Shelf Life (25 page)

chapter forty-five

In two seconds, I'm down the hall, past the living room, and into the kitchen, where Mr. Leaher is standing at the door with a hand over his eyes.

"What's going on?"

"She's fucking dead, that's what's going on!" Jay pops his head up from the couch, where we laid Mrs. Leaher before Lindsey and I went out to the barn.

"That's impossible."

"It
is
possible, because she stopped breathing and she's cold!" Jay’s practically screaming and the look on his ashen face conveys anger, disbelief, horror and flat-out sadness. Judging by the way his neck muscles strain against his skin, he’s completely unstable.
Awesome
. Dad’s probably sleeping off his episode, Mom's MIA, and hopefully Sarah locked her door. I pray that Lindsey stays asleep. The last thing she needs is more stress.

I swear to God, this night could
not
get any worse. What do I do? Call an ambulance? The coroner? The police? Hell, it could be a couple days before anyone can get through from town. Do we just bury her in the frigging yard?

I take a few hesitant steps toward the couch to see for myself. Maybe Jay's freaking over nothing. I mean, it's been stressful for everyone. It wouldn't surprise me if he overreacted.

"Stay the fuck away from my mom, Twig," he says, planting his feet and crossing his arms.

"I just want to check to make sure. She was stable when we got her back here."

Mr. Leaher leaves his post at the door and shuffles over. "She's dead, Pete. She doesn't have a pulse. She must have hit her head harder than we thought."

For having his wife just die, the man's taking it ridiculously well. Something about this doesn't feel right.

"I—" I have no idea what to do or say. This is so far out of my league and I'm so. Damned. Tired.

I'm confused, I'm alone, and as harsh and selfish as it sounds, I just want Jay and his family out of my house. I know it's my duty as a human being and a member of this community to take care of them in their time of need, but so help me, I just want to focus on Lindsey, and hell, myself. Can't I catch a break? No, I've got to go dig a shallow grave for the mother of my sworn enemy. I turn to go back to my parents' bedroom when there’s a tug on the back of my collar. "No, you don't, Twig. This is your fault. Mommy and Daddy can't help you now."

Jay's eyes are wide and his pupils almost fully dilated. "We're going to settle this once and for all. You think this was payback for your stupid stockpile? I know you killed my mother on purpose and believe me, you're going to pay."

Mr. Leaher just stands there shaking his head. "Jay, don't be stupid. I expect better behavior from you."

My first thought is,
What do you know about the way your son behaves?
Either Mr. Leaher has his head so far up his ass that he really doesn't know his son's a bully, or else Jay learned it from him. The jury's still out on that one.

Jay stands, looks his father in the eyes, then pulls back his right arm and punches him in the face.
Hard.

Mr. Leaher goes down like a feed sack.

This can't be happening.

Hell, let’s just stack the bodies by the goddamn door, why don’t we? I barely have time to watch Mr. Leaher hit the floor before Jay lunges for me. I duck into the kitchen and behind the table. I expect him to come around it, so I move to the right. Instead, he throws all two-hundred-some pounds of himself onto the table, reaching across to grab the front of my shirt. He crashes to the floor, taking me with him. Bennie begins to bark.

I don’t stand a chance. The side of my head explodes in pain and the room gets dim. I hear a humming sound, followed by the frantic thumping of my heart in my ears. Can I fight a guy whose mother just died? In the back of my mind, I’m sure this is his grief coming out, but my body reacts to the threat.

Jay’s football physique gives him a huge advantage. I quickly realize there’s no way I can beat him with brute strength. My training kicks in and I remember my strengths: I’m leaner and quicker, and we’re fighting on my turf. I bring up my knees so he can’t pin me to the ground, then turn underneath him. He grabs my left arm, twists it, and pins it between us. Pain shoots into my shoulder, but it only lets loose a flood of fire in my veins.

I go limp for a few seconds. Jay automatically relaxes and at that exact moment, I snap back my head as hard as I can. My neck screams in protest, but Jay screams even louder as his nose crunches on impact. Scrambling out from under his weight, I dive for the mudroom and the cabinet above the utility sink. I find what I need, turn around, and find Jay inches behind me, blood dripping down his face and onto his shirt.

I cock the pistol in my hands and point it straight at his heart.

He stops, puts up his hands, and grins. “Go ahead. I got nothing to live for. You already killed my mom, so why not kill me, too? You know, if your mom wasn’t such a slut, this wouldn’t be happening.”

That word, slut, rolls around in my head. “What are you talking about?”

“She ruined our lives.”

“Whose?”

“Mine and my mom’s. My dad never stopped loving her and he wouldn’t let us forget it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I search my memory for any mention of them dating back in school. I come up with nothing.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I hate you so much? Do you know what it’s like to be compared to some faggoty little twig your whole life? I’m bigger, stronger, more popular, and still, my dad wishes I was you.
He got his smarts from his mom. He works hard like his mom. There’s a kid who really knows how to run a farm the right way.
”

“Are you on crack? Do you know how stupid that sounds?”

“I know exactly how stupid that sounds. I’ve only heard it every day of my life from that asshole.” He nods toward his dad, who’s still out cold. “You know how it feels to find your mom crying after your dad’s told her for the millionth time that she’s worthless? That he should have married Linda Wilson?”

I don’t. I have no idea. I’ve only seen unconditional love and support between my parents. It dawns on me that even though I’m the one with the gun, he’s in control of this situation.
Think, Pete
.

“I was MVP all four years in high school and made varsity at YSU as a freshman. A
freshman
! You know what he said?
You’re one injury away from being a nobody.”

“Jay, that’s got nothing to do with me or my
family. I don’t control your dad and neither does my mom. She’d be horrified.”

“Yeah?
That why she’s always flirting with him?”

“That’s bullshit. They barely see each other.”

“But every time they do, she’s smiling and laughing and touching his arm. I know what she’s up to. She gives him just enough hope to keep him dangling.”

“Jay, it’s called being nice. She’s that way with everyone.”

“Which is exactly why she’s a slut. Your sister, too.”

A red veil descends, and the gun begins trembling in my hands. “Take it back.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? I don’t think so. You’re too good for that, a rule follower. Your dad taught you too much respect for authority and forgot to give you a set of balls. Or does Lindsey Linger have them in her pocket?”

He’s right. I am a rule-follower, which is the only reason I haven’t blasted his smug face into a million pieces. “My balls are firmly attached, thanks, though it worries me that you’re so concerned about them. Is there something I should know?”

His face turns red. “You wish, Twig.”

“No, you’re not my type. I prefer people with brains between their ears. Since you don’t have any, there’s no point in shooting you in the head. You seem to have a heart, though, and it’s breaking for your mom. I get that, but it’s no excuse for what you’ve done. My dad also taught me to take responsibility for my own actions.”

He laughs. “Even now you think your shit doesn’t stink.”

Except that it does, and it’s going to be running down my leg soon if I don’t get it together. All of Dad’s tactical lessons fly right out of my head. I’m operating on instinct.

“Jay, we did what we could for your mom. I’m sorry she passed away. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but we have to be rational, and beating the crap out of me isn’t going to bring her back.”

“No, but beating the crap out of
her
sure shut her up.”

“What?”

Jay strolls over to his Dad and nudges him with his foot. I keep my gun trained on him. “Bet you didn’t know that, huh? This piece of shit hit my mom nearly every day because she wasn’t good enough. He’d find some reason to pick her apart. Criticize her cooking. Tell her she was getting fat.”

I swallow down the bitter taste in my mouth. “Be that as it may, I’m sure he didn’t want her dead.”

“No? Both of you are to blame.”

“Why do you have to blame someone? Sometimes shit just happens. He didn’t knock over that tree.”

Jay chuckles. “No, but when she woke up and began screaming, he back-handed her until she passed out again.”

My jaw nearly hits the hardwood floor. The gun sags and that’s when Jay lunges.

chapter forty-six

T
he pistol goes off, hitting a family portrait on the wall. It crashes to the floor near where Mr. Leaher is moaning.

I’m dying, I know it. I’m going to die under the weight of my motherfucking meathead neighbor. I’ll get out of digging a grave for Mrs. Leaher, and my only consolation is that Jay will probably have to dig one for me, too.

“She’s all I had,” Jay hisses into my ear. His hot nasty breath hits my cheek so I hold my breath. “You took her. I have nothing.
No one
.
Does that make you happy
?”

When I don’t answer, he digs his knee further into my back. “No,” I grunt.

“You think it was bad losing your stockpile? Your chickens? Your buddy Lewis? You don’t know pain, but you’re going to learn. Let me give you a taste of my world.”

Suddenly, the weight lifts, but he doesn’t let go. He snatches the gun,
uncocks the hammer and shoves it in his waistband before dragging me down the hall, and again I pray Sarah locked her door. Sure enough, he jiggles the door knob but it doesn’t budge.

“Leave Sarah out of it.”

“Leave her out of it? She’s ass-deep. You know,” he says, leaning close, “I love the way she gurgles when I come in her mouth, and the way she begs when she’s low on drugs. At first I let her sell for me because I knew she needed money, but then I realized she looks a lot like your mom. In a way, when I was fucking her, I was actually fucking your mom.”

The roar in my ears is deafening and I struggle to free myself from Jay’s disgusting grasp. He laughs and aims the gun at the handle, but a noise to our left makes him pause.

“What have we here?” He raises his eyebrows at the crack that’s appeared in my bedroom door. “Do I smell Lindsey? Must be, because I definitely smell your fear, Twig.”

“Yeah?
You smell my fear? Can you smell my fist?” It connects with his jawbone and blood sprays from his mouth, splattering the wall. Lindsey gasps.

“Lock the door, Lindsey!” But she doesn’t move and Jay’s got me by the shirt-front up against the opposite wall. I wince as the back of my head connects with the unforgiving surface. Still sore from my earlier falls on the ice, the pain sends purple stars twinkling in front of my eyes. In the second that my vision swims, Jay lets go and charges toward my bedroom door. Time slows as I watch Jay grab Lindsey and throw her into the room. I see each strand of her hair as it passes over his fist and forearm, the contrast between her soft brownish-red and the hard, pale muscle of his grip.

I fight through the pain and dizziness to throw myself at the doorway, but the world skids to a halt. On my bed, Jay’s arm loops around Lindsey’s neck while his other one points the gun at her head.

“And you thought seeing me screw your sister was bad, huh Twig? You’ll never
unsee me blowing out your precious Lindsey’s brains, either.” He shoves the barrel into her temple. “Any last words, sweetheart?”

“First,” she says, “don’t call me sweetheart. Second, I feel really sorry for you.”

Jay laughs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, your mom died, your dad’s an ass, and this is
really
going to hurt.” She snaps her head down and latches onto his forearm with her teeth. He shrieks and releases her, but doesn’t let go of the gun. Lindsey scrambles across the room and I quickly shove her behind me.

A maniac grin spreads across Jay’s face. Footsteps scuffle in the hall but I don’t dare look away from him as he raises the gun and points it at his own head. “You and your family took everything.
Everything!
Now you’ll have to live with it the rest of your pathetic lives.” Just as he closes his eyes, I feel something cold and hard pressed into my hand. I immediately raise it and aim. The shot hits his right shoulder, sending his gun flying and bouncing off the wall. Jay sprawls backward, blood pouring from the wound all over my bed. Lindsey dashes over to him, ripping the sheet off the bed and wrapping it around his arm to slow the bleeding. Sarah’s right behind me, shaking and pale.

“Thanks for the gun,” I tell her. She just nods. My parents and Mr. Leaher crowd behind her.

“What the hell is going on?” Dad yells. Mom cries while Mr. Leaher shoves me aside and runs to his son.

“You shot my son?”

“He was going to shoot himself. I had to stop him.”

“By shooting him?
Your ass is mine, little man.” He steps toward me but Sarah throws herself between us.

“He had no choice, Mr. Leaher.”

He raises his hand and before I can react, backhands my sister across the face. She falls to the ground and next thing I know, Bennie’s barking and growling and launches herself at Mr. Leaher. He backhands her, too. She bounces off my desk and falls to the floor in a motionless heap.

“You son of a bitch,” Dad snarls.

Evenly matched in height, weight and age, Dad goes all Krav Maga and quickly gains the upper hand, using moves I’ve never seen. Mr. Leaher cries out when Dad twists him onto the floor with his arm behind his back and Dad’s knee planted on the back of his shoulder.

“
Gimme your belt!” Dad barks. I snake it off my desk chair and toss it to him. He winds it around Mr. Leaher’s elbows until they’re practically touching then cinches it tight, effectively immobilizing Jay’s dad.

While Mom tends to Sarah, I move closer to the bed. “
He going to make it?” I ask Lindsey.

“Yeah, it was a clean shot and I’ve slowed the bleeding.”

“Do we need to restrain him?”

“What do you think? Look at him.”

All two-hundred-some pounds of Jay are curled into a ball on my bed except for his right arm, which Lindsey’s holding above his head. She seems fine, but he’s sobbing and shaking, whether from the gunshot wound or the reality of the whole situation, I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care. I scoop up Bennie and carry her into the living room. Mrs. Leaher is still laid out on the couch, so I settle in Dad’s leather recliner and rock back and forth with my dog on my lap. She’s gone, and I knew it the moment she hit my desk, but I need a few moments to say goodbye.

“I shot someone tonight, girl.
Not a target, not a pop can, not even a deer or a rabbit. I shot a person. Didn’t kill him, but still.” A tremor works its way from my chest outward while I continue to stroke Bennie’s head, down her back and to the tip of her bushy tail, smoothing the stray tufts and avoiding the broken ribs that push on the skin of her abdomen. For a second my mind plays tricks and I think I see her breathing, but I know it’s all in my head. It happened at my grandfather’s funeral and it’s happening now. Her ears and nose grow colder as the seconds tick by, but I’m rooted to this chair.
I shot someone. I shot someone. I shot someone.

“I know you did, baby.” At Lindsey’s voice I lose it. I turn my head and bury my face in her sweater. Her arms wrap around my neck and she holds me while I struggle to get control. When I’m okay, she kneels down next to the chair and begins petting Bennie, too.

“You okay?”

I sniff and nod, not sure “yes” would be the complete truth.

“Want me to get her blanket?”

Again, I nod and watch Lindsey walk to the kitchen where she pulls Bennie’s knitted blanket from her bed. Mom made it when she was just a puppy and she’s slept with it ever since. It’s nothing but rags now and you can’t even tell what color it used to be, but I treat it like fine linen wrappings and swaddle Bennie in it. Then I stand and place her on her bed, pulling
the blanket up to cover her head.

Lindsey and I stand side-by-side holding hands.

“Can’t bury her until morning at the earliest,” I tell her.

“I’ll help.”

“Thanks.”

We shuffle back to my bedroom, where Jay is sitting up on my bed. Mom’s wrapping his wound in gauze. “Michael, get the antibiotics from my bug-out bag, please.” After giving Mr. Leaher a dirty look, he shuffles out the door without looking my way even once. I want to be offended, but I know he’s not really here now. He’s in survival mode, and since I’m no longer in danger, I’m not in his field of vision.

“Where’s Sarah?” I ask Mom.

“In my bed,” she says. “Can you get her a cold pack for her face?”

“Sure. He okay?” I lift my chin at Jay.

“Fine.
Tomorrow when the roads clear up, we’ll get him to a hospital.”

“Am I in trouble?”

She smiles. “No, son. You did everything just right. You saved his life, and there were witnesses.”

I take a deep breath and Lindsey squeezes my hand. “Let’s get the cold pack for your sister.” She leads me away and sits me down at the kitchen table while she rifles through the freezer.

“Ironic that I’m getting a cold pack from the freezer when there’s a foot of snow and ice outside,” she says.

After that, I lose track of her words. To my right lies my dead dog. To my left lies my dead neighbor. Funny, I always thought the apocalypse would be
some huge, cosmic event—an electromagnetic pulse or a pandemic disease that wipes out entire cities. Throughout all of Dad’s drills and preparations, I never dreamed it would come in the form of a local ice storm and a neighbor with a life-long grudge.

Fingertips brush my face. “Pete?”

“Hmm?”

“Come with me.” Lindsey holds out her hand and because there’s nothing else I’d rather do, I take it. She pulls me into my parents’ bedroom, which is dark and silent except for the muffled crying of my little sister. Lindsey flicks on the bedside lamp. Sarah’s buried herself under the plaid flannel sheets and quilt, forming a lump in the center of the bed. Lindsey carefully pulls back the top layer, then the next.

“Sarah? I have an ice pack for your face. Your mom’s orders.”

She pops her hand out.

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Sarah, I know it hurts, but I need to see if you’re bleeding.”

“I’m not. My mom took care of it.”

“Sarah, there’s someone here who will rest a lot better if he sees that you’re okay. Come out, please?”

Under the covers, Sarah sighs. She slowly lowers them from her head and peeks out with one eye. The other is swollen shut.

For the second time tonight, tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. “Oh my God, Sarah. I’m so sorry he did that to you. Why did you get between us?”

“Don’t know. Just did.”

“Well, thank you. I thought you hated me—”

“I do.”

Lindsey and I both grin. “I’m glad you still hate me. I’d be worried if you didn’t. Put this on your ugly mug and stay put until Mom or Dad come get you.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” I can hear the smile in her voice and the knot in my stomach begins to relax.

“Whatever, brat. I’m sleeping in your room, by the way. Drool all over your pillows and everything.”

Sarah pulls the covers back over her head but sticks out her hand in a middle-digit salute. Lindsey turns off the light and we quietly shut the door behind us.

“Should I try to get home?”

“Are you crazy? No way am I letting you out of my sight.”

“I’m fine now, Pete, and you’ve got a lot to deal with here.”

“
Which is why you have to stay. Not because I need to look after you, but because I need you to look after me. Would that be okay?” After blinking a few times, she throws her arms around my neck. “I take that as a yes.” She nods into my neck as I hold her close.

Dad tromps into the hall and ducks into my room with a pill bottle in his hand. Since they have things under control, Lindsey and I commandeer Sarah’s room. I don’t bother turning on the lights, opting to head straight to the bed. Lindsey slips in front of me and under the covers. She opens her arms and I crawl in next to her, my back to her stomach.

She pulls the covers up to our chins then settles her arm around my waist. Our warmth settles into my muscles as exhaustion takes over. I try to tell her I love her, that she’s so brave and I’ll always be there to protect her, but I’m drifting quickly. Just before I lose the battle to stay awake, her warm fingers splay on my stomach and she whispers, “It’s you and me, Pete. You and me.”