Pa carried the roasting pan to the table and plopped it in the middle. His sudden movement and the loud clanging caused the boys’ shoulders to jolt. After shoving the sleeves of his thermal shirt up to his elbows, he took the lid off and plucked a paring knife from the collection. “Y’all know what’ll happen if you fool with sharp objects.” In a blink, he flicked the blade against his forearm. A thin line of red bloomed instantly.

Everyone’s eyes widened as we released staggered gasps.

“Ox, put the knives back where they belong.” Pa tossed the paring knife in the sink and stalked out of the kitchen.

I opened my eyes to get away from the image of Nash’s and Knox’s frightened faces while they watched our father purposely hurt himself. Shaking my head, I returned to scanning the Texas map for a while. After hunching in the corner for longer than I should have, I got to my feet and stretched out my tired back before moving to the open window. It was time to head inside and go on to bed, but there was a restlessness rolling heavily in the pit of my stomach. From my view, a light coming from the front of the farm caught my attention. At first I thought it was headlights passing by, but the light remained several minutes later when I glanced that way again. Thinking someone must have left the light on in the chapel or produce stand, I climbed down and headed toward the light to take care of it.

A soft breeze rustled through the fields and reached me. It was a refreshing companion on my walk down the driveway, as well as my daydream of running off to live with Vance on the lake. I missed him to the point of pain when Pa got still in his despondency and, in effect, isolated me in it too.

A calamity rang out from inside the chapel, startling me out of those dismal thoughts.

We kept a tobacco stick propped by the door to whack the wasp nests down. I grabbed it up and barreled inside, preparing to whack a vandal. I lost my grip on the stick and it banged against the floor as I came to terms with the sight before me.

“Pa!” I ran to the altar, where he lay wrestling with a thick rope that looked like an anaconda wrapped around a victim. I fell to my knees and helped unravel the rope. Both our hands fumbled as if they were boneless, but we finally managed to free him of it.

“Pa, what’s going on?” I asked, spotting the harsh streaks of red branded into the skin on the side of his neck. “Did . . . did you try hurting yourself?” I stopped short of adding again to the question. The answer was obvious anyhow and it had bile burning the back of my throat.