Page 2 of The Great and Terrible

No big deal. People left me. That’s what they did.

Well, hello there, abandonment issues.

Inner shake. I handed my dad a tiny paper cup with pills piled on top of each other, then bent over to kiss his brow. “Gotta run. I’ve got ravenous animals to feed.” And yeah, a host of other responsibilities to complete. “I love you,” I repeated. “Remember that.”

His shoulders rolled in. “I love you, too, Rye.”

Before he could say anything else, I strode from the room. Only after I closed the door with a soft snick did I let my smile fall. How much time did he have left? How much, how much?

Whatever the answer, I wasn’t going to wallow. I’d meant what I’d said. Responsibilities called.

Raising my chin, I kicked into high gear and readied the candles, as promised. After donning a hat, gloves, and an old coat, I made my way outside, abandoning the warmth of the farmhouse to enter the chill of winter.

One hour bled into another as I restocked feed loaders, fed the pigs and chickens, gathered eggs, filled water troughs, set out hay bales, checked the herds for problems, tended the greenhouse vegetables, and mucked stalls. All the while, the empty heated pool where I had adored swimming throughout my childhood mocked me. So did three hundred acres of neglected soil.

Planting season was only four months away. But how was I supposed to complete a task that required machinery I couldn’t afford to fix?

Bit by bit, the sky darkened, bringing with it a cold breeze. Guess my father’s prediction had legs. I inhaled deep and detected the crisp scent of coming rain. Oh, yeah. There’d be a storm.

Mist formed in front of my face as I exhaled, momentarily shielding my vision. Wait. A pig had escaped the pen. Argh! I took off in a sprint.

As I wrangled the little darling, the first smattering of raindrops fell. I checked the clock on my cell and groaned. I’d worked too long and now had less than half an hour to shower, change, and drive to Emerald City Clucks, where I served “the Wickedest Chicken Sandwich in the Midwest” while sporting two dark braids, a blue and white gingham pinafore dress, requisite white undershirt, and a pair of silver slippers, reminiscent of the book rather than the movie. When you lived in Ozworld, Kansas, there was no escapingThe Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

According to local history, a housewife in the fiftiesclaimed to be transported by tornado to and from a fantastical land. No one had believed her, but everyone had hoped to cash in. A vote to change the town name passed. For a while, the gambit had paid off, bringing in a flood of tourists. If only the tale continued to draw the masses.

Once inside the house, I checked on my father. He slept, but not restfully. At least he’d taken a few bites of the toast. An improvement from yesterday when he’d eaten nothing.

A barbed lump grew in my throat. I hated to leave him, but I couldn’t afford to stay. We’d taken out a second mortgage on the farm to pay for medication and treatments. Either I paid the bill or we lost our home. I just, I needed Daddy to keep fighting long enough to reach remission.

With a heavy heart, I quickly dolled up and hit the road. Maybe I would receive a large tip tonight. Considering the number of punches I’d taken lately, something was bound to go right for me.Please.

I set a tub of dirty dishes on a cluttered table and rubbed my aching back. At twenty years old, I felt ancient. Tending the farm and working at the diner seven days a week were taking a toll. Not that I was complaining (more than a little.) To help my dad, I’d do this and more. Even accept a third job, if necessary. And it just might be.

“We’re closing early tonight,” a harried voice called from the kitchen. “Meteorologist says the storm is getting worse. Why don’t you buss the table, sweep, and go. I wanna get home to Darla and kids and batten down the hatches.”

My boss, James, was a former marine. He did the cooking, and I did the serving. Usually two other waitresses assisted, but he’d released them hours ago due to slow business.

“Sir, yes, sir.” I welcomed the chance to be with my dad.

“You make something in tips at least?”

Tone drier than desert sand, I told him, “Oh, yes. A grand total of seven dollars. I’m a bona fide nillionaire now.”

He snorted. “Nil. Funny.” Thunder boomed, reverberating in the air and erasing any good humor.

Picking up the pace, I cleared the remaining dishes, fished a rag from the pocket of my uniform, and sprayed the tabletop with cleaner. Swiping the surface free of debris, I glanced out the wall of windows overlooking the parking lot. A single streetlight showcased the heavy rainfall pelting the asphalt. The storm had raged most of the evening, keeping the usual customers away.

Ready to be done, I grabbed the broom and dustpan to clear the yellow “brick” floor. The perfect complement to the rest of the diner. Booths looked as if they’d grown straight from trees, courtesy of the mural covering the walls. The forest scene also depicted flowers with teeth, and horned, flying horses, all surrounding an injured scarecrow, a crying lion, and a frozen tinman wielding a crimson-stained ax. Amazingly detailed artwork created by my mother, and the main reason I’d come here looking for a job.

Sandra Shaker had been—was?—a talented artist. She’d painted all kinds of images throughout the town, but few others remained. They were either worn from weather or just painted over in favor of something new.

A new spear of lightning flashed, dancing shadows over the colorful depiction. The trio came alive, the scarecrow seeming to wink, the lion to laugh, and the tinman to scowl. It was super creepy, and I loved it. Mom possessed a talent like no other.

Guaranteed, she would want me home with Daddy, not mooning over images I’d see again tomorrow. I picked up the pace, finally completing my task, then rushed the tub of dirty dishes to the kitchen. James was in the process ofhanging up his apron, his wizened features tight with concern.

“You want me to wash these before I go?” I asked, motioning to the array of plates, cups, and silverware.

“Nah. Don’t worry about it.” Another crack of thunder boomed, and he paused to exhale. “I’ll scrub everything tomorrow morning. You just get on home.”

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