Page 95 of Call Off the Dark

Helen had learned about that plenty in her favorite night class she’d taken at the university for her now-abandoned career change into the museum world. The class, “Victorian Era Mental Health Treatments in America,” had been so fascinating she’d sometimes curled up in bed at night and read beyond the assigned pages.

Often Tyler would lie beside her and listen as she’d paint him disturbing pictures of electroshock therapy, ice baths, and lobotomies for women who dared to challenge the status quo. A woman who was mad about the world might be labeled as the other kind of mad and forced into a treatment. Sometimes Tyler would ask questions or he’d joke that “these aren’t suitable bedtime stories,” but mostly he just listened as her voice filled their dim bedroom until, eventually, his eyelids would begin to flutter. She had apologized once. “Sorry, was I boring you?” she’d whispered. Eyes closed, already drifting, Tyler had smiled softly and said, “Never ever.”

Wade probably wished he could sign her up for a lobotomy. Especially now that he’d finally figured out how to run his own bath.

Dusk was just starting to fall when Helen went into the empty guest bedroom and placed a stack of clean clothes on the bed for Isaac. He was still wearing what he’d shown up in and would probably appreciate borrowing some clean things from Wade.

Then she went out to the front porch and sat in one of the rocking chairs and waited for the brothers to return as the sky dimmed from light gray to charcoal.

At last, the truck roared in and parked in a halting screech beneath the alder tree. Even before the doors opened, she could hear the raised voices of the men inside the cab. They tumbled out of the truck, yelling at each other.

“You aren’t blaming this on me!” Isaac shouted.

“Dad made me whip you because you were a lazy piece of shit!” Wade shouted back as he came around the front of the truck and got in Isaac’s face.

Helen stood and went to the edge of the porch. She’d only heard Wade this angry a few times.

“I didn’t want to be a fucking farmer like you and Dad,” Isaac spit out.

“There’s nothing wrong with farming.”

“It’s not my fault you were too dumb to do anything else. Even Ma knew you were dumb, she always said it.”

At that, Wade swung his fist. Helen heard it connect with Isaac’s face and saw his neck snap back.

“Wade!” she yelled. “Stop!”

Wade backed away from Isaac. Then he turned and thundered toward the house. He stomped past her and slammed through the front door.

In the yard, Isaac held his face for a moment before he approached, shoulders drooping.

“Are you okay?”

“He didn’t hit me that hard.” His voice was tight, but he sounded calm otherwise. “I’m okay.”

As Isaac walked up the porch steps, Helen said, “Let me see it.”

He lowered his hand, but in the dimness, there was no evidence of a bruise yet.

“Popped me right here.” He pointed at his right eye and smiled slightly.

“You’ll get a shiner.”

“Probably.” He sank into one of the rocking chairs.

“What was that about?” She sat down in the one beside him.

“He blames me for why he had to sell the farm. Because he couldn’t run it alone. But I wanted to do other things with my life, you know?”

“I understand.”

They looked out over the land in silence for a minute, and then Isaac said, “I was thinking about what you said when we were talking by the grave.”

Helen held her breath. The kiss. Was he going to bring it up? She had assumed they were in some kind of unspoken agreement to pretend the kiss didn’t happen.

“You said you feel like you’re outside the present moment,” he said. “Watching things happen.”

“I did say something like that, didn’t I?”