The Last Harvest Page 6

  “No one blames you for what happened out there during your last game. You were just doing your job. It’s a violent sport. A man’s sport.”

  I watch him twisting his ring and I can’t help wondering if this is all about getting me to play … bringing home the W’s for Midland.

  I think about trying to explain myself, but someone like Ian Neely would never understand what I went through. For twelve straight hours not knowing if I killed that kid or if he’d ever wake up from his coma. And I had to deal with all that on my own. No friends, no family, no coach telling me it was going to be okay. Having to bury my dad and come to terms with being the man of the family. Giving up football. Giving up my dreams. Giving up college. Giving up Ali. And the fact is, I’m a different person now.

  “I just don’t think I belong here anymore.”

  “You belong here more than anyone I can think of, son.”

  I wish he’d stop calling me that. Son.

  “Like it or not, you’re a pillar of this community. The Preservation Society needs you. The town needs you. Stop fighting so hard—look where that’s gotten you.”

  He pours another shot, but I don’t take it. My sweaty palm print clings to the thick glass long after I pull away.

  “I’ll make you a deal.” He throws another one back. “You come to the Harvest Festival on Saturday night, bring your family, stand on the council, rejoin the team, and I won’t mention this to anyone. It’ll be our little secret.” He’s starting to slur his words. This could get real ugly, real fast.

  “I’ll think about it.” I stand, thinking he’s going to tell me to sit back down, demand an answer, but he lets me go. For now.

  “Oh, and Clay?” he calls after me. “You know why Ali’s hanging around my son, don’t you? You know why he’s quarterback now? Because he took it from you. I’m offering you an opportunity to take it back—all of it.”

  10

  I WALK out of the Preservation Society a free man, but more confused than ever. I can’t believe Mr. Neely was talking about his own son like that. Talking about my dad like that. I’d heard the rumors about him hanging out at the Wiggins trailer, but I never wanted to believe it. Whether it was meth or schizophrenia, or whatever else, it still didn’t change the fact that he massacred a barn full of pregnant cows … and that didn’t change the fact that he was a great dad. He was a complicated man and I may never know what happened to him, but he’s gone now and I have to figure out how to live with this. How to live with myself … on my own terms.

  As I ease down Main Street to make a U-turn, I find myself turning down Ash Street toward the historic district. I haven’t let myself do this for months.

  I park under a huge magnolia tree a few houses down from Ali’s, a big white colonial with black shutters. Her room’s the last one on the left. I wonder if our initials are still carved into the leg of her four-poster bed. I wonder if she ever thinks of me.

  Tomorrow, I’ll have to deal with the fallout from all of this, the whispers, the staring. I don’t think Mr. Neely will say anything, at least for now, but Mrs. Ely’s the biggest gossip in town. It doesn’t even matter. Right now, all I want is to be close to Ali. I need to know she’s okay. I feel like if I see her face, I’ll know what I have to do.

  And maybe I’ll finally be able to let her go. Let it all go.

  * * *

  I’VE BEEN staring at Ali’s front door so long my eyes feel welded in place. I hardly notice morning’s come when Tyler pulls into her circular driveway; his car’s all decked out with red and black streamers, “#6 NEELY” and “QB” painted on his windows. Pep girls must’ve paid him a visit. I’d forgotten all about homecoming tonight.

  Ali comes springing out the front door in her cheerleading uniform, her long shiny ponytail swinging behind her. My breath catches in my throat. She looks rested, not a care in the world, her bright hazel eyes shining with excitement.

  I chuckle to myself like the crazy person that I am. I’m toast. I’ve officially lost my mind. Imagined the whole thing at the breeding barn. Of course I did.

  Tyler doesn’t even get out of the car to open the door for her; he’s too busy checking himself out in the rearview mirror. As soon as she gets in, he pulls onto the street with screeching tires. Ass.

  For a second I think Ali sees me. I hunch down in my seat, but she looks away so quickly it’s hard to tell.

  I wait a couple of minutes before pulling out. I may have sat outside her house all night, but I’m not a total stalker.

  The closer I get to school, the heavier my shoulders feel. Mrs. Ely must’ve called half the county by now. The way I see it, I have two options. I can ignore it, pretend like it never happened, or I can take the Dale approach—laugh it off, tell everyone I got wasted and blacked out. That’s what happened when his mom posted that video of him twerking to that Miley song.

  I pull into my spot in the back of the lot and take a deep breath. Like Dad always said, you’re either a rip-the-bandage-off all at once kind of guy or the peel-it-off-slow type. Looking out toward Tyler’s car, I brace myself for the stares, but not a single glance comes my way.

  Confused, I get out of my truck. Maybe he just hasn’t noticed me yet. Wanting to get it over with, I stretch my arms high above my head and crack my back. That should do it, but still, nothing. Except for the occasional nod from a couple of football players passing by, or the random shy gaze from some freshman girl, no one pays any attention to me.

  And then it hits me—maybe no one knows.

  Maybe there is a God.

  I let out an unexpected laugh as I lace my hands behind my head and stare up at the sky—that beautiful endless Oklahoma sky. It feels like it’s the first time I’ve really seen the sun in over a year.

  “Interesting look, cuz,” Dale says as he strolls over to my truck.

  “It’s a new tactic,” I say as I try to smooth down my hair. I must look like crap, but I feel good. Light. “The homeless look so girls will feel sorry for you.”

  “Wait. Does that actually work?”

  “No.” I laugh. “Sometimes I worry about you.”

  He squints up at me. “You sure are chipper today. Does this mean you’re coming out with me tonight? I heard Laura Dixon’s cousins are coming in from the city—Tulsa. One for you, one for me.” He leans forward. “I’ll even give you first pick.”

  “Wow. That’s generous of you, Dale, but I can’t. Last harvest.”

  “Wheat blows.” He kicks a clump of dirt off my tire. “Haven’t you heard? Gluten is the Devil.”

  “Tell me about it.” I grab my bag and start heading across the lot.

  We step aside, letting a bunch of JV cheerleaders pass.

  “Well, you’re missing out,” Dale says as he stares after the girls. “Guess I’ll have to handle both of them on my own tonight.”

  I laugh, and not a forced laugh—a real laugh.

  On instinct, my whole body starts to tense as I pass Tyler’s car, but the Preservation Society pack doesn’t even acknowledge me. It’s like I’m invisible. Or maybe they were never looking at me. Maybe it’s all been in my head—this entire year. Whatever the reason, I’ll take it. Fine, I’m a delusional weirdo, but at least Ali’s not crawling out of a dead cow. I almost feel normal again, like the old Clay.

  As I grab hold of the frigid metal door handle to head inside for class, I glance back at Ali. She’s not looking at me or anything, but it feels right, like I finally might be able to move on with my life.

  * * *

  NOT FIVE minutes into first period, a note comes in summoning me to Miss Granger’s office. It’s almost a relief. I knew I wouldn’t get off this easy from my “incident” last night. She probably just needs to know I’m not going to go all Columbine on her.

  I duck into her office. “Before you say anything, just hear me out.”

  She bolts up from her chair and shuts the door behind me.

  Wow. I must really be in trouble. “Look, you were right,�
�� I explain. “It’s the sleeping pills … it has to be. I stopped taking them last night, flushed them all down the toilet. The calf, the symbol, the dreams, Ali climbing out of the dead cow, the conspiracy theories … it’s all just a way to deflect from the truth.” My throat’s knotting up, but I force out the words. “My dad had schizophrenia or he was a meth head … it doesn’t really matter. That’s on him … not me. There, I said it. Are you happy?”

  “Clay,” she says, quietly. “There’s something you need to see.” She slides a sheet of paper on her desk toward me with her index finger.

  On the page, I find a sketch of the symbol, the upside-down U with two dots above and below. Scrawled beneath it, the words “DEVIL’S PORTAL.”

  “What is this?”

  “The mark you saw on Tyler and Ali. It means something. It’s an ancient symbol predating the Old Testament by a hundred years. They’ve found it throughout time carved into stones, trees, rivers … flesh. It’s considered an invitation.”

  I try to play it off, but a chill rushes through my veins. “An invitation for what?”

  She leans in, the smell of perfume and tea clinging to her skin. “For the Devil.”

  My mind slips back to the breeding barn. The dead cow, slashed down the middle—Ali, her naked body slick with blood—the whispering, the stamping of feet like hooves. I’m trying to wrap my head around what she’s saying, but it can’t be.

  I force a chuckle. “This is some kind of joke, right?”

  “I know this is a lot to take in. I wanted to do this differently, in a different way … but things appear to be escalating quickly.”

  “Seriously, don’t mess with me right now. Last night was crazy. I get it, okay?”

  “This isn’t a joke, Clay.”

  I start pacing the room, looking for hidden cameras or something. “Wait … so let me get this straight. I’ve been coming to you all year long telling you something’s not right with the Preservation Society … this town, and now that I’ve finally accepted things, now that I’m finally ready to put all this behind me, you’re telling me this is all about the Devil? That there’s some kind of invitation … in their skin?”

  She places her hand on my arm. “I can help you, Clay. I know people … in the church.”

  I pull away. “This can’t be happening. This isn’t real.”

  “I think you’re a prophet. You see things others can’t see. Just like your father.”

  “Please stop … just stop…” I dig my fingers into my skull.

  “We knew something was coming here. Something evil. We just didn’t think it would happen like th—”

  “Did Mr. Neely put you up to this?” I turn on her. “Is this some kind of a test? When he asked me to join the council last night, come to the Harvest Festival, get back on the team, I thought it was a suggestion. I didn’t know he’d go this far. Tell him no thanks. He can send me to jail, or whatever, but I’m not playing his games anymore.”

  “Clay, I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re all trying to drive me insane.” I stalk toward her. “Is that what this is all about?”

  “I … I only want to help you,” she sputters as she backs against the far wall, like she’s suddenly afraid of me.

  I snatch the paper from her desk and get right in her face. “Is this your idea of helping me? Helping me straight off a cliff?”

  “Clay,” she whispers. “You need to trust me. You’re not crazy, but we need to act swiftly and—”

  “I always stuck up for you. People said you were off, but I just thought they were being jerks. I’m not so sure anymore.” I crumple up the paper and throw it in the trash. “I’m done talking about this. Thinking about this. I actually felt good today.” Tears sting my eyes, which makes me even angrier. “I don’t need you and I certainly don’t need a high school diploma to plow fields.”

  “Clay, I know this is a tough time for you with the anniversary and the game—”

  “This isn’t about football!” I pull my hair back from my face in frustration. I feel so fucking confused, I don’t even know what to do with myself. “Just leave me alone.”

  I storm out of the school to my truck. As I’m driving down Main Street, past the Preservation Society, I turn on the stereo, hoping for some relief. Instead, an evangelist shouts, “Hold your loved ones close because the Devil’s coming for you. Coming for all of us.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me!” I rip the stereo from the dash and chuck it out the window.

  11

  ON MY way home, I pull into Merritt’s to fill up the tank. I hear a bunch of kids messing around on the side of the building by the woods.

  A girl laughs; I stop pumping the gas. I haven’t heard it in a long time, but I know that laugh.

  Fists clenched, I stride toward the side of the building, my boots sinking into the gravel. Please let me be wrong.

  I come around the corner to find Jess angled up against the concrete-block wall, smoking a cigarette. She’s wearing skintight jeans, Noodle’s favorite unicorn T-shirt, which barely covers Jess’s chest, and my flannel slung low around her hips.

  A boy with stringy black hair gawks up at me. “Oh, shit.”

  The kids take off running into the woods.

  I grab Jess’s arm, whipping her around. “Don’t even think about it.”

  I’m not sure if she’s on something or what, but she’s staring off behind me all dreamlike. I turn to see Lee Wiggins standing at the edge of the woods, smiling at me with his split lip. It’s like he’s daring me to come after him. I wonder if my dad told him all that crazy stuff about the seed and the calf when he was out there buying meth. Whatever his deal is, I’m not taking the bait.

  I drag Jess back to the truck and buckle her in. “What the hell are you doing out here?” She doesn’t even fight. It’s like she’s amused by the whole thing.

  “You lied to me,” I yell, pulling the truck back on the road. “You told me you weren’t hanging around the Wiggins kid.”

  “I never told you that. You just don’t listen. Lee’s nice to me. He listens. He knows things.”

  “Oh, yeah, like what? How to be a goddamn loser?”

  “Things.” The way she says it, the way she’s smiling, makes me want to crawl out of my skin. The thought of that sick kid laying a finger on my sister makes me want to turn back and pummel him to death with my bare fists. But I can’t lose control again. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “So, what? You’re skipping school now?”

  “At least I came home last night.”

  I glance over at her and wish I hadn’t. That sly smile curling the corner of her smudged red mouth.

  I clench my jaw. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom covered for you, said you must’ve left early to get supplies. You’re still perfect in Noodle’s eyes.”

  I drive past the last turn to head back into town, and Jess fidgets in her seat. “You’re not taking me back to school?”

  I don’t answer. I’m so pissed I can hardly stand to be in the same car with her.

  “Clay! What are you going to do?”

  “The question is what are you going to do.” I can’t believe I just used the same line Mr. Neely used on me.

  She groans. “Are you going to rat me out or not?”

  “I’ll tell you what, if you wash all that crap off your face, put on some normal clothes, and do something nice for Mom, I’ll tell her you came home sick.”

  “That’s blackmail.” She huffs, staring out the window.

  “We all make sacrifices. That’s life,” I say as I turn into our drive. “I can’t believe you’re hanging around at Merritt’s … and in Noodle’s shirt.”

  “Is that what’s really bothering you?” she snaps. “Here, take it.” She yanks it off and throws it in my lap. She’s just sitting there in a black sports bra.

  I shield my eyes. “What the hell’s going on with you?”

/>   She pulls on the flannel wrapped around her waist and pushes her boot against the dash, holding her head in her hand. “What does it even matter?”

  I look over at her, remembering a time when everything was a lot simpler. We were just kids lying in the wheat, watching storms roll past, seeing who could hold out the longest before running back to the house. She was always braver than I was.

  I pull up in front of the house and turn off the engine. Taking in a deep breath, I say, “It matters. To me.”

  We sit there in silence.

  “I know about the school,” Jess says almost under her breath.

  “What?” My throat goes dry.

  She leans over and pulls a letter from her backpack. It’s already been opened.

  I grab it out of her hands and read it.

  “We are pleased to inform you that Natalie Tate has been accepted into the All Saints Academy for the following academic year.

  Please remit the full deposit by November 1st.”

  “She’s in.” I exhale, my shoulders dropping a good two inches. “Noodle got in.” I look over at Jess to find her glaring at me. I fold the letter and put it in my back pocket. “How long have you had this?”

  “A few days.”

  “You know, just because you’re pissed about your own life, don’t take it out on Noodle. She’s got a good shot at getting out of here. Making something of her life.”

  “And I don’t.” She picks at her already mutilated cuticles.

  “I’m not saying that.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “But you’ve done nothing to show me any different.”

  Jess opens the door and gets out, black tears streaming down her face. “I shouldn’t have to show you. You should just know.”

  I want to go after her, tell her I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t deal with one more thing. I stare out at the wheat waving in the wind. All that matters is the harvest. I see it so clearly now. All of this with the Preservation Society, Miss Granger, Tyler, Ali … it was just a giant distraction I made up to avoid reality. I have forty-four acres of untilled wheat. This is my reality. Finishing the last harvest is the only thing that will help us now.