Sins of the Fathers (7)

School drew to a close and another hot summer settled in.

Daddy’s visits had dwindled, becoming sporadic and brief, which was just as well since most of the time he arrived drunk, or well on his way there. Granny got mad and they always ended up arguing. I wondered why he even bothered coming here at all.

Ira and I met almost every night at the bridge over Eddy Creek. As he had promised, he didn’t try to take it farther when we kissed and cuddled, seeming content with that.

Neither one of us spoke of Bubba Higgins.

But Ira brought up another subject. “You remember the night we met, how I told you I’d be leaving here in about a year?”

I had forgotten. He had never mentioned it but that one time. “Now I do.” My heart lodged in my throat. “But you’re not going to now—are you?”

“Not right this minute, but yeah, before long I will be.” He rested his forearms on a cross-rail and gazed down at the water below. “I’ve been saving up some money, and before summer’s over, I should have enough to get the hell outta here, maybe go somewhere up north.” Continue reading

Sins of the Fathers (9)

Using the shortcut Mr. Jamison had shown me, I returned the following night. The trip took a little over five minutes, compared to the twenty or so going by way of the road. As the crow flies, our homes were closer than I had realized.

When I tapped on the back door, Ira called for me to come in. I entered the murky kitchen whose only source of illumination came from a bright shaft of light falling across the adjoining living room floor. “Back here!” he hollered.

I followed his voice and the source of the light.

He wasn’t on the sofa as he had been last night, but in a room to the right—his bedroom. This room, like the rest of the house, was dirty and unkempt. I supposed men must not know how to clean house, that or didn’t care. But it could have been even worse, and I wouldn’t have batted an eye. I would have waded into a pigsty to see Ira.

Propped up on a mound of lumpy pillows and covered to the waist by a dingy, threadbare sheet, he lay on the bed. Suspended on a black wire, a light bulb dangled from the ceiling, lighting the glossy magazine that lay open on his lap. Continue reading

Sins of the Fathers (10)

“What?” I shrieked, struggling to my knees, covers pulled up to my chin. “What did you say?”

“Was it good stuff, boy?” Mr. Jamison’s eyes narrowed. “If she’s half as good in the sack as her mama was, she’s one prime pussy.”

Ira pounced, twisting Mr. Jamison’s shirtfront in his fist. His other hand dove into the front pocket of his jeans, came up in a blur of motion and clicked open a switchblade. He touched the point to his father’s throat. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Now just hold on, there ain’t no need getting excited.” A thin trail of blood trickled down Mr. Jamison’s neck. “Fuck her all you want, hell, it ain’t no skin off my ass—ow!”

Ira pushed a little deeper. The trickle became a stream. “Goddamn you, what are you talking about?” He slammed Mr. Jamison against the wall, the knife blade now resting sideways against his throat. “I want an answer—now.”

“I done told you, boy. She’s your sister. Hell, I don’t—”

“Liar!” Ira roared. Continue reading

Sins of the Fathers (11)

“Oh?” she asked, eyes wary.

“He’s not just a friend. I’m in love with him.”

“You can’t be in love with him, he’s your brother, much as it galls me t’say it.”

“I didn’t know that before, and now it’s too late.”

“What do you mean, it’s too late? Now that you know he’s your blood—”

I grabbed her hands, stilling their nervous fluttering. “Granny, I’m going to have his baby.” There wasn’t a kinder way to say it.

She folded in on herself. “And the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children…” She began to weep, her narrow shoulders shook. “Dear Lord, call back your vengeance…not little Chloe…no…”

Another stab of guilt pierced my heart. “Please, Granny, I need your help.”

“Help…yes…” She swiped her face, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. “You can’t have that chile, Chloe. There’s no tellin’ what might be wrong with it. I’ll talk to Doc Miller—”

“Are you talking about abortion?” My arms curled around my belly. “I hadn’t even considered that. Ira wants us to go away and get married. He—”

Granny lurched to her feet. “You can’t marry your brother. That’d be an abomination in the sight of the Lord.” Continue reading

Sins of the Fathers (12)

 

I leaned back, stared up into the soulless darkness gathered near the ceiling, and began. “They’re always the same. Ira is making love to me on the floor in the front room of Granny’s house. But there’s also another Ira in room. He…he has a knife, and he’s cutting on people. Sometimes it’s his father, or mine, or Bubba Higgins. Sometimes it’s even Granny. He’ll be stabbing that switchblade of his into them, over and over again. Each time that other Ira sticks the knife in, the one on top of me rams inside me. It hurts and…and…blood is gushing out of me down there. I’m lying in a pool of it. And the worst part…” I paused, took a swallow from the bottle. “…the very worst part, is that I’m enjoying it, clawing at him, begging for more, even though I know he’s killing me too.” A shudder racked my body. Continue reading