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Woe to you who laugh now, for you will mourn and weep.
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Two weeks later
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I CAN BARELY BELIEVE my eyes. I stare at my laptop, scrolling through a list of numbers and readings I’m only starting to understand on Rancher’s electronic medical file. His proteins are where they need to be. It’s the first time in nearly six months we’ve had a good lab report. And with the freezer now bare, I have no option but to stop. He needs more meat.
How the hell am I going to do this? Where? Who?
The police have been by, looking for Ginny. But only once have they been by, and it was only part of a welfare call probably driven by Susan Anderson. I’ve seen nothing on the news. There is no crime scene tape in her yard. The only sign of her missing is the wilted vegetables on her makeshift farm stand. I try not to think of the eggs and wasted baby chicken corpses. Even the ones I tried to save by moving them to my hen house never hatched. It was too late for them.
I could do it. I have to do it. Hell, there’s no choice. It’s God’s will. He wouldn’t have allowed it the first time if he wasn’t okay with it. I can’t stop now. I’ve come too far.
I’m a natural killer. All human beings are. But it doesn’t mean I like it. Most times, the things we are required to do out of need aren’t pleasant. I’ve come to know that no matter what moral code one lives by, part of life is breaking the rules. I sip at my coffee, trying to figure out who to kill next. I need them to be close. Or, at the very least, I need them to come to the property. I can’t bring a wagon to the grocery store and pick up an evil-eyed cashier. It needs to be a neighbor or someone I can access easily. But that would be suspicious with two of them missing...
“Hey, hon,” Rancher slides into the living room and kisses me on the forehead.
“How you feeling?” I slam my laptop shut. He winces, as though he knows there’s something going on but doesn’t have the interest in naming it. He probably thinks I’m having an affair.
“Good.”
“Good, good? Or good better than yesterday?”
He shrugs. “Good in general.”
“Well, your labs look better.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Do you want to see?”
“No. I don’t care. I trust you.”
If there’s one thing Rancher hates, it’s technology. He’s forever calling utility companies asking why they won’t send a paper bill. He has no interest in going green and can’t get his head around paperless or online billing. I’ve learned to pick my battles with that one. I swallow my guilt at his words—I trust you—and am tempted to spill it all. If he knew what I’ve been up to, he might even help me.
No. You’ve really lost it now. He has integrity. He can hate people all day long, but he couldn’t kill. He’s not you. Smile and keep your mouth shut. At least he’s feeling better. Laugh now; cry later. This isn’t the time for confessions.
“Do you want to go out today? We could go grab lunch or something.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. If we go out, he’ll order a burger made of beef from a cow. I won’t be able to stop him. He’ll think he’s been doing it all along. No fucking way am I letting him kill an innocent animal. People are evil, not them.
“No. I want to work on the garden. Besides, we really shouldn’t spend the money.”
Thank you, God—you fucking exist. Amen. “Yeah. Good point.”
“What’s your plan today?”
“Well, the animal stalls need cleaning. I thought about doing that.”
“No. I’m okay. Let me do it. You’ve done enough.” He makes a muscle with his right arm. His bicep, in spite of it all, is still firm. “I’ve got this.”
I laugh, reminding him he isn’t going anywhere until he eats something.
“Jesus, you’re like a Nazi. I’m not even hungry. Soon, I’ll be fat if I keep eating like this.” He pets his perfectly flat stomach with both hands and turns to walk out of the kitchen.
“I highly doubt that,” I say, guessing his current weight to be well under 170 pounds; a mere fraction of his normal 220. “Give me a second. I need to check on Jake’s plane tickets. Then I’ll make you something.”
“Bacon.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t have any. Besides,” I say, curtly, for a reason he can’t possibly understand. “Think of the pigs.”
I’ve got to get more meat. And fast. ...Rebecca. Rebecca Johnson. Tonight.
“For Christ’s sake. You change your mind more than your clothes.”
“I’m a woman. It’s my prerogative,” I laugh. “And bacon’s expensive. By the time I get this ticket bought, we won’t have a grocery budget left.”
He shakes his head. “Fucking kids. How much longer do we have?”
“How do you not know this?” The second the question leaves my mouth, I feel bad. I never seem to remember that his medications can screw up his head. For him, it’s hard to pinpoint things like the kids’ birthdays or ages. “Three more years,” I quickly add, hoping he’ll let it go.
He does.
“Sick of this. And if we’re gonna start eating meat again, why not sell the herd?”
“No. Not happening. We’re going to work on grants. We can make this work, I know we can. I talked to a few people at the P.E.A.C.E. association today. They gave me a bunch of links. I will send them to you and get started on them tonight. Stop trying to look backwards. You aren’t going that way. We aren’t.”
He pulls out the tall oak chair at the end of the kitchen table. With one hand on his stomach and the other on the back of the chair, he sits down. He’s breathing hard, and I know something’s wrong, but Rancher isn’t the type to want a fuss when he’s in pain.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
He puts his head in his hands, using his elbows to prop himself up. “Just tired. Maybe the garden can wait. Not feeling so good.”
Putting down a dish rag, I walk slowly over to him.
“Want water? Almond milk? A salad? When’s the last time you ate?”
“I swear; I’m good. And we already went over this. I just need to sit down and rest. Do your thing. Cook. Make me into a fat old man—whatever makes you happy, hon.”
The abrupt change in his affect isn’t something I haven’t seen before, but it saddens me all the same. I’m not used to the man I love giving up so easily. I know him only as stubborn and fiercely independent. As I return to the sink and fill up a tall glass of water with crushed ice to bring to him, I can’t help but feel like I’m running out of time. Him taking the water a minute later and gulping it down only confirms that feeling.
Tonight. For sure.
Vegan