Sweet Iced Tea

Chapter 17

Wednesday, October 1st

It's winter time, but I'm not cold. I'm in the barn with Dad while he tinkers on a weed- eater, and I'm sitting on the edge of his work table, watching in fascination as he unscrews a few bolts and lifts one half of the motor from the other half.

He turns his dark brown eyes from the greasy machinery innards to me.

"They are being mean to you again?"

I nod hard. "They always are."

He chews the inside of his cheek the way he always does when he's deep in thought. "You shouldn't let them be that way to you."

"What else can I do?"

"You could fight back," he offers, carefully pulling a gasket away from the edge, where it was joined to the other half of the motor.

"No. They'd beat me up."

He smiles gently, shaking his head and wiping some of the grease from his big hands with a rag. "They wouldn't. They wouldn't know what to do if you stood up to them." He tries in vain to remove another piece from the main chunk. "Can you hand me that wrench?"

"Which one?"

"That little one, 1/16."

I hand him the wrench, and breathe in the smells of the barn. Grease, exhaust, gasoline, metal, rust, and and WD-40. Mom says it stinks, but I love it. It smells like Dad, and home, and safety from the kids at school who call me names.

The rickety old propane heater in the corner wobbles when I hop off the table, hitting the floor hard.

Our barn cat, Carly, rubs against my legs, purring like a motor boat. Her wildly-spotted calico fur gleams like silk in the dim light of the one working lightbulb. She looks up at me with her huge, green eyes, and meows.

"She's a good kitty-kitty, yes she is." I coo, and scratch her behind the ears.

Sitting down on a five gallon bucket, I pull her stiffly reluctant body into my lap. The warmth of the heater against my back lulls my mind, and I am relaxed until I think back.

Your mom and dad must be stupid. Who would want a kid like you? You were an accident, and still are. They'll probably all leave you. Her voice rings shrill and sharp in my ears, her tone bouncing harmlessly away, while the words sink their claws deep.

Dad glances over at me, a smudge of grease on his cheek, and his eyebrows form a concerned 'V'.

"What's wrong, Agapé-love?"

"Daddy, do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Am I an accident?"

"No."

"Do I make you want to leave?"

"No." He frowns sadly. "I am so happy I have you, and I'll always be here. I'm not going anywhere."

♡}¤{♡

I wake up in a cold sweat. Josh said those exact words. I'll always be here. I'm not going anywhere.

Is this a sign?

I inhale shakily, and climb out of bed. There's no chance that I'll be going back to sleep. I turn my phone on and look at the clock. It's 3:30 am, but I don't care. I dress in the dark, as quietly as I can, and thank goodness Cora doesn't wake up. She'd ask questions, and I'm not in the answering kind of mood.

I tiptoe through the house and out the back door, heading to the barn. It looms up in front of me, huge, cold, full of memories. I open the door slowly, then fumble for the cord to turn on the electricity.