Burned

  about his un-Mormon breath.

  He keeps telling her not to cut

  me slack and she keeps telling

  him it’s her place, she’ll do as

  she pleases, and he can just

  take me on home if that’s how

  he feels. Funny, but I don’t

  think I want to go home.

  Unlike yesterday.

  I don’t know what life here

  will be like, but Dad made it

  clear life back home would

  be hell, and I sure believe that.

  He won’t even miss me.

  I doubt anyone will miss me.

  Except maybe Jackie, when

  she gets back from camp.

  The creepy thing is, I won’t

  miss them, either. How can

  you go through sixteen years

  with your family and not miss

  them when you leave?

  What’s wrong with my family?

  What’s wrong with me?

  Dad Motored Off

  Very early the next morning.

  I was sawing major ZZZZs.

  He didn’t bother with good-byes,

  which only hurt a little.

  Aunt J let me sleep in. I woke all

  alone in a strange room with chintz

  curtains and dried flower wreaths

  on bright turquoise walls.

  The only sound was the tick-tick

  of an iris-shaped clock and,

  somewhere outside, Aunt J’s pleasant

  song as she puttered around the yard.

  I didn’t move for several minutes,

  just lay there, contemplating.

  What was expected of me here?

  No one had mentioned a thing.

  Sacrament services were obviously

  not high on the list. At home,

  I’d be sweating and suffering

  Bishop Crandall’s evil stare.

  No diapers here. No kids to tend.

  Dishes for two were nothing.

  Was I supposed to plant a garden?

  Feed the livestock? Count cats?

  I got up and went to the window.

  Outside, a small breeze toyed

  with a wind chime and ruffled

  Aunt J’s small patch of grass.

  I remembered Dad’s words:

  No trouble there but rattlesnakes

  and deserted mine shafts.

  I was beginning to believe it.

  The First Week or So

  Aunt J and I sort of poked

  at each other, testing

  the water, as they say.

  She talked about life

  in the sticks.

  I talked about life

  in the suburbs.

  She talked about

  solitary living.

  I talked about

  overcrowding.

  She talked about the joy—

  and pain—of physical labor.

  I talked about diapers

  and dishpan hands.

  She talked about dogs, cats,

  horses, and mules.

  I talked about jackrabbits

  and pesky little sisters.

  She talked about hot

  summers and hard winters.

  I talked about school—up

  until the last few months.

  Which finally led her to ask,

  Do you want to talk about

  why you’re here?

  I Did—and I Didn’t

  I liked Aunt J—her soft-spoken

  way, her honesty. But I didn’t

  feel secure with her yet.

  How far could I trust her?

  How much did she know?

  How much did she want to know?

  So I probed, “Why

  do you think I’m here?

  What did Dad tell you?”

  She sat quietly for a minute.

  He said there was trouble

  at school, trouble with a boy….

  I nodded. “A little

  trouble with both,

  okay? Is that all?”

  She looked me in the eye.

  He said your bishop has decided

  you’re possessed by Satan.

  I snorted. “Because

  I want a normal life

  and someone to love me?”

  Is breaking someone’s nose

  normal, Pattyn? Do you think

  your young man loved you?

  Okay. Valid questions.

  “No, he didn’t love me,

  and that made me…”

  Angry? Enough to make

  you lose your temper and hit

  someone else in the face?

  “Hurt. Enough to want

  to make someone else

  hurt too. I’m so sorry.”

  If you know why it happened,

  and you’re truly sorry,

  I doubt you’re possessed.

  “I’m not possessed,

  Aunt Jeanette, and I’m glad

  you don’t think so either.”

  Satan has bigger fish to fry,

  mostly in Washington, D.C.

  Now how about dinner?

  Next Day, I Found Out

  Aunt J had no expectations

  regarding my doing chores.

  You’re a guest. ’Course, if you want

  to pitch in, I’m not sayin’ no.

  What else did I have to do?

  Besides read, that is.

  Got a big patch of weeds needs pullin’.

  And you can toss chicken scratch.

  Pullin’ and tossin’. No problem.

  Mindless labor, easily done.

  I do have a big project on tap for some

  time in the next week or two.

  Big project? Like digging

  a pond or raising a barn?

  I’ve got to move a hundred head of cattle.

  You ever ridden a horse before?

  I did a pony ride once. Round

  and round in a little circle.

  Old Poncho doesn’t ask for much.

  All you have to do is stay in the saddle.

  I figured I could manage that.

  How hard could it be?

  Aunt J Figured

  I’d better practice a little.

  Old Poncho stood like a champ

  while she tossed the saddle

  over his slightly swayed back.

  See, you reach under his belly,

  grab the cinch, put it through

  this ring, and pull tight.

  Poncho gave a little oomph,

  but didn’t really complain.

  I stroked his nose, watched

  his whiskers twitch.

  Now put your left foot into

  the left stirrup and pull

  yourself right on up there.

  Except for a tense second

  or two as my pants stretched

  quite tightly at the rear, I

  climbed on with relative ease.

  Squeeze with your knees,

  keep your heels dropped,

  hands gentle on the reins.

  Knees, heels, and hands

  in approximate position,

  I clucked my tongue to make

  him go. Poncho was deaf!

  He’s not deaf, only stubborn.

  Give him a little nudge

  with your heels.

  That worked and walking

  was easy, like straddling

  a well-worn rocking chair,

  plod-ka-plod-ka-plod.

  That’s it. Pull the reins

  right to turn that way.

  Pull ’em left to go left.

  Poncho performed as

  requested and I felt just

  like a cowgirl. Until

  he started to trot.

  You’re gonna get whiplash,

  bouncing like that. Squeeze

  those knees harder.

&
nbsp; I tried, but nothing I did could

  keep my butt in the saddle.

  Poncho responded by trotting

  faster. Plop-plop-plop-plop-plop.

  Aunt J dissolved into

  deviant laughter.

  Make him stop.

  “Whoa!” I hollered, much

  to Poncho’s amusement.

  I pulled back on the reins.

  Too much slack.

  Tighten your grip

  and yank hard!

  Aunt J shouted.

  I yanked. Poncho stopped.

  The final bounce planted

  my behind in the saddle,

  bruising my bruises.

  Looks like you’ll

  have to work on

  that trot!

  Journal Entry, June 6

  I rode a horse today!

  I’ve never been sorer

  in my whole entire life!

  I think my butt is majorly

  black and blue. (I can’t

  really see it in the mirror.)

  So why am I so proud of myself?

  Aunt J said she’s proud of me

  too, even if my trot does need

  a little work. She’s proud of me!

  I can’t believe she and Dad

  are related.

  We’re going to move her

  longhorns from low pasture

  to high meadow. Some ranchers

  use ATVs or even helicopters

  to move their cattle.

  Aunt J uses horses and dogs.

  Just like in the movies.

  I wonder if movie cowboys

  ever got sore butts.

  I wonder if horseback riding

  can give me a shapely butt.

  I wonder if I’ll ever learn

  to ride a horse.

  I wonder how Mom is feeling.

  I wonder if Jackie liked camp.

  I wonder if Georgia has stopped

  sucking her thumb.

  I wonder if Derek and Carmen

  are still together.

  (I wonder if Carmen is pregnant yet.)

  I wonder if Dad misses me at all.

  The Next Morning

  I came downstairs to the aroma

  of coffee. Really strong coffee.

  It smelled delicious.

  Aunt J sipped a cup, offered one

  to me. I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

  It was a sin.

  Considering my recent behavior,

  I wasn’t sure why coffee worried me.

  It was tempting.

  Aunt J said it was up to me, but far

  as she knew, God couldn’t care less.

  It made my mouth water.

  Was it the smell? The idea of giving

  in to temptation? I hadn’t a clue.

  It was wrong, and I knew it.

  Whatever it was, I crumbled like

  biscotti, in need of black coffee.

  It demanded I try it.

  A small sip wrinkled my nose.

  A big gulp went down like water.

  It was bitter.

  Aunt J offered sugar and cream,

  but I wanted the truth of coffee.

  It was the best thing I’d ever tasted.

  What Had Happened to Me

  Beer. Tequila. Coffee.

  Heavy petting, which,

  I had to admit, I enjoyed.

  What was next? Excommunication?

  What if it was? Could I

  deal with that? Could my

  family? Would they all

  be considered outcasts?

  Would they hate me

  if they were? Dumb

  question, right? So, okay,

  if they disowned me,

  like Dad had disowned

  Douglas, would I get

  over it, create a solid

  existence without them?

  Would I find a way

  to forgive myself, even

  love myself, or would

  I react like Molly

  and end the pain completely?

  After Breakfast

  I asked Aunt J if I could borrow

  a rifle for a little target practice.

  Sure. Why not? They’re wasting

  away in that cabinet.

  Wasting away? “How come?

  You must like to shoot.”

  I do hunt venison once a year.

  I don’t especially enjoy it.

  So much for Annie Oakley.

  “Why do you have so many guns?”

  Stan collected them, more for show

  than use. Extravagant, really.

  But they were beautiful.

  “What do you mean?”

  A person only needs three guns—-

  a good hunting rifle…

  For filling the freezer

  with venison once a year…

  a handgun for protection, and

  a scattergun—for varmints.

  I had no urge to mess with shotguns.

  A big one could take your arm off.

  You’re welcome to borrow whatever.

  Take the pickup and make a day of it.

  Was she crazy? “Uh, thanks, Aunt

  J, but I don’t know how to drive.”

  What? Going on seventeen and

  you still can’t drive?

  “Dad said if my husband wants me

  to know how, he’ll have to teach me.”

  The Look on Her Face

  Was priceless. I’d definitely hit

  some kind of a nerve. Aunt J

  gave me a nudge toward the door.

  Let’s go.

  An old Ford pickup, circa 1950-

  something, loitered in the scattered

  shade of the driveway.

  Get in. I’ll teach you.

  I glanced at the classic truck,

  with bug-eyed headlights above a big

  grill and not a ding under the primer.

  Don’t worry. You can’t hurt her.

  I doubted that. But the freedom

  Aunt J had offered me

  was a powerful temptation.

  Get in. We’ll be fine.

  I slid under the steering

  wheel, hands shaky as Jell-O.

  Had no idea what to do next.

  Put the key in the ignition.

  In it went, like it wanted to

  be there. One turn and the motor

  sputtered to life.

  Right pedal, go. Left pedal, stop.

  I punched the right pedal.

  The engine revved and roared

  a protest. Aunt J grinned.

  First you have to put it in gear…

  Duh! The gearshift.

  How many times had I

  watched someone use it?

  Right now she’s in Park.

  Oh yeah. P for park,

  R for reverse…“So what

  does D stand for?”

  Drive.

  And before I knew it, I was.

  We Started Down

  A wide dirt track that paralleled the fence line,

  that paralleled the main road in from town.

  Steering came easy enough. Turn the wheel,

  not too hard, and go the direction you turned it.

  The gas pedal wasn’t a mystery either. Push

  harder, go faster. Let up on it, slow down.

  The brakes took a bit of getting used to. Push

  the pedal easy, slow gently. Stomp? Don’t!

  After a couple of steering over-corrections and a

  herky-jerky start or two, I began to get the hang of it.

  I was bumping along, thoroughly engrossed in driving

  a straight line, when Aunt J interrupted. Stop a sec.

  Another pickup, a blue Dodge Dakota, had pulled

  onto the shoulder on the far side of the fence.

  I braked the Ford to a quick stop, as the Dodge’s driver

  stood up from chang
ing his flat. Morning, Ms. Petrie.

  Furnace Lips! That killer cute guy knew Aunt J?

  Apparently, she knew him, too. Hello, Ethan. Everything okay?

  It is now, he said, flashing that familiar smile. Next time,

  back to Firestones. These Michelins can’t take a finishing nail.

  Aunt J chuckled, then gestured in my direction. I’d like you

  to meet my niece Pattyn. She’s visiting me for the summer.

  Pleased to make your acquaintance, Pattyn. His eyes,

  filled with assessment, drew level with mine. Pretty name.

  I nodded, afraid my voice might stick to my tongue. Aunt

  J saved me major embarrassment. How’s your father coping?

  Ethan’s smile dried up like a summer mud puddle.

  He’s okay, I guess. But she left a pretty big hole.

  I know she did, Ethan, soothed Aunt J. Let me know

  if you need anything at all, and give your dad my best.

  We Drove Off in Opposite Directions

  Ethan’s big Dodge cruised smoothly

  south on the asphalt, while Aunt J’s

  old Ford stuttered north in the dirt,

  with me, Pattyn (pretty name!),

  behind the wheel.

  Aunt J stared out the window, mired in

  some daydream. Where her mind

  had wandered, I couldn’t say.

  Anyway, my own mind was

  glued on Ethan.

  How did he and Aunt J know each other?

  Who was the woman whose memory

  snatched away his incredible

  smile? Could someone like

  me give it back?

  Aunt J knew most of those answers,

  of course. But I sensed she wasn’t

  in the mood to discuss them. And

  I wasn’t quite ready to admit

  my budding infatuation.

  I found a big, wide turnaround place,

  did an about-face, and putted back

  to the ranch house, still stuck

  on Ethan and how I might