Chapter 8 - The Severed Branch
I rolled down my window halfway, keeping the engine running. ""Why did you do it, Dad? Why did you sit back and let them put my name on those papers?""
Arthur looked down at his dirty work boots, tears welling in his red-rimmed eyes. ""Because I'm a coward, Presley. I’ve been a coward my entire marriage. Whenever Eleanor wanted something, she screamed until the walls shook. When Bryce got kicked out of community college, she blamed me. When Caleb refused to look for a job, she blamed me. She convinced herself that the world owed our boys an easy life, and she convinced them of the same thing.""
""And you decided I should pay the bill for their failure?""
""She told me you were strong,"" he sobbed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. ""She said, 'Presley is like an oak tree. She doesn't bend. She doesn't break. She can handle the burden.' But she was wrong. You weren't an oak tree to be chopped down for firewood. You were our daughter.""
The front door slammed again, and Bryce came storming out onto the porch, holding an open beer bottle. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt stained with grease.
""Get off our property, Presley!"" Bryce screamed, his voice cracking with drunken fury. ""You ruined everything! Caleb has to wear an ankle monitor now! Mom won't stop crying! The cops came and took my computer yesterday! You happy now, tree girl? You proud of yourself?""
I turned my head and looked at my older brother. For years, I had feared his anger. When we were teenagers, he used his size to intimidate me, stealing my babysitting money and blaming me for broken dishes around the house. But looking at him now, standing on a rotting porch in a stained undershirt, I didn't feel fear. I didn't even feel anger.
I felt pity.
""This won't be your property for much longer, Bryce,"" I said calmly. ""The county tax auction is set for the fifteenth of next month. You and Caleb have thirty days to find jobs and pack your bags.""
""We aren't going anywhere!"" Bryce roared, taking a threatening step down the porch stairs. ""Mom signed the house over to us!""
""The judge threw that paper in the trash, son,"" Arthur said softly, turning toward him with a spine he hadn't displayed in thirty years. ""It’s over, Bryce. Put the beer down and go inside.""
Bryce stared at our father in absolute shock. Arthur had never spoken to him in that tone before. Without another word, Bryce cursed under his breath, spat onto the dirt, and stormed back inside, slamming the wooden door so hard the glass pane rattled.
My father turned back to me, his eyes full of sorrow. ""Don't come back here, Presley. Don't let Eleanor drag you back into this swamp. Run as far as you can from us.""
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""I’m not running, Dad,"" I replied, shifting the truck into reverse. ""I’m an arborist. When a tree branch is dead and infested with rot, you don't paint it green and hope it survives. You saw it off clean so the rest of the trunk can breathe.""
I pulled away from the curb, leaving the house and its shadows behind in my rearview mirror.
