Page 31 of The Otherworld

“A lot?”

“Hell.” Dad clasps a hand on my shoulder and looks me in the face. “You’re going through hell right now. But so is your mother, and so am I. We still have each other, son. We need each other… to get through it.”

I stare at him, into those eyes that used to be so alive. Those eyes so dark with agony and resignation.

“You’re allowed to grieve, Jack.”

Grieve.

Just the word makes his voice choke up.

“No,” I rasp. “I will not grieve. Because Adam… is alive.”

I yank my shoulder away from his hand and grab the split logs, hauling them over to the stack. Dad stands by the chopping block, watching me like I’m a stranger.

“Jack, your mother can’t take this.”

“Take what?”

“You being so stubborn, so unwilling to accept it.”

I bark a sarcastic laugh. “And you’re willing to accept it? You make me sick. Both of you—”

“Son.”

“No! I won’t accept it!” I grab the ax, getting right in Dad’s face to yell, “I won’t accept it until I see his dead body lying in front of me!”

Now my eyes are filling up, damn it. I slam another log onto the chopping block. Splinters bite into my fingers. Don’t care.

I swing the ax up, my vision blurring—

SLAM.

I miss and get my blade stuck in the block instead. The log topples over, pissing me off more than it should.

“You need to pull yourself together,” Dad says. “You need to think about your mother, what she’s going through right now. If you refuse to let go of him, you’re only going to make it harder on her—and on yourself.”

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

I steady the log again, my hands shaking. A low growl of thunder rolls through the sky.

“Your mother shouldn’t have to be worrying about you right now,” Dad railroads on. “She needs to be allowed to grieve and make sense of all this without you causing trouble.”

“Causing trouble?” I roar, whirling to face him. “I’m chopping your goddamn wood!”

“And when you’re done with that, you can repair the damage you did to the barn wall!” Dad bellows, stepping up to dwarf me by three inches. “I know you’re angry, son, but so am I. Do you see me losing my temper? No! Because I can’t. I have to be strong for my family.”

“Well, sorry I’m not as perfect as you, Dad—”

“Jack!” Mom calls from the porch.

Dad snaps, “Don’t you talk to me like that,” as Mom yells my name again, leaning out the screen door.

“Yeah? What?” I holler across the driveway.

“It’s going to rain! Put the windows up in your car—”

“’Kay, doing it—”

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