Snakeroot

5. Daddy's Wrath

For a little while, maybe about three weeks, things were better than they'd ever been. Juan came around almost every day to see Tara, and he didn't seem to mind if she was sweaty or smelled like onions from being at work. He just wanted to be near her.

He helped us kids with our homework so that Tara could have a shower, and when she came out, she would put us to bed and go outside with him. Megan and I watched sometimes from the window, even though we were supposed to be sleeping. Sometimes they sat outside and talked, and sometimes they sat in his car. Sometimes they kissed, and sometimes it lasted for a really long time.

He became part of our daily routine, and as Tara fell in love with him, so did the rest of us. It didn't take long. It was almost like having a proper family whenever he was there. And the best part was that whenever he was there, neither Daddy nor Uncle Henry would come to the camper.

But then, after that first three weeks, Juan's Daddy got a big job in the next town over. That meant Juan had to work after school a lot later than usual, so he didn't get to come over as much. I hated when he couldn't come, because Tara was more like her old worried, tired self on those days. Whenever he was there, she was much happier and more carefree. I loved seeing her happy. It made me happy too.

Summer was fizzling down into fall during that time, which Tara later said was a lucky break because I could wear long sleeves to hide the damage Daddy did that Thursday. Juan wasn't there, and Daddy was drunk again. Tara later said he was probably messed up on something else too.

Daddy had hit me before. He'd hit all of us, except for Tommy. But normally he took most of his anger out on Tara. That day, he stumbled into the camper as Megan and I sat at the table doing homework. He came right at me, smelling of stale beer and cigarettes, arms huge and hairy in his old work shit with the sleeves cut out. He hauled me up out of my seat by my left arm and threw me to the floor. And I don't mean he just dropped me - he slammed me down so hard it shook the camper. I hit the floor on my right side, and for a minute the pain was too great for me to even make a sound.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" Tara cried.

"This brat left her damned soccer ball in the yard again," he boomed, scaring Tommy to tears. "She's gonna get her worthless ass outside and pick it up!"

"I don't have a soccer ball," I said quietly, trying to sit up.

He yanked me up by my left arm. He was yelling something but it was hard to hear anything over the pain that was blooming throughout my right arm; I fought to stay upright, afraid to fall again, afraid of angering him further. Then all of a sudden I was outside in the dirt, face down, nose and chin numb. I heard screams and yelling, but for a minute I couldn't even move. Everything was upside down, or sideways - then, I could move, and I did move. I scooted backwards into the space underneath the camper, just past the little steps.

I heard thumps and cursing from both Daddy and Tara, then I heard Megan scream. The camper shook. Then Daddy flew out the door and landed in the dirt much the same as I had.

"Stay away from us!" I heard Tara scream; her voice was savage, like a warrior. "Take your drunk self home and don't you touch these children again or I sweawr to God in Heaven I WILL CUT YOUR THROAT! You hear me?!"

Daddy grunted, then sat up. His mouth was bloody. He shook his head, slinging red drops around, then got up and stumbled back towards his trailer. I watched him, terrified that any second he would turn around and see me cowering beneath the camper.

But he never did turn around. Tara came outside crying. She pulled me out from under the camper and hugged me, sobbing into my hair about how sorry she was.

"I'll kill him if he comes near you again," he said. "I swear I will."

We went back inside. Tara doctored my scrapes and bruises. She reckoned nothing was broken, but said I had to wear long sleeves to school until the bruises went away.

"Don't tell Juan what happened either," she warned me. "He'll just go crazy and try to kill Daddy himself. I don't want him to go to jail."

But I wanted to tell Juan. In that moment, I wanted to tell everyone I knew that Daddy was a mean old drunk and that he hit his children, because this wasn't right. We weren't supposed to be living like this. And I couldn't shake the suspicion that even if someone did save us from his life, the mark it had already left would never fade.

Daddy didn't come back to the camper that night, but Uncle Henry did.

Now, Tara had told us before that she didn't want us around him. And at first, I didn't really understand why. He knocked on the door, after all, and asked nicely if he could come inside. Tara left him in, wary-eyed, as he took a seat on the little steps that led up to the sleeper. He stretched out his long denim-clad legs and leaned back against the top step with an elbow.

"I heard the commotion earlier, then Earl came in with a bloody lip," he said. "Are you kids alright out here?"

"We're fine," said Tara tersely. "He's gone and we're alive."

"Well, what about that boyfriend of yours? Haven't seen him in a day or two. He move back to Mexico?"

"No," Tara snapped. "He's an American citizen, just like I am. He's at work, if you must know."

"Really? What does he do?"

"He works in construction."

"Well there's a surprise," he said, chuckling. "Never woulda guessed he had it in him. Is he taking care of business for you?"

Tara threw the rag she'd been wiping the counter with into the little sink and said "What do you mean?" in a calm, dangerous voice.

"You know what I mean," said uncle Henry with this weird little smile.

"I have no idea what you mean," Tara said.

Then he looked at me and gave me the same weird little smile. "I bet little Eliza knows what I mean," he said. "Don't you, Eliza? How old are you now - twelve? Thirteen?"

"I'm eleven," I said. In that moment, I began to understand why Tara didn't want him around us. There was something in his eyes, a certain type of heat, that didn't belong there. It sort of made me feel naked, and I didn't want him looking at me anymore.

"You sure are turning into a pretty young lady," he said. "I always liked brown hair and brown eyes."

"Eliza's eleven years old, Uncle Henry," said Tara, face now blazing red. "Why don't you go on back to your trailer now? We're not hurting anybody out here and we don't want any more trouble."

"Maybe I will," he said, "if you'll walk me back."

"Walk yourself back."

"That's not real nice, Tara Claire. I remember when you was only eleven yourself. Pretty little thing, but not like Eliza. Now why don't you be a nice, good girl and walk me back to the trailer, unless you don't mind if I stay...?"

Tara's face went from red to white. She picked up the rag again and walked wordlessly out the door. Uncle Henry followed her. I closed the door behind them.

I sat down at the table again. Megan and I looked at each other, worried. We didn't know what was going on, but I knew that I didn't like the way Uncle Henry had looked at me. I still wasn't sure why Tara wanted us to stay away from him, but I found that I no longer wanted to question it. There was something off about him, and I wanted nothing to do with it.

Tara came back an hour later. I was worried she'd be hurt, but she seemed to be just fine, other than still aggravated about Uncle Henry.

"I'm gonna take a shower," she told us. "Lock that door and if he comes back, you girls scream bloody murder. And don't worry about Daddy, he's already passed out."

He didn't come back, but their trailer loomed just outside the window. A darker shade of black seemed to emanate from it, like a black hole. I wondered how long it would be before we were consumed.