Page 6 of We Redeemed the Rain

I laughed, too. “You scared me. I thought I was home alone.” Anicy trickle of dread ran down my spine, even as I smiled and did my best to appear relaxed. “Mama’s still at work?”

“Yep.”

I popped the tab on my Coke, the fizzling sound caused me to anticipate the tingle in my throat. I took a long sip—it was sickeningly sweet. “Where’s Coop? He’s not home yet?”

“Nah. He went home with a friend.”

I opened the cabinet and grabbed a snack-sized bag of Doritos. “You don’t have work today?”

“I always have work.” He tilted his forehead toward the window. “But it’s raining.”

I shook my head at my stupidity. “Oh, yeah.”

When my eyes met his, the icy trickle turned into a full freeze of panic. Something dark lingered in his gaze, and it scared the hell out of me. All of the disturbing things, uncomfortable friendliness, and one-sided heart-to-hearts came crashing down on me like a boulder from above. I didn’t even knowwhatI feared. I just did. Alarms blared and I had no idea why.

I backed into the living room and hefted my backpack over my shoulder again. “Well, I got some homework to do.”

I settled at the makeshift desk in my room, frantically pulling out books. Writing assignments typically took my mind off of things at home, so I looked over the latest worksheet. But the words blurred together, and I couldn’t make sense of anything.

It’s taken me a long time to accept I didn’t do anything wrong that afternoon. I’ve spent years drowning in guilt and wondering what I could’ve done differently when Sloan knocked on my door. Did my innocent “come in” sound like an invitation? Did I do something to egg him on? Did I deserve what happened in some way?

When he sat on my bed—why didn’t I run? I felt afraid, so why didn’t I listen to my gut?

When he asked me to lock the door—why did I? My legs were shaking, I couldn’t breathe, but I got up from my desk and turned the lock anyway.

That stormy afternoon, with lightning flickering throughthe cracks of my blinds—my life was forever changed. And at the end of it all, I blamed my own damn self.

From then on, I begged God for drought.

If there was a suspicious cloud overhead, you’d find me kicking around down the street at the creek or at the corner market. I watched the news and the sky like someone losing their grip on sanity. Flecks of rain terrified me and a bleak overcast sent panic sweeping through my veins.

Most people think of Texas as dry, with cracked earth and tumbleweeds. It’s like that in spots, sure. But not where we lived. We weren’t on the coast, but close enough to get storms off the Gulf of Mexico. That year, it rained more than normal. At least, it felt like it did. Whether or not I encountered Sloan, bad weather came hand in hand with intense anxiety. Sometimes, I’d be hiding, wheezing, wondering if I was going to die before the rain let up.

I had several rainy day hiding spots within eyeshot of our driveway. I’d hunker down in one of them—beyond the neighbor’s holly bush, up a tree across the street—and wait for Sloan to go back to work or for Mama to get home. Whichever came first.

But Sloan knew when I was supposed to get home from school. Me coming in—soaked to the bone from sitting in a hideout—moments after Mama got back, was a dead giveaway. So he got creative.

There was no way I could’ve protected myself. But I felt like a dummy who kept getting played.

My life became as predictable as a lottery ticket, meaning I lost every damn time. Because even when Sloan did keep to himself, fear squeezed the life out of me. I looked over my shoulder, never let my guard down. My existence became about staying two steps ahead of Sloan and keeping Cooper within arm’s reach. I never let him out of my sight.

But my vigilance had its limits. Eventually, I’d grow tired. Weeks, months even, would stretch between incidents. And I’d wonder if itwas all over. Wonder if Sloan moved on. Wonder if Iimaginedit all. Pure fatigue inevitably crumbled my defenses.

And he was always waiting.

It’s interesting to note I’ve never been able to recall how many times it happened. A handful of times? Dozens? Actual facts probably don’t matter too much. The first time—the night of the storm—was enough to ruin my life all on its own.

I could fill a book with the manipulative shit he filled my ears with. Now, I recognize the lies he told me. But it sounded like gospel truth to a kid. He’d imprinted the consequences on my brain with a brand of iron:you talk and everything disappears.The food, Mama’s happiness, the ranch. Sloan knew I loved going to my grandparents’ beef ranch, Meadowbrook, every summer. He said I’d never see the ranch again if I told—as if that was his decision.

But one threat kept me compliant. His trump card.

Cooper.

He swore he’d take his arrangement to Cooper if I stepped out of line.

So I did whatever he asked.

It amazes me when I look back and allow myself to remember the weight of those days. For the most part, I carried on like normal. Besides the lilac circles forming beneath my eyes and my loss of appetite, my outside stayed roughly the same. Life heaped burden after burden on my shoulders and somehow, I held them up. Sure, I was near collapse, emotionally stuck in fight or flight, but I held them up all the same.

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