fireworks emulating heaven

As her eyes finally fluttered open, she began to take inventory of her surroundings: the rickety ceiling fan still complete with the John Deere tractor pull cord, the handmade bookshelf lined with old VHS tapes and CDs, even the quilt rack in front of the window she’d tripped over climbing in at 2 am her senior year. For a brief second, she could almost believe she’d died the night before, blinking out when her head collided with the steering wheel, or slowly fading away as hands closed around her throat hours before. It was just as she’d left it when she packed her bags and sped out of town, everything untouched like some sort of heavenly time capsule.

Everything except the man slumped in the chair in the corner.

She hadn’t woken him with her stirring, despite the morning light trickling across his face being a clear sign he was sleeping in well past his usual wake up call. It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at him in the light after the events of last night, and she couldn’t help but stare. He was slouched, head propped stiffly by his right arm. Hair fell into his face in messy brown strands, longer than she’d ever known him to wear it. The edges of his scar peeked out, faded with time and age but still prominent on his cheek. Her eyes drifted down, following the line of his shoulder on down and noting the peeks of new-to-her ink adorning the skin of his forearm.

It was strange looking at him, so familiar but so foreign to her now. If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture them back then, all smiles and skin to skin under the same blankets draped over her body now. Those were happier times, back before they had a single clue what life had planned for them. They were just kids.

The glint of the morning sun catching on the barrel of the shotgun Casey had propped against his chair the night before was a stark reminder that those kids were long gone.

The husky rasp of his voice, deepened by sleep and worry, startled her. “You alright?”

She hadn’t the faintest idea how to answer that. Categorically, no. Without the night’s adrenaline coursing through her veins, she could feel new aches and pains making themselves known throughout her body. Her skull throbbed, her ribs ached, and the fresh split on her lower lip tugged painfully as she tried to suck it back between her teeth. She’d inventory them later, locked in the bathroom and away from any prying, pitying eyes.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Hangin’ in there, I think.”

He stared for a long moment, jaw working almost imperceptibly. It was an alien situation, the war between familiar and brand new. Deciding how to proceed seemed almost impossible when every word felt like a misstep. After what felt like hours of deliberation, he nodded to himself. “You in pain?”

“Not bad,” she said, gingerly sitting up. She moved slowly, delicately swinging her legs over the side of his bed to let them dangle before drawing his quilt around her shoulders. It was hot, almost sweltering already hours before the break of day, but the warmth of his familiar scent engulfing her felt almost like armor protecting her from the truth of her situation.

She could tell he didn’t believe her, and she couldn’t blame him. He eyed her, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before opting for a soft “‘kay.” She watched as he stretched, turning his face into his bicep to hide his wince as the stiffness of his back screamed its protests. “Want some ice?”

“Power’s still out,” she murmured. “Can’t open the freezer. Food’s gonna go. You know that.”

“Don’t care about the food.”

Lily fell silent, the lump in her throat finally giving way to something warmer, something gentler. Downstairs, she could hear the faint sounds of Brenda mulling around the kitchen, going about her morning routine like the events of the night before hadn’t irrevocably changed something for the old house and its occupants. It was strange, she thought, just how familiar it all still felt. It’d been a decade since she’d step foot in this bedroom, but despite the sweltering, sticky heat slowly settling over every inch of it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the house itself was welcoming her back with open arms.

The low hum of Casey’s voice drew her from her thoughts, gently tugging her back to Earth. “Don’t wanna push you or nothin’, but… Lil, we gotta talk about it. You know that, right? Can—can call the cops if you want, or—“

She stiffened, fingers fisting tight around the ratty quilt she wore. “No cops.”

“I—okay,” he conceded, nodding to himself before running a hand over his mouth. “No cops, then.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “Gotta warn you. Mama wants to call ‘em. She was pretty damn rattled last night when you came in.”

Lily frowned, gingerly sitting up, careful to not jostle her ribs. “Your mama hates cops.”

“Think she hates what that fucker did to you more.”

BONUS FROM FURTHER ON:

“His name was Rhett,” she murmured, pausing for a moment to snort. “Is Rhett. Didn’t kill him when I cut out.”

“Shoulda.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her, or the way her hand drifted over to swat at his bicep on reflex alone. “Casey Michael.”

Lily stiffened, hands curling around the crafting scissors she’d acquired from her mother as she shooed the lingering demons of war from her mind. The war was over. Her father was home. A knock on the door was no longer something to dread.

“Mama?” she called cautiously, dusting stray paper scraps from the front of her dress as she stood. “Mama, did you send for something?”

She stood silently peering outside the study, listening for any hint of someone else venturing to the door. The soft sound of her father’s snoring and the not-so soft sounds of Nora reckoning with Thomas’ bedtime routine were enough to disqualify them from the task. Resigned to her fate, Lily sighed and closed the study door delicately behind her before venturing towards the stairs. Another knock came, sharper and louder than the last. She scowled, mumbling to herself about the state of delivery etiquette in this day and age as she finally reached the meticulously decorated foyer.

He was quiet for a moment, opting to chew at his bottom lip in favor of his usual jabs as he studied the way she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Wasn’t like that for you growing up?”

“Never.”

He frowned, nodding to himself as he took a cautious step forward. His hand outstretched, landing gently on her shoulder before giving it a soft squeeze. “Hey. This too much? We can go on a walk, or—“

He studied her, eyes lingering on the way she’d wrapped her arms around herself like some kind of flesh and bone armor. Raising a brow, he leaned out, craning his neck towards the trees. “What’d you see?”

She blinked.

“Spend long enough starin’ out at the dark, soon enough your brain starts imaginin’ shit starin’ back,” he continued. He descended the trailer stairs, eyes locked on the trees. “Used to see all kinds of shit in the desert at night. Mighta just been sleep deprived, but…”

“I bet,” she murmured, automatically leaning into his warmth as he approached. “But I didn’t see anything.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. She hadn’t seen anything that night. The dancing lights had seemed to have abandoned her, given up their post amongst the leaves and returned to wherever the hell they came from in the first place. For a brief moment she wondered if she’d scared them off during the last week’s construction, like they were timid stray animals peering at her from their hidey-holes. No, she hadn’t seen anything that night at all.

“Ah,” he hummed. His arm found its place around her shoulders, squeezing her tight to his side. “Trees’re singin’ again, ain’t they?”

She turned, unable to hide her own grin this time. “Blue shirt?”

He shrugged, nearly dropping the beat up duffle bag he carried slung across his shoulder in the process. “Don’t know your name, do I?”

She knew better. She really did. There wasn’t a point — she’d return to school, and he’d return to… whatever it was they did here. Fort Worth was temporary, just a hub she was passing through on her father’s quest for her higher education. It wouldn’t be long until she was called back home, and boys in hallways at rodeos she shouldn’t be attending in the first place would be a distant memory. It wouldn’t be sensible.

But her parents were hours away, and what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.