t allowed to ask questions about it. We deliver the shit, and we keep our mouths shut.
I peeked once. I couldn’t help myself ‘cos it stank to high heaven. Green and sticky and more precious than gold, judging by the look on Bill’s face when I handed it over to him.
Taking the package, I make it all the way to the end of the track, and then something nameless is driving my toes into the ground and spinning me back around. That same nameless lifts my hand in a wave to a watching Cash.
He lifts one in return, extending his middle finger at me with a cackle of a laugh that sends Ma’s stupid-ass chickens clucking and running again.