Expecting tears to show up to give some form of relief, I braced myself, but the only impact was that of anger and resignation. All aimed at Vance Cumberland.

Pa and my siblings were my world, and apparently boat rides with a bunch of preps were his. We simply did not fit together, and I was tired of wasting energy on it. His worry was keeping debutantes warm on the lake while my worry was whether Pa had found the hidden rope and a strong enough beam to get the job done.

Chiding myself for the momentary lapse in judgment for leaving Pa alone, I slung the car into drive and made the thirty-minute drive in twenty. Those minutes were spent begging God to let Pa be alive still, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I found him holed up in his bedroom with an ice pack on his neck. If Pa had enough wits to tend to his wounds, then surely there had to be a speck of hope in there somewhere.

In years to come, I would often wonder if I’d been a little more mature, a little more brave, whether it would have made a difference that night. Perhaps if I’d asked Pa what my mind screamed for me to, that botched hanging could have been a turning point instead of another cover-up. Could I have prevented some of the nightmares and episodes? The what-ifs plagued me.

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Perhaps I wasn’t ready to come to terms with what needed to be done with Pa, but by Friday I was ready to get the job done when it came to Vance Cumberland. Most Fridays the pickup truck would ease up to the house and deliver the farm boy version. The one in torn jeans, work boots, dirty ball cap, and a dimpled smile. It was my very favorite version and I never hesitated to meet him at the driver’s door to deliver my kiss of welcome. We would hold each other as if it had been months instead of days. I would trace the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose. He would comb his fingers through my long hair. Then the kids would burst outside and interrupt our intimate bubble, knowing Vance had treats for each of them.

This Friday my siblings weren’t there to interrupt. I’d made sure of it, dispersing them between the people I’d grown to trust —Miss Wise, Foxy, and Walynn. They’d had a front-row seat for the entirety of my relationship with Vance, but this part needed no witnesses.

The truck rolled up as expected, but I remained sitting on the porch steps. When it became apparent I wasn’t going over to meet him, Vance climbed out, a familiar brown bag in his hand. Even though he’d driven the farm boy vehicle, he’d shown up in his businessman facade.

“Ain’t you all fancy today,” I quipped.