First published in The Carolina Quarterly, Vol. 65.3, Summer 2016
THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
It was a long drive in Kay’s memory, but it couldn’t have taken more than thirty minutes to get to the woods where her father hunted squirrels. Maybe it was the excitement of her first hunting trip. Or maybe it was the absence of her older sister, Mel. The sky that day was the color of the landscape—a dirty white. It hung like curtains along the country roads, dampening sound and obscuring what lay beyond. When Kay turned to look behind them, she could almost see a rippling in the wake of their car.
Kay sat in front. Uncle Dave slept in the back. It felt strange to Kay to sit in the passenger’s seat when two grownups were in the car, but she liked it. “Will I get to shoot?” she asked her father.
He slowed to make a turn. “Maybe some target practice at lunch.”
The heater released a musty, sweet fragrance that mingled with the earthy scent of her father’s hunting jacket. His jacket had a strange metallic smell, of cold and the outdoors and something unnameable. “Is this good hunting weather?”
Her father glanced back at Dave. “It’s later than I’d like.” His lips settled together, signaling that he was done talking. Kay began counting mailboxes out her window, giving herself double points for those with their flags raised.
Next to Dave was the green rucksack that contained their picnic lunch. Kay had never had a winter picnic and she checked periodically to make sure her uncle wasn’t crushing it. Dave, the youngest of Kay’s three uncles and her favorite, was visiting from up north, where he lived with his two dogs near the Canadian border. Now that Kay was nine, he was secretly teaching her to swear.
Kay was up to twenty-three points before her father pulled into a circular driveway covered with snow. To the right was a large, white farmhouse with smoke coming out of the chimney. To the back were several rusty cars on blocks, a swaybacked barn, and an outbuilding. Dense woods surrounded them. “We’re here,” her father announced. Kay felt a bubble of nervousness.
A black and brown speckled dog jumped and barked around an old pickup truck. Its head was square and its coat was short and coarse.
“Tough-looking dog,” Dave said.
“You’re awake.” Kay’s father didn’t turn around. “Long night?”
“Certainly didn’t feel long at the time.”
Kay’s father switched off the engine and opened his door. Kay smelled campfire. “Did you bring your glasses?” he asked. “I’m not letting you carry a gun unless you’ve got glasses.”
“Geez, John. Yes.” Dave patted around his pockets and pulled out sunglasses.
Kay’s father turned now. “I’m serious, Dave.” His voice was tight.
“They’re prescription.” Dave looked to the farmhouse. Kay looked at her lap. “Are we all going in?” Dave asked.
A grandma-aged woman wearing Sorel boots and a heavy cream sweater answered the door. She wasn’t plump, the way Kay thought farmers’ wives were supposed to be, but lean with short, silvery hair.
“Hiya,” the woman greeted. She held the door open with her left hand and smiled. Kay felt suddenly shy.
“Morning, Marie,” Kay’s father said warmly. “You remember my brother Dave.”
“Of course I do. Nice to see you.” Marie looked down at Kay. “I don’t remember this one. She looks like trouble.” Marie’s eyes were animated.
Kay blushed. Her father laughed. “This is Kay.”
“Wonderful.” She said it like she meant it and Kay liked her instantly.
Marie ushered the trio into the kitchen, cluttered with papers and jars. Marie didn’t seem embarrassed by the mess. She looked from Dave to Kay’s father and back again. “If it wasn’t for those beards, I couldn’t tell you were brothers.” Kay’s father was tall and thin and Dave was shorter, with a bulging stomach. But both had the same wiry red beard and blue eyes.
“Sometimes I wonder.” Dave gave Kay’s father a look that wasn’t all together joking. “Say. That’s a tough-looking dog out there. I don’t remember seeing it last time.”
“No, she’s new.” Marie cackled. “Or rather, she’s used. Bill found her at the pound a couple months ago. He thinks she’s reincarnated from the dog he had when he was a boy.” She raised her eyebrows. “Even named her Daisy Duke. It’s a stretch.”
“Bill will be doing voodoo before long,” Kay’s father joked.
Marie pointed a finger. “If he asks you for some of your hair, don’t give it to him.”
They all laughed.
“I haven’t seen Bill since breakfast, but I know he’ll want to say hi,” Marie continued. “Maybe after you’re done. You can tell him what you got.”
“He’s not in the woods?”
“He’s not.” Marie caught his meaning and winked. “You don’t have to worry about shooting him. At least not accidentally.”
Outside, Kay’s father slung the bag with their lunches across his body along with his .22. They would snowshoe and hunt up to the stream that cut across the north end of the property and then have their picnic and come back. It was always the same, Dave said. Kay’s father liked his routine. Dave unloaded the gear from the car and helped Kay with her snowshoes before putting on his own. Daisy Duke was sitting on a pile of blankets in the back of the pickup, breathing heavily, as they walked toward the woods.
“God, she’s homely,” Dave said. He reached out to scratch her behind the ears, but she stiffened and showed her teeth. There was a scar on her lip.
Kay’s father looked up. “I don’t think she likes you, Dave.”
“Maybe she smells the dogs on me.”
“Could be.” Kay’s father motioned for Kay to come closer, and they gave Daisy a wide berth.
Kay entered the woods behind her father in her pink snow pants and orange hand-me-down coat. Even with the snowshoes, she sank down into the powdery snow a little. Dave followed. “How will we know how to get back?” Kay asked. The woods seemed vast.
Her father squeezed her neck. “We’re not going to get lost, honey.” But Kay still felt a moment of panic when she could no longer see the farm.
“Marie said there’s a new snowmobile trail that runs along the north end. We can connect to it farther back and follow it to the stream. It’ll be easier walking.”
“When do we hunt?” Dave asked. He was moving slowly and looking up.
“We could hunt now.” Kay’s father craned his neck. “See something?”
Dave nodded. He gently pushed Kay behind him to her father, who took her and stepped out of the way. He aimed his gun high into the trees.
The shot was louder than Kay expected and she felt the burst of adrenaline spread through her. “Did you get it?” her father asked. When he stepped forward, Kay did, too. “I didn’t even see it.”
Dave walked a ways toward a large tree and stood at the base, looking up. Then he looked down at the snow. Then he looked up again. He went on a little farther, eyes to the ground, before coming back. “I must have missed. I don’t see blood.”
“You sure those sunglasses are prescription?”
“Yes, John. I’m sure.”
“Uh-huh.” Kay and her father went ahead and Dave lagged behind them.
When they reached the snowmobile trail, they turned to follow it deeper into the woods. Up ahead, high in the treetops, there was a mass of leaves that Kay recognized as a squirrel’s nest. She tipped her head back.
“Do you see it?” Kay’s father whispered. They were side by side.
Kay nodded.
“This should be a good place.”
She scanned the branches around her. Beyond the first nest were two more and then another. Kay searched for several minutes but saw nothing. She looked at her father. “Keep your eyes up,” he said. And then finally she saw a dark spot moving.
“Dad,” she whispered and pointed.
“Good!” Slowly he took the gun off his shoulder and clicked the safety. Then he put the scope to his eye and positioned the gun in his hands. “It’s a black squirrel. That’s unusual.”
Kay smiled. “It’s good luck.” This time she covered her ears but the shot still made her jump. The black speck dropped.
“We got him.”
Kay stared at the place where the squirrel had been and felt her initial excitement ebb. “Did we?” She tried to sound enthusiastic. But what if it had been a mother with babies? What if it was the last black squirrel in the woods? “Are you sure?”
“This is hunting, Kay,” her father said gently.
Kay swallowed. “I know.” But she had a hard time walking to where the squirrel had fallen and she hoped, like Uncle Dave’s squirrel, that it would be gone when they got there.
Her father was a good shot. There was blood in the snow and the squirrel’s eye that faced them was lifeless. Already the squirrel seemed to be stiffening. Kay pretended she was staring at something far away, a trick she learned from Mel that stopped her from crying.
Her father bent down and was examining the body when behind them, where they’d left Dave, came the sound of something large crashing through the woods. They heard Dave swear and the noise lunge and turn, breaking snow and branches. Kay and her father stood up as the first shot went off, and then there was a second and the sound of something lighter running away, like a shadow fleeing. Kay looked at her father with wide eyes.
“Dave!” her father called out. Uncle Dave was standing, but it was impossible to tell if he was hurt. “Dave!” her father called again. Kay heard the concern in his voice. This time Dave waved an arm. He was okay. Her father took a bread bag from his pocket and put the squirrel in it. Then he turned to Kay. “Stay here.”
As her father reached her uncle, a second sound, somewhere between a moan and a whistle, started. The noise crescendoed into a wail, then quieted to a gurgle, then started again. It was horrible. Her uncle and father began arguing. Kay clasped her fingers behind her neck and squeezed her arms around her ears but she couldn’t block out the sounds.
“It was a fair shot . . . ,” her uncle said, “ . . . exhausted.” Her father put his head down, his fingers working across his forehead. Dave gestured angrily. “Probably does it all the time . . .”
Her father shook his head. “I wouldn’t have . . .” When he looked back at Kay, his expression was somewhere between anger and grief. “Stay there,” he called.
“If I hadn’t shot it—”
“Dammit, Dave! I don’t care!” Kay didn’t remember her dad ever swearing, even when the boat had dropped on his foot. “It puts us in a really tough spot.” The wailing was building. Kay’s father said something that Kay couldn’t hear, and her uncle took his gun and walked off toward a pile of brush.
Her father came to her then. “There’s been an accident. Dave . . . shot something . . . by mistake.” He put a hand on her, keeping her steady.
There was another shot and then quiet.
When Dave rejoined them, his mouth pulled down at the corners.
“What did he shoot?” Kay asked.
Her father stared hard at Dave. “It was a fawn. You can get into trouble for shooting a fawn, especially out of season. Isn’t that right, Dave?”
Dave nodded.
“Dave thought it was injured.”
Kay swallowed. “But it wasn’t?” She didn’t understand why her father was so mad. “Is it because of his glasses?” Kay asked.
“It wasn’t because of my glasses.”
Kay’s father opened his mouth and shut it again. “No,” he agreed. “Kay, we’ll have to bring you back to Marie and Bill’s. Then Dave and I will come back for the deer.”
Kay thought of the fawn lying stiff and wide-eyed in the snow. “Can’t we bring it with us?”
“It’s too heavy. We need something to drag it on.”
“I can help.”
“No.” Kay knew what came next. “Honey, we can’t have our picnic.”
The grief filled her up.
When they got to the driveway, Kay’s father unbuckled his snowshoes and told Kay to do the same. He put hers in the trunk with the rest of the gear. He kept his gun.
“Will they be mad at Uncle Dave?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Will they call the police?”
“No.” He closed the trunk. “I have to talk to Dave for a minute.” He walked Dave over to the pickup truck where Daisy Duke had been and kept his back toward Kay. She couldn’t see what he was saying, but the expression on Dave’s face reminded her of how she felt when she was getting yelled at.
“Kay,” her father called. She went to him. “When we get inside, I want you to stay in the kitchen while I talk to Marie.”
She nodded.
“And you need to let me or Marie tell Bill what happened. Ok? If Bill asks you, you tell him you got tired and we brought you back to the house.”
Kay nodded again.
“Do you understand?”
She looked at Dave.
“Dave will stay here. It’s important, Kay.”
“I understand.”
They stepped up to the door that Marie was already opening. “Back so soon?” Marie looked around them. “Where’s Dave?”
“By the car,” Kay’s father answered.
“Well there’s three of you, then, and Bill’s in the basement. No one’s hurt.”
Kay’s father winced. “Can we come in? I need to talk to you.”
“Of course,” Marie said. On the table was an ashtray full of half-smoked cigarettes. “I’m trying to quit. So I’m just smoking half.” She winked at Kay. “Every little bit helps.” Marie stubbed out the cigarette she was holding and motioned for Kay’s father to follow her out of the room.
When they came back, Marie wasn’t smiling. “There’s an old tarp in the shed, hanging behind the wood pile. There might be an old plastic sled there, too. It’d be easier if you had more than just the tarp.”
“Thank you. We shouldn’t be more than an hour.” He looked at Kay. “You’ll be okay?” But he wasn’t really asking.
“Okay.” She realized that it wasn’t the right answer. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Marie,” her father said.
“Me, too.”
“Well,” Marie said after Kay’s father shut the door. “Why don’t we get some of those layers off. You’re going to get mighty warm.”
Kay pulled at her mittens and placed them carefully on the table. Then she took off her hat, coat, and boots.
“You going to leave your snow pants on? Your dad might not be back for a bit.”
Kay hesitated. Adults usually knew better, but she didn’t want to take them off. “I want to be ready when he comes.”
“Okay.” Marie looked at her watch. “It’s almost lunchtime. Are you hungry?”
Kay shook her head.
“Thirsty?”
She shook her head again, then remembered her manners. “No, thank you. We packed salami and butter sandwiches. And apples and hot cocoa.”
“Oh, I love salami and butter sandwiches.” Marie folded her hands. “Well then. Just some coffee. I’ve got a pot on the stove.”
Kay looked at Marie with disbelief.
Marie laughed. “You don’t drink coffee.”
Kay shook her head. “Coffee makes you short.”
Marie snorted with laughter. After a second, Kay realized that Marie was short. “Oh. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine, honey.” She smiled. “Lots of kids drank coffee when I was growing up. I had coffee and a sugar doughnut for breakfast every morning. But they know more about that now.”
Marie went to the stove, where a white coffeepot was percolating. She took funny-looking tweezers from a cupboard along with a small pitcher that she filled with cream and brought them to the table. Then she took out two teacups: a pink old-fashioned cup with a gold rim and matching saucer and a green cup and saucer with angels. Marie’s hands trembled as she set the pink cup in front of Kay. “I bet you like pink.”
Marie used the tweezers to pick up two cubes of sugar from a bowl half-buried in papers and put the cubes in Kay’s cup. She put two more in her cup. Then she poured cream for Kay and coffee for herself. “You can drink that as it is and get all the sugar at the bottom. Or you can stir it up, and have sweet cream all the way through.”
Kay liked the sound of Marie’s spoon stirring in her cup, so she did the same. When the sandy sound was gone, she took a sip. “It tastes like peaches and cream.”
Marie smiled. “It’s like summer in a cup.”
The trembling in Marie’s hands became more pronounced and then Marie started tapping her foot, and finally she just set her cup down. “It wasn’t a fawn that your uncle killed.”
“Was it a doe?” Kay said. That was worse.
Marie shook her head. “It was Daisy Duke. Bill’s baby.”
Kay set her cup down. Cold and hot rushed up her neck. “He shot Bill’s dog?” She thought of the terrible noise. Kay put her elbows on the table. She couldn’t see right.
“There’s a law that you can shoot a dog if it’s chasing a deer. And that’s what Daisy Duke was doing. Your dad didn’t want you knowing, but I don’t think it’ll be a secret once we tell Bill.”
“Why did he shoot it?” The question used all of Kay’s breath.
“The deer was too tired. If Dave hadn’t shot Daisy, she would’ve killed the deer.” Marie straightened up a pile of mail that was sliding into the middle of the table. Next to it was a wooden napkin holder with the name “Larry” carved into it and drips in the varnish. Kay fastened her eyes to it. The black squirrel hadn’t been lucky after all. Marie picked up a cigarette between her thumb and index finger, like a man, and lit it. She smoked it down to the filter before she rose from her chair. “Don’t smoke,” she told Kay sternly, and then she softened. “Your dad is bringing you up right.” She opened a door off of the hallway. “You stay up here, okay?” She closed the door behind her and Kay heard her shoes retreating.
The first noise sounded like a hammer dropping. The second was a noise like a toolbox being thrown. “Jesus Christ, Bill,” Marie yelled from below. “Get a hold of yourself.” Then there were lots of things being thrown and Marie and Bill screaming swear words, some that Kay hadn’t learned yet. She covered her ears. A board splintered and someone was crying. It sounded like Marie. Kay pushed her chair back and pressed her fingertips into the table. Marie had told her to stay but she didn’t think she could. She needed to leave.
She was shaking as she pulled her coat off the chair and struggled to put it on. Her hat and mittens scattered on the floor. She picked them up and dropped them again. There was pounding from below. Kay pulled at her coat zipper too quickly and snagged it halfway up. She tried to get it loose but managed only to get it more caught. She put her hat on instead and stuffed her mittens into her pockets.
Glass shattered, then more glass. Kay froze as heavy footsteps started up toward the kitchen. They weren’t Marie’s. She tried to breathe but her chest wouldn’t expand. Kay put on her boots. Her feet jammed the lining down but she didn’t have time to fix it. The footsteps had paused behind that door off the hallway. Any second they would come through it.
Kay pulled at the door leading outside, but the plastic rug piled up underneath it and it opened only a crack. She yanked at the door desperately. She had just managed to make an opening large enough to squeeze through when Bill emerged. His face was red and sweating. He was sobbing. Their eyes met for a moment before she wriggled her way out. “Wait!” he rasped.
She was across the driveway, crouched low behind the pickup, before Bill came out after her. She didn’t think he could see her. It was only a little farther to one of the rusty cars. When Bill turned his back, she ran to it, then to the next, until she made it to the open door of the barn. Bill still hadn’t seen her as she ran through. Kay skirted around to the back of the outbuilding. Bill was calling her from the driveway. “Sweetheart.” He sounded as though he was still crying. “Come back, honey. I won’t hurt you.” Up ahead she saw the snowmobile trail leading into the woods. She needed to find her dad.
The trail was packed down enough to support some of her weight, but it was difficult without snowshoes. She broke through once, twice. She remembered how she and Mel made their way on their hands and knees along the big snow banks at home. Their knees would punch through but they didn’t sink. Kay’s fingers were raw as she pulled her mittens on and began crawling. She got several feet before breaking through. But Bill’s voice was getting louder now, closer. She would be easy to see in her orange coat and pink pants once he got around the back of the outbuilding. She plunged off the trail where the snow was already churned up and wouldn’t show her footsteps and waded toward a fallen tree. She used her hands to fill in the snow behind her. Kay scrambled over the tree trunk and burrowed in as quickly as she could, covering herself completely. Only her face showed. She stared up into the sky as she struggled to quiet her breathing. Bill’s voice was close.
The cracklings of winter were magnified and muffled at the same time. Kay heard Bill’s boots breaking through the snow on the trail. He swore and stopped. Above Kay there was a patch of blue, a hole torn in the sky. If she held perfectly still, her body would rise through the opening.
“Come inside. It’s too cold out here,” Bill called. “Damn snow’s too deep.” Kay’s lungs burned. Any minute he would hear her breathing.
“Come inside, little girl. It’s cold.” But he sounded unsure now, as though he was calling to no one. “It’s cold.” His steps began retreating. “Damn snow.” They retreated more. When she heard him call again, he wasn’t as close. At the barn maybe. By now, her legs were going numb. Her cheeks were frozen. But she waited longer, until he was farther yet, and then longer, until she didn’t hear him again. When she raised her head she had no idea what time it was.
Kay got four steps from the fallen tree before she heard his voice again. She felt sick. He had gone around her somehow and was in the woods. He must have put on snowshoes. She dropped into a ball but knew it wouldn’t do much good. She was easy to see out in the open. Any minute he would be there.
Then she heard a second voice, but familiar. She waded cautiously toward the trail. The voice got clearer. She looked around her. She didn’t see Bill. “Dad?” she called out softly. She crept forward, the snow to her waist. “Dad?”
At first there was silence, then her father. “Kay?”
She pushed forward. They were coming now, Dave and her father. Her father seemed as tall as one of the trees. “Dad!” Her voice broke. For a moment she forgot about Bill.
Her father knelt in front of her, looking helpless. “Kay.” He wiped her cheeks and nose with his gloves while she took deep shuddering breaths. “What are you doing here?”
“They . . . were fighting.” She could hardly speak. “In the . . . basement.”
“Marie and Bill?” Dave asked.
Kay nodded.
“Marie told Bill about Daisy Duke?”
Kay nodded.
Her father took her by the shoulders and smoothed her arms down her sides. It reminded her of the way he held a sunfish when he was removing a hook, smoothing his hands down the outstretched gills and keeping them firmly against the fish. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”
“He was . . . after me.”
“Bill came after you?”
She tried to breathe without hiccuping. “He was . . . crying.”
Her father held her gaze. “Where was Marie?”
“. . . the basement.” Kay started crying again.
“Did you see her?”
Kay shook her head.
Kay’s father stood and hugged her to him. Her arms felt impossibly heavy.
“Could Bill be dangerous?” Dave asked quietly.
Her father didn’t speak for several minutes. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He looked down at Kay, then toward the farmhouse. “I don’t know.” He studied the ground. “I need to find Marie or Bill. Sort this all out.” Kay’s father looked at his brother. “You should stay here with Kay.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Kay said.
“I know, Kay.” He made circles on her back, trying to calm her. “But I’ve known Bill and Marie for years. Bill’s not going to do anything. I bet he’s sitting at the kitchen table now, waiting for us.”
She shook her head.
“I have to go, Kay. I need you to be brave.”
“No.” But he was going to go. She knew that.
He took off his snowshoes when he reached the outbuilding and leaned them up against the wall. As he disappeared from view, Kay began counting the seconds: one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand . . . She was at thirty when she heard her father calling. “Marie! Bill! It’s John.”
Kay started again. This time she was at fifty. “John!” It was Marie’s voice. Kay looked up. Dave closed his eyes. Marie was all right. “Is Kay with you, John?”
“She is,” her father returned.
“Thank heavens!” Kay heard Marie say. “Thank heavens.”
Kay was shivering. Dave worked on her zipper until he could get it closed all the way and then hugged her close. After a long while, her father called from the barn and they went to meet him.
“Marie’s got a bad cut on her face,” her father explained. “She says she’s going to be fine, but that we should go home.”
Dave pressed into the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index finger and frowned.
“Kay, we need to bring Daisy the rest of the way to the barn. I need you to stay here. Just one more time.”
Kay’s teeth chattered from fear and cold. Her father rubbed at her arms and torso. “Bill’s in the house. He won’t come outside. Marie said so.”
Kay blinked.
“We won’t be more than fifteen minutes.” He found her a dark corner in the barn and sat her down. “It’s a little warmer here. You’ll be safe.”
She was suddenly exhausted, and when her father and Dave returned, she hadn’t moved. The body of Daisy Duke was covered with her uncle’s coat.
Marie was waiting for them in the driveway. She had a blue parka pulled around her. Her boots were unlaced. She was holding a washcloth to her cheek. Kay had never seen so much blood.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Marie said to her. “Bill didn’t mean it.” Kay tried to smile but couldn’t get the muscles to work.
“You’re going to need stitches,” Dave said to Marie. “We need to bring you to the hospital.”
But Marie shook her head vehemently. “No. I really am fine. I really am. Just some ice will do the trick.” She tried to wink. “In a little whiskey.”
Kay’s father smiled softly. “He’s right, Marie.”
“I’ll be fine. He’ll sleep it off.”
Kay’s father looked up past the house. “Doesn’t your son live in town? Or your sister? I’d feel better dropping you someplace for the night.”
Marie’s expression made it clear that she wouldn’t go.
While her father and uncle packed up, Kay got into the backseat of the car. She would let her uncle sit in front. She settled into her usual place, behind the driver’s seat.
Her father had given Kay the rucksack with their lunches in it, even though she wasn’t really hungry. She took out the sandwich with her initials. It had extra butter and the salami cut thick. The sandwich was nearly frozen, and tasteless. She let it thaw in her mouth, squishing it against the roof with her tongue. At the bottom of the rucksack, under the thermos of hot cocoa, she noticed a bag of chocolate chip cookies. A surprise for their picnic.
When they were ready to leave, Kay’s father opened his car door but didn’t get in. “Are you sure we can’t take you someplace?” he asked Marie. Marie was curled inward, like a dried birch leaf.
“I’ll be fine, John. Now get.” She waved him away.
Kay’s father started the engine and let the defrost run on high as he watched Marie walk to the house and up the stairs to the kitchen door. He waited for her to go in before he shifted the car into reverse. It was important, he’d taught Kay, to make sure a person was safe inside before you left them.
Uncle Dave was staring through the windshield at the doors of the barn, now closed. Kay turned to watch out her window. The world moved away from her as her father backed out of the driveway, before it rushed forward again.